#anyway this next chapter should tip us over into Act Three | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvcherry · 3 years ago

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Chatroom [4] ◇

Natasha Romanoff x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 4.3k.

Part Three || Part Five

Chatroom Masterlist

Summary: Y/n and Natasha deal with the aftermath of their argument after Natasha's party.

Warnings: hints on manipulation, elements of a toxic relationship, angsts (I promise it's not all bad lol)

A/N: This is kind of a filler chapter, but it was very necessary to clean up all the mess from last chapter. Next chapter is going to be a lot (and very fun). I can't wait for you guys to read the next chapter, but for now enjoy this one!

"You need to convince your parents to let you come with us over winter break! My asshole uncle has a winter home in Vail, and he invited me and my sister to come stay with my cousin. I was kind of shocked he invited us but I lowkey think my dad is holding something over his head because he's been nice for the last year — anyway, you should ask them. Amy is coming. Your parents like us, right? Is your dad still giving you a phone?"

It seems like Cindy was ignoring the fact that Y/n was in a daze. In fact it seems that both her and Amy have not noticed the shift in Y/n's behavior for the past four weeks. She's been jaded since she left Natasha's apartment with no more than a hug and a lonely walk to the train line. She went back to campus the next day feeling defeated and unsure of her relationship.

And it was her fault. She should have ignored Bucky and not let him get to her. He probably just picks at her because she is considerably younger, but she shouldn't be dumb enough to fall for it.

The communication between her and Natasha has been few and far between. With the drama that happened after Natasha's birthday party and finals coming up, she has no time to really talk to Natasha. Their first real conversation has to be about what happened that night. Y/n isn't sure if she's ready to talk about it though. Right now she takes the occasional message from Natasha as a good thing but god does she miss talking to her for hours and into the night.

Only talking just to ask each other everyday 'how are you' is painful; that is not what couples do. The conversations never went beyond them responding to that dreadful question.

Her impending finals and papers she has to turn in acts as a distraction for Y/n. She can blame the time she is spending preparing for the end of semester as the reason why she is not talking to Natasha. She knows she is lying to herself, but it placates her for the time being.

"Seeing that I pass chem, my dad will probably buy me the phone, but-"

"It's about time! We're tired of having to communicate with you via carrier pigeon," she joked.

"I know. But Cindy, I need you to understand that there is a 0% chance my parents will allow me to go to Vail with you guys, especially if I'm gone for the holidays."

"You just have to ask! You'll be with us. Nothing will happen to you. You have to be there Y/n! You know how fun it will be to bring in the new decade with us in a place like Vail? The place is beautiful and has a gorgeous view."

"You know how my parents are."

"Okay and you're going to be 20 next year. What are they going to do when you get married and have your own family and don't visit for the holidays? Are you going to be under their rule forever?"

Cindy was hitting such a sore topic without even knowing. Y/n wanted to hang out with her so she could take a break from studying but still have a distraction from thinking about her current relationship. However, her friend keeps poking at her about this stupid trip to Vail. It sounds like a fun idea, but there is no way her parents would allow her to go.

She feels pressured by her friend who is nagging her. It’s like white noise is filling up her head, and somehow she is thinking more and more about her problem with Natasha. There is an uncomfortable question that feels like it is on the tip of her tongue. She almost feels like she is going to experience a case of word vomit that will make things worse for her. She can't want to admit her entire dilemma to Cindy, not today at least, but she can't stop herself from seeking advice that she desperately needs.

"Can I ask you something?"

Cindy lifts her brows in curiosity. Y/n completely disregarded her challenge and Cindy finally notices the distressed look on her face. Instantly the topic of the trip to Vail is pushed to the side due to her friend’s peculiar behavior.

Y/n sighs before she talks, "I like someone and I think I really messed up."

That is the last thing Cindy expected Y/n to say. Just getting her to admit a guy is cute is like pulling teeth, so imagine her surprise when Y/n admits that she likes someone. As much as she wants to know every single detail, she can read the distress on her friend’s face when she finally pays closer attention. If she asks a prying question, Y/n will shut down and feel overwhelmed.

"How did you mess up?"

"I kind of blew things out of proportion — but I also feel like my feelings are justified? I don't know...it's confusing."

"No, no, it makes sense," Cindy tried to reassure her, sensing that she was beginning to shut down before the conversation really got started. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but what happened?"

"Do you know a girl with the last name Michaels and is a blonde?"

"It doesn't ring any immediate bells but maybe Amy does? Why? What's this all about Y/n?"

"I think the person I like has dated this girl and it didn't end well but my jealousy got the best of me when I found out and I think I ruined things."

"Was there a reason you felt jealous?"

"Because I'm stupid — you know that I'm not use to dealing with stuff like this and I feel completely lost and confused. I just want things to be right again because I really like this person. They're perfect, and so kind to me. We relate to having strict parents growing up, but they're so independent and I look up to them. I just don't want this to be over."

Cindy didn’t know what to say. She knows how to give people relationship advice, as she has done it thousands of times before, and she herself has been in relationships that failed and had potential boyfriends that went nowhere. She knows what to say when someone is hung up over someone they really like. Yet she doesn’t know how to tailor her advice for Y/n. If this was one of her sorority sisters she would tell them to move on because there are plenty more people on campus they could be spending their time with. But Y/n is different from all of her other friends. She is shy and somewhat vulnerable to being jerked around emotionally.

“Did you talk to them about how you feel?”

“Yea and we ended up having an argument. We haven’t been talking as much since and it’s just weird because we used to talk everyday.”

Cindy has too many questions in her head that she is not going to get the answer to today. There is something that Y/n is not telling her. She is able to fill in some of the gaps herself but she isn’t quite sure if it’s true or not. Her main suspicion is that this person isn’t just someone Y/n likes, but someone she is dating; and it’s not Luke because he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut about it. Cindy feels slightly hurt that Y/n didn’t tell her or Amy that she is seeing someone, but she understands why Y/n is so hesitant to be open about it.

“Well I’ll say this. From what you’re telling me, I don’t really think you are blowing things out of proportion. If someone is being secretive yet they claim that they really like you, then that is a major red flag. It’s normal to want to know what they’re hiding from you. If you believe that this person really cares for you then they should be honest. But you also have to be able to stick up for yourself and say something, but — I hate to say it — if you can’t do that then you don’t need to see this person, or anyone else for that matter. I have been the girl who has made stupid decisions to save a relationship that was doomed for the start. I’m not saying that it’s the same for you, but if you try to talk to this person and they completely cop out or blame you, then it’s not going to be pretty. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Tears began to prick her eyes, something she wanted to desperately avoid in front of her friend, but she can tell that Cindy notices her watery eyes. It’s a miracle that they don’t fall even if they threaten to.

Cindy is right. Her friend is completely right even if the information is too much to take in. It’s just that everything had been so perfect up to this point. Y/n was willing to disregard Natasha lying about her age and being older than she originally said because there could be a reason for that. But the information about some girl she may have dated before that goes to Brecker really shook her up. It has to be some weird happenstance, but Bucky said the girl was her age when Natasha dated her. Y/n didn’t want to be liked because she was young and someone’s type. She wants to be liked because she’s herself.

Had she jumped into relationships prematurely? Should her first relationship be with someone she already goes to school with?

“Y/n, are you okay?”

“I guess I’m fine, just confused. Studying for finals is really stressing me out but I don’t want to get about Na — them. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m ignoring them.”

“Just talk to them. That is the only way to solve this — it’s the only thing that will give you peace of mind.”

Y/n sighs as if a huge weight has been lifted on her shoulder. She knew all along that she had to talk to her girlfriend, but hearing it from someone else was sobering. She just has to toughen up, and the one person who has been pushing for her to do so should be the most supportive.

“I hope I’m not prying,” Cindy starts, breaking the small moment of silence, “but did this person you like have a serious relationship with the blonde with the last name Michaels?”

“I don’t think so. I honestly don’t know if this person exists or if someone was trying to mess with me and get under my skin. If they were, they definitely did.”

“The person you like didn’t tell you about them?”

“No. I really don’t care about who they dated before, but the person who told me made it seem like I was getting played or not important. I just really, really want to know who this girl is. If she does exist I just want to know her side of the story. I feel like I’m betraying the person I like, but I’m so desperate to know.”

Cindy feels very sympathetic for her friend. The last person on earth who deserves this is Y/n. “How about I ask Amy for you? We can all meet on Wednesday and talk about it.”

“Okay…okay — yea that — we should do that.”

There was some apprehension in her voice. Y/n doesn’t want to know whether this girl is really Natasha’s ex or just a made up person used to scare her, but she needs to know at the same time.

Cindy reaches out to pat her shoulder reassuringly. Y/n feels somewhat better after getting that off of her chest even if it wasn’t the full story. She’s going to tell Cindy and Amy about her relationship one day, but she has to feel confident in it before she does.

“Boss wants the reports on his desk by 5:30.”

“What? He of all people should know it can take days to finish a report like this. I just started it this morning.”

“Well, you know how Tony is. See you tomorrow.”

Frank walks away from Natasha’s desk without even so much as a sympathetic glance. He was once in Natasha's position, in fact she took over his old job. She sighs in frustration. The demand of her job is usually a cakewalk for her, she spent her college years preparing herself for this, but she’s too distracted to think in a straight line.

Her early morning message of ‘how r u doing? Hope u have a good day’ went unanswered. Granted Y/n has a lot on her plates with finals, but Natasha cannot ignore how short their conversations have been.

There was a big problem that had to be addressed, but Natasha finds that it would be much easier to sweep things under the rug. Y/n insistence on asking too many questions she truly doesn’t want to know the answer to gets a little annoying. Natasha did not have this problem before; not until Bucky had to say something.

She has seen him since but hasn’t said much to him. She cannot for the life of her understand why Bucky was so keen on sabotaging what she has with Y/n. Sure, her love life has been rocky and she has done some not so good things, but her intentions, while not all pure, are very different this time.

She knew Y/n’s location due to the settings in her friend’s Chatzy room, but it’s not like she could’ve planned Y/n stumbling across their chatroom. Her reaching out to Y/n once seeing where she was from did make her reach out, but only because she was close to her. Their first conversation was just an innocuous conversation. But the moment Y/n said that she couldn’t have a myspace because her parents had access to her email, Natasha knew exactly what kind of person Y/n was. Natasha had a strict upbringing and Y/n had all the tale-tell signs of having parents who were similar to hers.

While Y/n was naïve, her age didn’t put Natasha off. Natasha has not had a girlfriend who was within 2 years of her own age in a long time. She cannot pin-point the reason why she gravitates towards younger girls, or at least she doesn’t really want to. When said that Natasha had a type, he only meant the age of her girlfriends and how they were always in college. Natasha’s previous girlfriend’s were between the ages of 19 and 23. Y/n being 19 was a little concerning to Natasha’s friends because she is getting older. They didn’t know what type of person Y/n was, but they didn’t want a 19-year-old to get caught up in a life she wasn’t ready for.

Natasha lives a fast-paced life. Even though she has an office job, she finds herself traveling for work way more than the average person with an office. And her weekends are just as busy. When she first moved to the city she was partying, but three years later and her weekends are a little more “classy.” She often attends conventions, dinner parties that are really just a front for networking, and outings with friends. She’s a working professional that made smart moves when she was in grad school. Her life is strikingly different from Y/n’s undergraduate college life. What 19-year-old would fare well at an office dinner party with 30 and 40 something year old men at the table with her?

That girl Bucky mentioned to Y/n at the party, Steph, was not as significant as Bucky made it seem to Y/n. She was a fling, the two met at a club in the city and the black ‘X’ on the back of her hand had been washed off in the bathroom. Natasha wasn’t looking for a relationship at the time, more casual situations were fitting for her life. She didn’t seek Steph out nor did she know that she went to Brecker. The clubs around the town that Brecker’s campus was built in were lackluster to some of the students, and many of them would make the hour-and-a-half journey to the city for something more exciting, and that was Steph.

With everything weighing on her mind, Natasha wonders if she should initiate the awkward conversation. But so far it has been Y/n that has caved. She was the first one to send a meek ‘hello’ via their Myspace messages just days after Y/n left that morning.

Natasha didn’t mean to come off as so cold, but she did. She is not a person who likes to be questioned when she has shown no signs of wrongdoing. She gets defensive because she feels the urge to defend her name. That’s something she had to learn the hard way when she was thrusted into a completely different life than the one she was used to growing up when she first began college. Yes, Y/n is her girlfriend, but accusatory tones always seem to trigger her. When she was young she would get upset, tears spilling from her eyes and repeating that she was the word “sorry.” That changed when she earned a sense of self, but because defending herself is a new tool in her emotional toolbox, she has not honed her ability to defend herself by denying everything. The outright denial is harmful for someone like Y/n, and Natasha of all people should know that.

Once those papers are done and slapped on her bosses’ desk, Natasha is headed home to the bottle of wine she bought the night before. She has tomorrow off, a rare request she put in so she could have a day in her apartment doing nothing.

On her way home she walks by the cafe where she and Y/n first met in person. She always passes it and it always puts a pep in her step, but the past four weeks have been sour. She doesn’t even stop in for coffee, now making a brew for herself at home so she could avoid the place as much as she can.

She should really, really talk to Y/n. She’s dying to talk to her about things beyond the asinine small talk. She knows it’s wrong but something in her wants to hear Y/n beg a little bit. There is something about her being a bit too naive for her age that Natasha gravitates towards her. She’s easy to pacify and convince.

Her apartment is a bit of a mess since she’s been jammed up with more work than usual. It turns out the work she tried to get ahead on before taking vacation time was more than she expected. She came back to work finding out that she was actually behind and it’s been impossible to catch up, especially with all the strife in her personal life. Her work hours have been extended which means she’s too tired to tidy up her place.

In the back of her mind is that nagging voice telling Natasha to get on Myspace and see if Y/n is online. Her pride is not more important than her relationship.

All her laptop is good for right now is working on her Diversity of Life research paper.

Y/n usually liked to reserve her laptop for the times she talked to Natasha or did other things on her laptop that involved her. However, making treks to the library in the snow and icy sidewalks was not fun. Her laptop had all the programs she needed anyway, so why not stay in the comfort of her dorm?

Y/n did not think her roommate could get any worse, but she is a completely different beast during finals time. She’s always nagging Y/n to turn her desk light off as early as 8:30 so she can wake-up early to study. She makes it virtually impossible for Y/n to do anything let alone be comfortable in her own dorm. The winter weather prevents her from going to either Amy or Cindy’s dorm seeing that they live nearly half-way across campus in sorority housing.

Anytime after 8 o’clock and Y/n is in the student lounge on her floor. A few of the other girls on the floor stop by to use the microwave, giving her a sympathetic glance when they see the amount of books she has open on the table.

Buried in her sea of open tabs is Myspace. She found herself tempted to refresh the webpage every 30 seconds to see if she’s gotten any new notifications. Using work as a distraction was beginning to fail her; the topic of monocots vs dicots just doesn’t hold her attention for that long.

Y/n gives it one more try; she finds the Myspace tab and refreshes the page. It’s uncommon for her to have many notifications, but she has three: new messages, new friend requests, and new photo comments. Her eyes gloss over the other two and go straight to her messages. Natasha is online and the message is from her.

‘Hi what are u doing?’

Y/n was surprised to see her contacting her so late. It’s near 10 o’clock and she knows Natasha has work in the morning. Not to mention how their conversations (if they can even be called that) have been occurring during the earlier hours of the day. She’s more apprehensive than excited to see the message. The message is not alarming itself, but she worries about where the conversation might go.

‘Working on a paper and studying for finals’

‘ur finals r next week right?

I dont really remember Ive been reeeeaaaaalllllyyyy busy with work’

“Yea they start next weeks but I want turn in my papers as early as I can’

‘call me I want to talk to u’

The abrupt turn in the conversation made Y/n panic. She read in a magazine once that if the person you're dating says ‘we need to talk’ then a break-up is coming. Natasha’s words aren’t quite the same, but she still takes it as a bad thing. There is a phone in the student lounge that anyone on the floor can use, but what if someone walks in while she’s using it? How awful would it be if someone walked in the middle of her getting broken-up with.

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes u can. I need to talk to u. Call me.’

Natasha gives her no other choice. Y/n is sure that if she decided to ignore her request then things will for sure become worse. At least if she calls tonight she can try to salvage whatever this mess is.

She presses Natasha’s number into the old buttons on the phone. The phone rings for a little bit longer than she wished until she hears a click.

“Hey sweet girl.”

From the way she slurred her words and her salacious greeting, Y/n knew something was off. At least nothing in her tone indicated that a break-up was imminent.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“I already told you,” Y/n giggled little, finally realizing that Natasha had too much to drink, “I’m working on school stuff.”

“Yea you did — sorry.”

“Um — Natasha, are we good?”

“Yea. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because we had an argument and have barely been talking to each other lately.”

“It’s nothing…it wasn’t anything, okay?”

“I think we should talk about it though-“

“I just said everything is okay. You can’t fall for Bucky trying to get under your skin. You’re not a little girl, do you believe everything someone tells you.”

“No, but he is your friend. How could I not believe him? And don’t pull the ‘little girl’ card with me! You know I’m new to all of this — a-and you’re supposed to be nicer to me. You’re my girlfriend,” Y/n whines. She hates to sound so desperate, and worries that someone can possibly hear her, but that’s exactly how she feels: desperate. It’s unfair for Natasha to put the blame on her. Just because she’s inexperienced when it comes to dating doesn’t mean she isn’t aware when she’s being wrongly blamed for something. In her eyes no one person is to ‘blame’, not even Bucky who basically caused all of this.

The line is silent for a good thirty seconds and Y/n thought Natasha hung up on her until she heard a deep sigh down the line.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to argue with you. Things are complicated.”

“They don’t have to be.”

“But they are. I want you to understand, but it’s not easy. I don’t think you’re a “little girl” but I also know what it’s like to be a 19-year-old girl who grew up with really strict parents. There are going to be things you don’t understand and that’s okay.”

Y/n doesn’t feel like this conversation has given her all the clarity she’s needed, but she focuses on the fact that her and Natasha aren’t ending their relationship.

“I’m sorry too. I should have said something earlier, but I’ve been so busy with the semester ending.”

“I wanna see you before you leave me for a month.”

“I can’t. My parents are coming to get me on Friday. But I’ll be returning to campus early. Maybe I can see you then?”

“Okay, that sounds good. Now I should let you go back to study and go to bed. I have to go in early tomorrow.”

“Okay. Have a good night.”

“You too sweetheart.”

#queueing this so I'll do the tag list later #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff blurb #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #black widow fanfic #mcu #marvel imagines #imagines #mcu imagines #f/f fanfic #f/f

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skrunklybf-archived · 2 years ago

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darling; jean kirstein x f!reader

chapter three: dirt

chapter summary: sometimes, the biggest obstacles we face are the ones we can't see right before our eyes.

tags: childhood friends, slight jealousy, a little fluff, familial issues

wc: 2.5k

notes: this takes place in a universe adjacent to canon -- there are similarities but i'm taking liberties (:

series guide | previous chapter | next chapter

One fairer than my love?

the all-seeing sun

Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.

Gustav Kipp carried himself with a solid air of authority. His slick ashy brown hair stuck to his head like a helmet, but he ran a hand along the side anyway, smoothing back any potential flyaways. Cool brown eyes scanned over the street before his home.

It'd been a few years since his discharge, following a particularly gruesome accident which left him crutch-bound, only a leg and a half remaining below his waist. Despite no longer being a soldier by trade, Gustav took to becoming a neighborhood beacon of sorts, posting up on his shady porch and putting his watchful gaze to use.

"I'm not a damn babysitter," he had gruffed one day, "these damn kids just won't leave me alone."

Catty-corner to his modest stone home, Gustav watched two familiar figures skip closer, abandoning the town square with ripe fruit in their grubby hands. The ghost of a grin twitched at the corners of his lips for a mere second before melting back into the cool hard line he favored.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kipp!" [Y/N], Lukas [L/N]'s girl, threw a chipper greeting over his yard. The old soldier offered her a tip of his head. Out of the gaggle of kids he found himself watching over, she was one of the few he didn't mind lingering around, with her mild temperament and generous use of manners.

At the girls side trotted Marco, another good example and damn near wonder-child. "Hello, Mr. Kipp." the boy also greeted.

Gustav coughed into his fist. "Staying out of trouble, the both of you?"

"Naturally!" Marco replied, his freckled cheeks rosy from the sun.

Though the sentiment normally rang true, [Y/N] couldn't help but feel the slightest bit guilty about her friend's answer, knowing of the kernel of a plan that had been rolling around in her head for the past few days. An extra bundle of fruits hung down at her side, bumping against her leg as they walked. Gustav and his home slipped behind them before long. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"D'you think it's almost done?" the girl wondered, turning a corner with her friend.

Marco popped a grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Probably not. It takes a lot to build a house," he said, "my dad helped build my uncle's house, and it took, like, a year!"

[Y/N] paled, aghast. "A year?!" she whined. The children weaved in and out of thoughtless passerby, careful to pepper out little 'excuse me's as they journeyed. "That's so long..." the girl chewed her lip.

"Yeah, but it's really big and nice, and all of my cousins have their own rooms. Me and Jean only need to make a couple." he smiled.

How Jean managed to wrap Marco up into his grand scheme, she'd never know. The boy was too kind for his own good. Drawing closer to their destination, the two tuned their ears past the idle street chatter, toward a small commotion cropping up just outside forbidden territory.

Kirstein's Kitchen.

A line out the door, the little bakery homestead combo was positively bustling, with awaiting customers impatiently tapping their feet along the cobblestone ground. Even from several buildings away, the heavenly scent of fresh bread permeated the air and washed over the neighborhood. [Y/N] could barely pick up on it anymore, but Marco took a generous whiff, sighing in content.

"He's probably busy." [Y/N] mumbled. "Maybe we should just wait at the house."

House was a strong word for the slabs of wood piled together at the edge of the forest mouth.

Sitting just south of the bustle of town, acting as a border between any curious eyes of Trost and the meadow that had become a frequent destination for the children, the meek foundations laid for a fabulous hideaway home. Mismatched sizes and lengths of lumber laid in a haphazard heap against the thick base of the tree. [Y/N] shook out a blanket underneath the shadow just on the other side, becoming partly shaded from the beating sun.

The brunette eyed the construction materials with a curious gaze, while [Y/N] watched him in a similar fashion.

Marco was fun to hang out with. Surely more calm and mild-mannered fun -- but still fun nonetheless. He wasn't nearly as boisterous or obnoxious as Jean, a fact that came as a blessing on days where the pastry-scented boy manages to fray her last nerve. Marco was always willing to lend an ear; it wasn't too rare that he himself would get caught up in whatever mess Jean wanted to orchestrate for the day.

Part of the young girl wondered how the two boys even became friends. Knowing them then, the duo as they were, it was hard to picture them apart -- but knowing them separately, the tale must've been an interesting one.

[Y/N] could recall fondly how she and the brunette crossed paths, just a year or so prior: Mr. Bodt worked various labor jobs around town, lending his skillful hands as a makeshift carpenter of sorts. [Y/N]s father had paid Mr. Bodt to fix up their delivery cart that had suffered damage during a particularly rough storm. The little boy tagged along, peeking curiously from behind his father's slightly rugged form.

She watched Marco dip and dig into the stolen toolbox he stashed behind a few choice rocks. Perhaps stolen was a strong word -- Marco simply borrowed the old hand tools from his father's workshop, fully intending to return them once their little project was complete. He hummed to himself, pushing the gears in his brain to imagine exactly how he wanted the little clubhouse to lay out.

Bored, sleepy, and perhaps a bit overheated already, the girl leaned herself against the trunk of the tree.

"Wouldn't it be cool if your room had a little balcony?" Marco quipped suddenly, one eye squinted in forced concentration, "and maybe those swirly steps like you see in the tall houses by the square. Reminds me of a castle, yknow, like from those books."

The idea sparkled inside her minds eye. "Woah, yeah! I could be like a princess," she cooed dreamily, "and you and Jean are the knights."

Marco seemed to flush at her words, scratching his head and watching the grass sway through the field. Him, a knight? Surely not. "Well, I dunno about that... I mean... Jean's definitely a knight," he laughed and turned to face the meadow instead, "and you're definitely the pretty princess." He busied himself by brushing wayward dirt from his pants. [Y/N] cocked her head to the side lazily. "What would you rather be? Oh, maybe you can be my royal advisor," she hummed in thought, "or maybe the prince! Eh, who knows, we can figure it out when it's all built."

Sluggish, beat, Jean trudged his way through tickling grass, past a line of familiar greenery. He wanted nothing more than to forget about the beginning of his day. An endless line of customers shoved the tiny family into quite a stressful box, clearing out their shelves and tacking an extra set of orders on for the rest of the week. It felt like hours before his mother released him to the wild with the help of expertly executed puppy dog eyes.

Striking somewhere along the noon hour, Jean knew his friends would be arriving to their spot soon enough. He hoped to beat them there and get a head start on the skeleton of their grand plan. Curiously, though, the sound of a chiming voice caught his ear not too far away.

Leaning past the trees, he could spy the faraway form of Marco, scratching his tilted head. He seemed slightly troubled. The brown eyed boy muttered something or another about a knight, looking a bit despondent. Jean lightened his step, wondering if maybe someone else had stumbled upon their hideout, someone uninvited, but blinked incredulously when the only other body around turned out to be their other baker friend.

"-- and you're definitely the pretty princess," Marco turned away.

Jean furrowed his brow. Marco was definitely a kind and compassionate friend, but the comment felt out of place. He watched his own feet for a moment, taking note of the little ants that began to crawl over his shoes, letting the words sink in further.

Suddenly, Jean didn't feel like playing carpenter. He didn't want to build the house for you three, he didn't want to do much of anything -- a bubble of negativity burned up his throat.

There's so much about life that felt positively unfair to the brunette. He'd griped about it plenty in the safe presence of his best friend, the pretty princess, but nothing ever changed about it all. Was there anything to do about it, anyway? He thought the house would be a step in the right direction; having a place safe from prying eyes, somewhere just for them -- and, by extension, Marco -- but maybe it was a bad idea. Jean felt a wave of selfishness wash over him as his legs carried his body out into the open.

[Y/N] was the first to notice the boy, his face twisted into a somewhat nasty frown. "Hey, Jeanbo!" she beamed from her place on the blanket, smile wide and welcoming as ever. She motioned to the bundle of fruit at her side, "we saved you some berries."

Tight eye contact was briefly shared between the boys before Marco looked away, a quiet sense of embarrassment falling over him. What all had he heard? Hopefully not too much.

"We saw you were busy so we thought we'd get a head start. Well, mostly me, since [Y/N] didn't wanna get dirty..."

"Hey, Gramma would kill me if I tore this skirt. Probably bake me into a pie and serve me to Mr. Kipp."

Jean stood at the edge of the blanket, eyeing the bundle of berries wrapped in a nice little handkerchief. "Y'know, I can do it myself." he muttered. Marco straightened his back, letting the hammer dangle at his side. "I know how to build a house, 's easy." Jean continued. Though he was lying through his teeth, he figured it'd be simple enough to work out, if he were determined enough. And he was, suddenly, for some reason even he wasn't privy to.

Marco blinked quizzically. "It'd be faster if you had help, though. Just putting together the foundation is hard enough by yourself."

"I said it's fine. Aren't you still in trouble with your mom, anyway?"

Marco flushed. He kicked at the dirt beneath him. "Eh, a little bit... I just have extra chores and stuff. What about you?"

A weird sense of tension fell over the friends when Jean began to sputter. The girl, curious, simply switched her gaze between the boys, innocent to the fire flicking away in Jean's belly. "I never got in trouble," he lied, running a hand through his ashy brown hair. Marco made a face that told him he knew better, but let the subject drop where it was, instead turning back to the project with a quiet hum.

"Well, I think we can put the skeleton together before it gets dark, if we start now."

Feelings were an odd concept to tackle for a young boy. How could one put a name to something they couldn't even see with their own two eyes? With night pulling a heavy blanket over the tiring town of Trost, the twelve year old burdened himself with existential questions far beyond his realm of understanding, earning a bitter headache in its wake. He had already parted with his friends, since his home was the first along the line of destinations, and awkwardly watched them bumble away in the thickening twilight. Jean wished he could've walked [Y/N] home instead. Of course, Marco would suffice, but it's the thought that counted, right? The idea of Mr. Kipp seeing them together brought a certain soreness to his behind -- he had blatantly lied earlier, about not getting in trouble. He most certainly took a punishment from his irate mother, thanks to the old soldier himself, one he wasn't keen on reliving if he could help it.

Dejectedly, the boy shuffled through the back door to his home, the smell of savory stew and fresh bread beckoning his heavy heart further. The telltale sign of large and dirty boots poised at the mat in the mud room told him one thing: his father had returned from his work trip.

Jean often wondered what exactly his father was doing during these long absences. What could possibly take up so much time, only for the man to return with meager coin and a rather sour attitude to boot? He knew the official title he took on: Chief of Forestry. What he couldn't wrap his head around, though, was why his father got to travel and do whatever he wanted hundreds of miles away while he and his mother slaved away in a hot kitchen day after day. There were little stories or explanations offered to tide the boy and his slightly bitter curiosity -- only a gruff greeting and curt shoulder squeeze as a welcome.

"My boy," the man in question tousled Jean's hair as he passed by in the kitchen, "you're looking worse for wear."

Ida Kirstein offered a small quip of a laugh at the stove, stirring the stew and smiling down into the pot. "He's been up to quite a lot since you've been gone, dear."

Jean looked down at his dirtied clothes. For what felt like the tenth time that day, he didn't want to be where he was. The warm kitchen suddenly lacked the sweetness that had almost been baked into the walls before.

"So I've heard. In case you've forgotten, Gustav is a friend of mine. He says you've turned into a little spit fire." Oskar Kirstein was never as soft as his wife, in any sense of the word. Even his voice felt like concrete to anyone close enough to catch it. Jean felt himself wanting to shrink away, but stood in place, caught in the doorway between his parents and the freedom of the empty hallway. His father leaned down from his hulking, nearly domineering position seated at the dinner table, catching Jean's reluctant eye. "Never start something you can't finish, son."

"Oskar," Ida chided, "that's my sweet boy you're talking to. Don't go giving him ideas."

With her back turned, the two males shared a double edged look -- one giving a sense of flat seriousness, the other looking humbly vulnerable. Jean simply nodded at his father, looking into eyes the same shade as his own, despite how foreign they felt boring into him.

Perhaps Jean envied Marco for a multitude of reasons, reasons he couldn't quite unpack on his own.

Dinner was a tasteless endeavor. Not the food -- his mother was a decent cook, it tasted just as good as it always did -- but the air felt unbreathable as the boy sat in his own emotions. He had quickly excused himself, cleaned his dishes, and tucked away into his room. Nimble hands unearthed perhaps his biggest secret hidden away in the back of his closet, underneath piles of old blankets and thick sweaters meant for the bleary winter.

A leather bound book, with thick paper pages and a knot of string holding it tightly closed.

#jean x reader #jean kirstein #attack on titan #aot #snk #shinjeki no kyojin #jean kirstein x reader

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hongism · 4 years ago

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 38

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k (._.) ➻ rating: m ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: blood, fighting, violence, weapons, choking (not the sexy kind sorry), self-inflicted injury, some psychological torture, graphic depictions of death, drowning but not really? someone being held underwater, implied suicide (but no graphic depiction) ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part five

Stepping onto the bridge with Wooyoung in tow is an experience to say the very least. Mostly because it is eerily quiet when you arrive, so startlingly empty that you pause the second you step into the room. Hongjoong sits still as a statue in his usual place even though he has truly no need to be in the captain’s chair since you aren’t going anywhere quite yet. The only movements he makes are to cross one leg over the other back and forth every few seconds like he can’t stay put for too long. Other than that, he makes no effort to acknowledge your presence at the edge of the bridge, which would be expected if not for the crucial nature of your mission.

The effects of Soojin’s little concoction are still weighing heavily on your muscles and bones, but you are at least able to keep your eyes open now. Jongho refuses to let go of your waist, and you might complain if you didn’t think you would crumble to a useless heap on the floor once he let you go. You don’t trust your muscles to cooperate that much.

“I see you’re bringing good news,” Hongjoong states as you draw closer to where he’s seated. One quick glance at the observation window tells you he’s carefully watching your every move, including the pair behind you that consists of Yeosang and Wooyoung.

“Aye, Captain,” Jongho says through a smile. Hongjoong finally shifts to look your way, eyes hesitating on your slumped form for a moment before moving to where Wooyoung stands.

“Glad to see you back on board, Wooyoung.” His tone won’t commit to showing how he truly feels, but there is a certain light in Hongjoong’s eyes that he cannot hide, and you find relief in his features as he looks over Wooyoung. It’s brief and temporary, but the obvious warmth that his countenance holds as he and Wooyoung make eye contact is enough to show you how heavily this has been weighing on the young captain as well.

“Glad to be back, Captain,” Wooyoung answers in haste. You can hear the smile in his voice even if you cannot see it.

“Were there any issues with the mission?”

“No, just… a small hiccup.” Jongho glances down at you, and the slight shift has Hongjoong redirecting his focus to you as well. You steel yourself for some sort of lecture, a backhanded comment about staying focused on the task at hand, or maybe even just a comment about you being a weak link. Hongjoong’s gaze never hardens though. Instead, he offers a small nod then —

“I see. Be sure to check in with Yunho in that case.”

Something else nags at the edge of your thoughts then, mostly due to the absence of one certain person on the bridge at the moment.

“Where is Jisung?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

Cold, cold, cold. Red in your vision, hands on your throat, and everything is cold.

“In the brig. We — I decided it would be best to keep him there until the situation changes.” Hongjoong’s answer is spoken through a stiff and uncomfortable tone, and you expect that he was met with some resistance when it came to such a decision. But of course, that begs another question about the other person who is not on the bridge or by Hongjoong’s side like he typically would be.

“And Seonghwa?”

“Also in the brig.” Hongjoong presses his lips together, and he shifts to glare holes into the floor. The shift in his demeanor is slight but unsettling nonetheless, especially as he forces a tight grin onto his lips a second later. “Wooyoung, after you’ve settled and taken some time to recover, I’d like to chat. I won’t ask anything too invasive, but I need to know a little bit about the places you were held and where San and Mingi could possibly be. And Yeosang, a mission debriefing is needed as well.”

“We can talk now, Captain. I’ve got some news that should be helpful anyway!” Wooyoung steps around you to talk more directly to Hongjoong, Yeosang lingering at his side the whole time, and you pull back to give them more space. “I’ll go see our dear doctor after we chat. He’ll talk my ear off anyway.”

“Do you need to see Yunho?” Jongho asks, stepping back with you.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Right now I… I think I just need to see Jisung,” you murmur. How are you going to stomach looking at him without thinking of his hands around your throat and trying to kill you?

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“If he’s in the brig being watched by Seonghwa, how much damage can he do?”

Jongho falls silent at that, mostly because your point holds strong, but he still stays by your side during the walk down there. And arguably yes it is your first time heading down to that part of the ship; the only times you’ve wandered in that vague direction are when you went to the cargo bay with Jongho. There is a different kind of tension in your muscles now though, one that feels much more like walking to your inevitable doom than anything else. That feeling intensifies with each step closer to the small hatch leading down to the brig, a ladder with metal rungs taking you to a place you aren’t sure you want to be. A quick glance over your shoulder shows you a minor portion of the brig, only enough to see three cells lined up on the left then a sharp corner that no doubt leads to more cells in a narrow hallway. Typical of a ship of this caliber. They aren’t built to house prisoners, and any slave trades made with such a vessel would only carry that precious cargo in the cargo hold. They would only need roughly twenty of these cells — five by five squares with just enough space for the average person to stand up comfortably but nothing more than that.

Yet when your feet hit the cold paneled floor and echo a hollow noise, your gaze falls upon Jisung and only Jisung. He is safely tucked away in the middle cell, walls of bars surrounding him and separating your body from his, but that’s hardly noticeable compared to Seonghwa’s absence near his cell. Hongjoong had claimed that Seonghwa was down here with Jisung, and the initial lack of his presence immediately sends your brain into danger mode.

“What did you do with Seonghwa?” You inquire without hesitation, leveling the man you used to admire so fucking much with a glare full of heat you didn’t even know you were capable of. Jisung laughs from the spot where he is curled up on the floor. He has his back pressed to the only solid wall in the cell, knees pulled up to his chest and elbows draped overtop them so that his hands hang loosely down in the space before him. The huff of air that passes through his lips almost sounds like a laugh. It does nothing to quell your nerves — if anything it makes your anxiety spike a bit higher, causing Jongho to lay a hand down on the small of your back in attempts to calm you some no doubt.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your dearest captain that?” Comes Jisung’s scathing reply, complete with a sneer and curled lip. The disdain in his tone isn’t hard to miss at all. His chin tilts. Eyes blaze with some fury. Then he presses his tongue against his bottom lip and forces the skin there to stretch under the pressure. “To think you escaped my cruel clutches just to fall into the filthy hands of a scourge who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. A beautiful irony, don’t you think?”

You don’t give him the pleasure of hearing any response from you.

“Don’t worry, doll. You’ll be safe in my hands soon enough,” he says, tone almost bordering on teasing rather than being serious with the threat. “What’s it? Got one back, no? Not the one you care about though, am I right?” Jisung brings his head forward again, staring down the line of empty cells before him like he’s taunting something nonexistent there. “Poor, poor lieutenant. Denied by both the people he loves. How much bending can an Elitist take until he breaks? I’ve always wondered that… never did get to see Hyunwoo snap after all. Perhaps now I’ll get to witness it with my own two eyes.”

“Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.”

That stops you dead in your tracks, your whole body lurching as you are midway to stepping closer to Jisung’s cell. The words don’t come from your lips, nor do they come from Jongho’s, but the tiny voice in the back of your head tells you that no one snuck down behind you and Jongho. And that Jisung’s staring isn’t coincidental or meaningless at all. A cruel smile curls the corners of his mouth. He prods at one side with the tip of his tongue and releases a laugh that is more hollow than anything else.

You force your legs into action and push yourself forward, although this time you don’t head for Jisung’s cell like you originally intended to do. Instead, you round the sharp corner leading to the remaining cells in the brig with bated breath and a growing sense of dread in your gut.

As it turns out, that dread is not misplaced in the slightest.

Because the moment you stare down the row of metal cages perpendicular to Jisung’s own holding cell, your gaze falls on something heart-wrenching and horrid to see. And Jongho might be confused — a bit beyond merely confused, you’ll admit — but you? You recognize this to be the cruel picture your mind conjured up the day Hongjoong told you that you would be going on the rescue mission for Wooyoung.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come to stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

It’s Seonghwa who sits far in the back of the brig, curled in on himself in the very last cell in the block with what feels like leagues stretching between you and where he is. Chains cuffing his wrists together and a shackle hanging so heavy on his neck that he can barely lift his head. You’ve never seen a man look so small and insignificant in your life; the knowledge and realization that it’s none other than Seonghwa under those chains burn so deep in your chest that you forget how to breathe properly until Jongho shatters the weighty silence by joining you in front of the row of cells.

“Lieutenant?”

“The mission, Jongho. Did you recover him?”

How dare Seonghwa look so gentle and confident even while being chained and held in the brig of his own ship?

“I — yes, Lieutenant, we recovered him but — but you—”

“Good,” Seonghwa interjects. He gives a heavy nod that makes the iron hanging from his neck rattle. “Then there is no reason for you to be down here currently. I’m sure our captain would have much better use for you now than I do.” Seonghwa’s dark eyes remain fixated on you as he speaks, but you’re too far away to even try to discern the emotion concealed in them.

Jongho turns back to the ladder leading out of the cellblock. He doesn’t put up a fight or argue about the matter; merely looks the other way and follows the order like nothing is possibly wrong with the scene unfolding before him.

You, on the other hand, hardly consider yourself the kind of person who gives in so easily.

Thus, against better judgment no doubt, you step around the wall of cells separating you and Seonghwa, then take the steely walk over to that far corner of the brig.

And against better judgment, with Hongjoong’s words of warning ringing in your ears of how dangerous Seonghwa was the last time he was in such a position, you get as close to the cell as humanly possible. You curl your fingers around the bars as you sink to your knees in front of him, eyes unable to find a comfortable resting place anywhere on his body and instead finding purchase on the sliver of the floor still exposed under his knees. He, like Jisung, has his back pressed to the cage, bars digging harshly into his typical billowing black coat. He can’t extend his legs all the way in the cell and is thus forced to keep his knees bent at an awkward angle that will surely hurt after some time has passed. Hands are held together by that short chain and stretched as far as possible over his knees. You would never go so far as to say Seonghwa could ever look pitiful, but this brings you pretty damn close.

“I do not wish for you to see me in this position, Y/N,” Seonghwa whispers without looking over at you. He maintains the same honed stare on Jisung, and now that you’re closer to him you can see that flames of anger that lick at his dark eyes. Despite his words, you can’t bring yourself to move. The weight of your bones suddenly feels heavier than ever and even if you wanted to get up and leave, you don’t think you could. “It was shameful enough to ask Hongjoong to put me here.”

“You… you asked him to do this?” You inquire through a whisper of your own.

“He didn’t want to, of course, but—” Seonghwa cuts himself short and you watch his chest heave as he inhales sharply “—I’m ashamed to admit that I know how to get what I want from him. And thus… I made him put me here.”

“Seonghwa, I — you — why?” If only eloquence could be your strong suit.

“I cannot trust myself. I am not needed for these missions. I am a liability. Anything I do must be under careful watch and instruction, otherwise, I could risk the safety of the crew and the success of our missions.” Seonghwa swallows around nothing and drops his chin to his chest. His mop of black hair falls forward to cover his eyes. You hadn’t realized how long it had gotten in recent days as he pressed it back constantly, but now you can see how the ends caress his eyelashes and near the bottom of his temples. “I pose more of a threat than anything else in this state.”

“Says who?” You insist, pressing your face so far forward that your cheek squishes against the bars. Seonghwa seems startled by your sudden fervor. His eyes go wide and dart over to your face, but they linger for only a second before turning back to his lap. “Was it Jisung? Did he say something? Before he was locked up? Or maybe after? He’s — Seonghwa, you can’t believe anything he says. He wants to cause discord and issues in the crew, he wants trouble because he’s an enemy.”

“He has nothing to do with this, Y/N. Absolutely nothing.” The skin around his eyes crinkles as he squeezes his eyes shut, almost as though he’s in pain. “Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

“What did you do? No, what happened while we were gone?”

The chains around Seonghwa’s wrist rattle so suddenly that it startles you, and his abrupt movements send you back from the cage in a rush without thinking twice. You merely acted out of self-preservation and instinct, and yet —

And yet the damage is already done.

Your eyes dart up to look into Seonghwa’s. He looks more lost and confused than anything else, like a child who can’t find his way home. From the way his lip trembles to the wobble in his gaze and how his hands clench and unclench as though in an unknown ceremony of their own. The man seems — is harmless.

“Go, Y/N, before I truly hurt you.”

This time, you don’t fight him on the matter. You force your legs into action and push yourself up from the floor where you just unceremoniously sprawled in an effort to get away from Seonghwa’s cell. The walk away from him hurts something awful in your chest, like each step you take to get away from him causes a new piece of your heart to break off, but still, you walk until you reach the end of the hauntingly short hall. You can’t keep yourself from staring down that corridor to look at Seonghwa’s crumpled form one more time.

In that moment that couldn’t have lasted more than half a second, you believed that Seonghwa would hurt you, and he believed the same. It only took that much time for the line of trust you thought could be unbreakable to shatter and give out under you. Was it not only recently that you told him you were willing to place your heart in his hands and trust him with it?

“Are you content with yourself yet, Spectre?” Seonghwa’s voice rings clear in the room, echoing off the metal walls with more venom than before. You don’t think that venom is directed at anyone other than himself right now.

“Not even in the slightest, Lieutenant,” Jisung laughs in response. You don’t intend to make eye contact with him, but it happens nonetheless and once it does, you are transfixed on each of his movements. He drags his tongue over his lips before tucking it between his teeth and biting down hard on the tip. “I know plenty about making people break. And I can guarantee that by the time your dearest captain loses his will and decides to let you out, I will have broken you in ways you fear to even imagine. Let’s see how well you can play my game, Lieutenant of Death.”

The urge to reach a hand between the bars and strangle Jisung where he sits is so overwhelming that you see red. Somehow you find it in you to turn away, using some shred of reason and logic because you know you need Jisung as much as you wish you didn’t — until San and Mingi are safely back on the ship, you cannot risk killing him.

And to your surprise, Jongho is not waiting outside the hatch when you surface in the corridor again. It falls shut with a loud bang, trapping Jisung and Seonghwa both in their little prison once more.

The pressure around your head is mounting and becoming hard to ignore, even through the lingering effects of Soojin’s concoction. It seems the drowsiness wishes to win out, however, seeing as you pull yourself to your bedroom without much thought and more like it’s some form of muscle memory instead. Between all the things happening around you at the moment, it’s hard to pinpoint just one thing and focus on it.

San is still missing.

Seonghwa locked himself in the brig.

Han Jisung is terrorizing you and your crew out of some odd desire to claim you.

Mingi is still missing as well and at risk of being reprogrammed back into the Brute of Kebos.

Wooyoung, in the very least, is safely back but no doubt suffered new and awful traumas that he’ll have to deal with in the coming months.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa fought for what feels like the hundredth time.

You found Soojin in a brothel then promptly got confirmation that your memories were indeed wiped a second time without you knowing. Delightful, truly.

All that swirling back to the mounting headache that pierces the left side of your head so hard you see little flashes in your vision. And despite the need to most likely think through things, weigh your options, try to do something other than just sitting around and waiting for someone else to plan, you merely curl up under your sheets in the darkness after wiping away your leftover black lipstick and changing into some more comfortable clothes.

Alone again. It’s odd how you went from being on your own almost constantly for three years to now being so dependent on having someone by your side. Maybe it was the knowledge that you had no one back then that kept you sane. Now, however, you know there are people around you, close to you, people you would almost dare to say you can rely on for safety and trust. An image of Jisung’s cruel smile flickers in your mind before you close your eyes to sleep.

Trust got you nowhere before.

Would it be foolish to make the same mistakes again?

…

There’s a cold hand wrapped tight around your own, but even as you look down at it you can’t figure out who it belongs to. Another hand is folded over your eyes, blocking every ounce of your vision and leaving you shrouded in darkness. You have no idea where you are or where you are heading, and though your first instinct is to fight, you feel somewhat safe under the hand that holds yours.

“Kan han ceso, Umiko. Nu an nadu. Un cu nu, Umiko, un nukon.” The words grate against your ears, a soft-spoken voice whispering the foreign language to you through the darkness, and you blink hard against the hand covering your eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper back, only to be answered with more confusion and unknown words.

“Nadu, nadu. Sosun hen.”

The hand around your head slips away only to shove hard at your back. You don’t have time to turn to face your companion before a door is slammed shut on your back. You whip around to face the wall of metal, seeing nothing beyond the dark.

“Wait! Don’t — don’t leave me here!”

“Kidehon u Nurun, Umiko.”

Despite not knowing what any of the words mean, a chill rushes down your spine and leaves goosebumps all across your skin. Then a shrill scream tears you away from the door and back to the reality swirling together behind you. It’s moreso the contents of the scream that catch your attention because through the sudden swarm of yells and shouts, you catch one recognizable word.

“Yeosang!”

It’s like a veil is torn away from your eyes and you can suddenly see the world around you with so much clarity and brightness it hurts. And the first thing your gaze lands on is the sight of Wooyoung being dragged by the waist back into what seems to be a spitting image of the House of Lilies. His captors are hooded figures, unimportant and insignificant compared to Wooyoung who flails around desperately in their arms to get out. And across from him, running and running but never once catching up because a massive crowd of people blocks his path, is none other than Yeosang. You push your way forward as well in attempts to reach the Elitist. Each step is harder than the last with the way faceless figures shove your shoulders and force you back until his blond head of hair is out of sight. You can’t see Wooyoung’s face any longer either; all you can hear are a few distant shouts and screams that are unintelligible by now.

You have no choice but to let the crowd guide you to an unknown destination, shifting to follow their hasty steps before you get trampled to the ground. They’re too tall for you to see past their shoulders, all shrouded in black coats and suits with masks covering their faces as well, and you are only left with confusion the more you try to get a closer look at them. That confusion lingers for a while, and as you walk, the shouts and yells around you morph into cheering. It’s deafening, growing louder with each second, but the hoards simply continue into what seems to be the source of the sounds.

Once you finally reach that destination, your heart drops through your stomach because it’s tall colosseum walls that rise up around you. They are painfully recognizable, and you can almost guess what you’re about to witness given what you just saw transpire with Wooyoung and Yeosang.

The confirmation, albeit unneeded, hurts worse than you thought. As the crowd ushers you into the arena, you stumble up familiar stairs and come to a halt at the railing looking over the heart of the colosseum.

Mingi stands at the center of it all, donned in leather and copper armor like a gladiator of olden times that have long since become mere myths for children’s stories. Red streaks down his cheeks and covers him in a bloody glow under the sun. You watch him as though in a daze. Each movement he makes is like a dance between the way he swings a longsword in one hand and an ax in the other. The beauty of Mingi’s swings dissipates into a cloud of panic and horror when his opponent comes into sight across from his tall form.

“Jongho, Jongho, no!” You scream through the din ringing into your ears. A hand stretched down to the pit below in vain because there is no way for you to even attempt reaching them.

There’s a flash of red again, this time one that reaches across Mingi’s blade and spreads onto the sand below their feet. You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears through your lips.

“It’s not real, Y/N, it’s not real,” you murmur to yourself, not daring to look back down even as the cheers continue to swell around you. “It’s just a dream, you need to wake up. It’s not real.”

The most obvious clue that this is not real is the fact that you see Jongho — another Jongho — stepping out of the gates into the arena just seconds after Mingi cut him down. The body hasn’t even dissipated into thin air; it still sits at Mingi’s feet, a lifeless corpse that will continue to haunt you for god knows how long. The second Jongho comes forward to replace the last, standing completely still before Mingi like he’s nothing more than a training dummy for Mingi to kill over and over.

That is exactly what you are forced to witness too because the tall figures surrounding you refuse to let you budge or turn. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut each time Mingi lifts his arm. This hell is almost worst than the last. Seeing Yeosang and Wooyoung being torn apart burned deep in your chest but this?

Mingi killing the person who cares about him perhaps more than anyone else? Like it’s only a game or a sport to be played for entertainment?

That leaves a different pain in your chest. One that cuts deep and tries to sever your heart from your body.

You lose count of the bodies down in the area, and counting them would only hurt more so it’s a foolish plight to even imagine right now. Your limit comes soon enough, however, and in a fit of desperation, you shove so hard at the figures behind you that they topple over like dominos.

The mantra of reminders of how this isn’t real still runs on repeat in your head, but even forcing your way out of the crowds grants you no reprieve.

You can still hear the cheering, the way the crowd shouts for more blood then delights in another kill. And now that you know it’s Jongho being cut down by none other than Mingi, it makes matters much worse. You don’t make it three steps out of the arena before you’re stumbling to the ground on your hands and knees. A dry heave wracks your form, forcing up nothing but air. The contents of your stomach are nonexistent in this hellscape yet your body continues to convulse until bile drips from your lips.

“Please make it stop, make it stop, please, please, please,” you beg to the sand under your form.

“Y/N?”

Normally the voice would fill you with a sense of relief, but given what you’ve seen thus far, it only fills you with incredible dread.

You lift your chin to look Yunho in the eye nonetheless. He stands several feet away from you, unmoving and nearly statuesque with his pose. That peace lasts all of four seconds. He chokes out a cough. It sounds far too thick and wet for it to be merely a normal cough. Your fears turn to reality when blood coats his bottom lip after the next cough.

“Y-Yunho, no, n-no, not you too, please.”

Another cough and Yunho is on his knees like you are.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I… I wasn’t good enough to keep this from happening.”

“No, no, no, p-please, no, Yun—”

“This was the only thing I could get right.”

Your chin drops to your chest.

“You’ll be okay, won’t you? Our little Ghost…”

“No more. Please, Daichi, if this is your doing, then end it! End it please, please stop this!”

The response to your pleas is a hand clasping hard at the back of your neck. It shoves you to the ground with little effort until you are sprawled out on your stomach. You release a weak cry into the dirt, thrashing hard under the stranger’s grip. Another hand closes around your ankle. You aren’t given any time to prepare as it yanks you forward, dragging your body over the scratchy ground. You can feel your skin splitting under the impact yet as much as you twist to get out of it, the best you can do is flip onto your back and let the abuse continue there. Your new position allows you to at least see your attacker, a tall and lanky figure with sweeping black hair. You can barely see the outline of her face, but she looks strikingly familiar, like a person you’ve seen once in your dreams. It isn’t until you have been pulled all the way to a new destination that you realize exactly who she is.

“Mother.”

Seonghwa stands in the center of this barely lit room you’ve been dragged into, gun in hand and shrouded in a black cloak.

This is Seonghwa’s mother. Of course it is. This nightmare is not only yours but both Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s as well, the thing that has been so glaringly present for a while now. And in your inability to stop thinking about it, it has landed you here to live out this unending nightmare.

Seonghwa lifts the gun to aim it at his mother’s skull. He doesn’t spare you even the slightest glance, so dead-set on this mission that nothing else exists in his mind. You don’t have time to react before the gun goes off and echoes through the room. You scramble back on shaky legs when the woman in front of you crumples to the ground. Scarlet ebbs from her skull in mere seconds.

You think that’s it — hope would be a better word actually. You wish for the nightmare to end here with Seonghwa killing his mother, but it gets worse as Seonghwa turns the gun to his own skull and places the barrel against his temple. Despite already knowing that nothing you do in this dream will make it stop, you rush forward practically like an animal to stop him.

Something — or someone, rather — beats you to it.

A force hits you so hard that you are sent sprawling to the floor again, landing somewhere near Seonghwa’s mother, and upon looking up to see your sudden attacker, you find Hongjoong standing before Seonghwa instead. He’s in the middle of trying to wrestle the gun from Seonghwa’s hand, aiming it high at the ceiling before Seonghwa can hurt himself.

“Stop it, Seonghwa, I won’t let you do this!”

“Let me die, damn it, you were supposed to keep me from doing this!”

All you can do is watch as the fight unfolds before you with a growing sense of horror because you know where this is going to end. It will end the same way it has for everyone else in this nightmare. The thought of watching Seonghwa die and not being able to do anything to stop it is almost too much of a burden to bear.

If that was the worst scenario your mind could come up with, what actually happens minutes later is far far worse. You don’t see where it comes from but you don’t need to either; all you see is Seonghwa barreling into Hongjoong’s smaller form with all his strength until both are them are pressed to the nearest wall. The silence that overtakes the room is deafening. You don’t realize that there is anything wrong until you see hear the soft pitter-patter of blood dropping to the ground.

There’s a pointed metal spike sticking out of Seonghwa’s back, dripping blood from not only Seonghwa’s body but also Hongjoong’s.

“I’m sorry, my beloved.”

In a cruel twist of fate, you see the metal joining their bodies together, watch the way their chests rise and fall in shaky patterns that show their diminishing strengths. Hongjoong’s chin is the first to fall, dipping down to his chest as his eyes fight to stay open. Seonghwa is crying — no, sobbing with all the effort he can muster and pressing his lips to the edge of Hongjoong’s hairline through muttered apologies.

You know your limits, and you know you are not nearly strong enough to witness them die like this, even if it’s together and at Seonghwa’s own hand.

Thus, you push yourself up onto shaky legs and stumble out of the dark room as best you can with Seonghwa’s shaky cries ringing so loud in your ears that you fear you will never escape it for a second. There is a lingering sense of dread curling in your gut at the moment, however, because you have witnesses horrors happening to every single one of the crew except for one. And arguably, it is the one you fear the most, the one you wish to avoid the most, yet every attempt to force yourself awake before you can come across him fails miserably. The next room you stumble into is another familiar one, much like the distant memories you have of being strapped to a cold metal chair, but in this room, the chair is occupied by a man with jet black hair and a tuft of white at the front. You can’t manage more than a pained whimper as you step close to the chair.

Rounding the metal brings you face to face with him, although his eyes are shut as though he is asleep. For a fraction of a second, you think the worst has happened and throw your hands down on his chest to lean over San’s reclining body. He jolts at the contact, a sharp gasp tearing through his dry and cracked lips when he comes back to the land of the living.

“San, oh S-San, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re safe, I promise,” you babble like a woman possessed. Your hands come up to cradle his face and brush a few long strands of hair away from his eyes. It takes too long for him to fully come to his senses, eyes blinking against the harsh light that filters down from the ceiling, and you wait with bated breath for him to say something as he registers your face. “Hi.” You’re too lost in the moment to remember this is a nightmare, too enamored with the mere sight of San’s face. When the reverie is torn away from you, it hurts worse than you could ever have imagined it would.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

Your chest tightens to the point where it hurts to breathe.

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispers back, pulling his face away from your hands as best he can in his current position. You withdraw your hands as though burned and fall back onto your ass so hard you bounce a little. It should hurt, but the pain in your chest outweighs that by far. San sits up and slings a leg over the side of the chair, the other following shortly after. He steps down off the metal to come closer to you. His head is tilted in question, and his eyes search your face like he’s attempting to recognize you.

You hardly realize what’s happening before he’s bending over you and latching his hands around your neck. When he shoves you down to the ground, you aren’t met with the cold floor but rather a splash of water. It’s murky and an almost copper shade, like someone has doused you in blood and water. San’s grip on your neck tightens until you’re forced to choke up a few air bubbles.

“Did you think you were someone worthy of remembering?” San speaks to you through the water, voice coming to your ears in a muted tone. His features fall into a blur, and he squeezes at your skin so hard you see spots dance across your vision. You cry out in the water even though you know it won’t do you any good. “Did you think you earned that right? What use are you to me? Someone who couldn’t even do the bare minimum and protect me when I needed it… useless.”

San huffs out a loud laugh that echoes around you.

“You are completely and utterly useless to me.”

Sleep might have come easy to you but it does not claim you for long. Rarely are you ever awoken by nightmares; your body tends to just continue on with sleeping until the morning, but tonight is one of those oddities where the nightmares wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. With the end of dream San’s cruel monologue, you startle awake, gasping for breath like you had been holding it the entire time you were asleep. A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table shows that it’s nearing one o’clock in the morning, so you were hardly asleep more than four hours.

You almost wish that Jongho stayed by your side through the night, if only to provide the comfort you want so desperately from someone who isn’t here. It wasn’t even an offer he posed or one that you asked for, but you find yourself wondering if it would have been better to seek out that comfort. And maybe it’s selfish of you to crave that peace that Jongho claims to have brought him for so long, but the appeal of not waking up alone is too tempting. Being able to have that with Seonghwa — the ability to go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with the knowledge that someone was there if anything went wrong — is something you took for granted. On nights like these, it’s all you could ever ask for. And while you and Seonghwa made the mutual decision to sever the more intimates parts of your relationship, it’s become glaringly obvious to you that you don’t have anyone to rely on for physical comfort anymore, even just the smallest action of holding a hand or sleeping beside you. Did you dream of him? Jongho might ask, hand outstretched to offer some sort of relief from the anxiety tugging at your heart. Either that or to try to take it away as best he can.

Yes, and it was wretchedly awful and horrible, you think. Something wet slips down the side of your temples before you can stop it. I feel I might lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

Why, why, why did this happen?

Surely you’ve been through worse in the past, but this feels so much more potent than those times, either because those memories are tucked away or because you’ve never felt this strongly about needing to protect someone before.

You roll onto your side and let the stray tears slide across the bridge of your nose now.

Staring at the bed does absolutely nothing (even though you knew it wouldn’t); neither does reaching out to put a hand over the cold sheets there.

These days you keep finding your mind slipping back to the memories of Echidna. They’ve become so much more vivid since the entire kidnapping situation, yet oddly enough you cannot bring yourself to recall the actual torture you and San suffered together at the hands of Cara. Rather, you keep coming back to a monotone hotel room with a creaky bed and fluffed pillows.

“I won’t leave this time,” you mutter. You can feel heat radiating from San’s cheeks even though you can’t see the flush to his skin.

“I’ll hold you all night to make sure you don’t,” San whispers back. Hot breath fans over your lips. You aren’t sure what comes over you but you lift the hand resting against San’s chest to trace over the outline of his lips with two fingers. He smiles into the touch.

It brings a startling realization to your bones when you find yourself reaching out to the nothingness before you like he will be there because how could he be gone, why is he gone, he isn’t supposed to be gone.

“I’m scared to let you in,” you admit, bring your gaze back up to San’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with a gentleness in his eyes that catches you off-guard.

“You don’t have to let me in yet. Just try to trust me.”

“Okay… okay. I can do that.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

You should have never let go of the hand he outstretched towards you. It’s a hefty realization, one that weighs down on your body so much you struggle to breathe because you would do anything to have him back. And perhaps you didn’t appreciate him enough while you had him, perhaps you took that time where he was safe for granted and didn’t think it could happen again. Because even though you had told Yunho back around the time of the incident that you would never be able to look at him without worrying something bad would happen once more, you let your guard down and believed him to be entirely safe.

A huff of air passes through your lips, then you sit up in bed to throw your legs over the side of the mattress. Your gaze lingers on the bedside table for a moment, only to recall what’s been hidden inside there since you returned from Echidna. You haven’t forgotten about the pardon papers per se; your mind has understandably been elsewhere and things took a turn during that mission with San. Before then you were so dead set on leaving without a word.

It wasn’t Hongjoong who convinced you to stay back then even though you left you with several pretty threats and propositions.

It wasn’t Seonghwa with his comforting words and touches that burned your skin.

Nor was it any other member of the crew outside of San. It was always Choi San, the Spectre with a cat-like grin and pretty eyes, and he wormed his way into your heart with such little effort that it still scares you quite a bit. If you had absolute certainty that what you remember from your time in the military was true and real, you might say that the only time you felt this way towards another person was with Jisung, but you doubt that now with recent revelations.

How much easier would life be if you could simply roll back into bed and find San there waiting at your side, all warm smiles and gentle gazes as he urges you to sleep once more?

Unfortunately for you, life is far from easy and that is not an option, so you do the only other logical thing that comes to mind and that is to stand up and leave your bedroom without looking back at that cursed bedside table. If you can’t have San or anyone else to calm you down at the moment, perhaps a short walk around the ship will do you some good.

It is that very thought that lands you on the bridge and in front of the observation window. Despite the late hour, some workers are milling about in the hangar bay Hongjoong has landed you all in, doing their duties without cease. Some are cleaning and sweeping at the floor even though it looks spotless to you, others are polishing other ships in the bay, and you’re sure that if you could see near the bottom of The Horizon, you would find them doing the same there. There are a few others who don’t quite look like the workers do — perhaps people from the other ships — who sit on boxes and offer each other seemingly menial chatter based on the way their gestures remain casual. They seem so calm and at peace compared to what you have been experiencing with this crew where trouble seems to be around every corner and you can’t get a breath of peace for more than a day.

Briefly, you picture yourself in their shoes one day. It’s something you can only wonder about because you aren’t sure whether that’s even a possibility for you, but the image of sitting on one of those boxes with Jongho sitting on one side and Wooyoung on the other floats to mind. And maybe Yeosang would be wedged between Wooyoung’s legs with hands held tightly together like even a breath of air could separate them. You imagine Mingi would be lingering near Jongho rather than anywhere else, draped over the other Berserker and pressed as close to him as possible because it grounds him and keeps him in one piece for the time being. Yunho would probably be doing something like reading a medical article or book and muttering to himself about the contents of the writing, nearby but never too far from the rest of you. In that daydream, Hongjoong and Seonghwa would come around the corner of the ship side by side, and the captain would have a hand pressed to the small of his lieutenant’s back because he can’t bear to be any further than that. Then San — darling San — would rush around them with a smile on his lips and dimples flashing to barrel straight into your chest with a resounding laugh. You dare to let yourself imagine the peace and serenity of the scene, dare to picture San pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a laugh over your lips, but every image your mind conjures up hurts worse than the last.

You may want that desperately, but it’s not something you can achieve.

The daydream ends with hands around your neck and bloody waters clouding your vision. And thus, you startle yourself back to reality and tear your gaze away from the hangar bay below as not to let the images come back.

The peace you wish for is not one you can ever hold in the palm of your hand the way you wish. The crew cannot have it either so long as you are present in their lives. The next sound to tear through your consciousness nearly makes you believe that they wouldn’t be able to have that peace even if you weren’t around to mess it up. There’s a resounding shout of frustration followed by something loud thumping against the wall off to your left and behind you a bit. You whip around to stare at the door to Hongjoong’s quarters, the source of the sound, and wait with bated breath for something else to happen. You aren’t sure what exactly you’re waiting for — perhaps for the captain to step out in a huff of anger or something like that — but nothing happens for the next thirty seconds, which is what causes you to pull closer to the door. It’s hardly your place to eavesdrop on whatever is happening inside, although that doesn’t stop you from doing so anyway.

“I shouldn’t have had to put him in that fucking brig in the first place!” That clearly comes from Hongjoong; you can tell just from his voice, but he must not be alone in there as it sounds like his rant is directed at someone. “This isn’t the same situation as last time! He knows that the mission is our priority, that the goal is to get San and Mingi back, he wouldn’t let himself lose sight of that. The Seonghwa I know wouldn’t do that!”

“Then you shouldn’t have listened to him when he asked you to put him in there, Hongjoong! You were the one who bent over backward for him yet again.” It’s Yunho’s voice that rises through the door next, and that is equal parts shocking and unsurprising because you aren’t sure who else would possibly be in there with Hongjoong at this hour. “Your only two options are to either leave Seonghwa where he is or let him out to do as he wishes. If he chooses to go out there and kill his mother, then so be it!”

“That’s not what he wants, Yunho,” Hongjoong refutes without missing a beat. “And it’s not what I want either — I don’t care for either of those options. I want to let Seonghwa out and have that be that, nor for him to go off and murder someone! He hardly wants to kill her, it’s just what he thinks he ought to do as an Elitist but — you… you wouldn’t understand it, Yunho. You wouldn’t understand what goes through Seonghwa’s head or what he wants.”

The next sound to fall from Yunho’s lips is a scoff, and you can almost picture the way his eyes roll with the noise.

“You can’t pretend like you understand what all Seonghwa wants either, Hongjoong.”

There’s another clatter and something smacks into the wall again.

“I’m trying my fucking best! I am trying my best to know what he wants right now. All I know for certain is what he is afraid of, and I know that he fears turning into the kind of person his father was and he fears losing himself. This would—”

“You can’t know whether this would make that happen, Hongjoong, that’s the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Are you encouraging murder all of a sudden? When have you gone a minute without chastising me for taking an innocent’s life?”

“And when have you ever hesitated to let your precious Lieutenant of Death kill someone? How many people have you killed yourself? How many have you asked Seonghwa to kill? How many innocents have bled under your hands, Hongjoong?” Yunho fires back, seeming to grow louder with each question he poses. “Is his mother innocent of all crimes? Does she not deserve to die? Because Seonghwa sure talks about her like she deserves a fate worse than death!”

“And if she deserves death then I will bring it upon her myself!” Hongjoong accentuates his words by slapping his hands down on his desk, letting the sound echo after he speaks, and Yunho doesn’t respond for a bit.

“How angry would Seonghwa be if he found out then?” Yunho inquires, tone so low you can barely pick up on the words.

“He wouldn’t need to, Yunho. He wouldn’t need to find out. He could just hear that she passed away in her sleep a long time ago because of age or illness.”

“You’re so ready to base your relationship with him on lies when doing so was what caused things to go to shit between you in the first place. I can’t fix you a second time, Hongjoong. I can’t do shit if you are the one making things intentionally worse. You need to sit your ass down in that fucking brig like a god damn man would and take responsibility for your mistakes. Then you need to ask Seonghwa what he wants and hear it from his own damn mouth rather than assuming what Seonghwa wants and hoping for the best. Fucking listen to him and trust him for once instead of making every decision in his life for him. Why do you think he ran off to Y/N in the first place?” That causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and you seize up as though both men inside know you’re standing outside the door as they speak. “He at least got to choose her.”

“He chose to join my crew, he asked to join my crew, he chose a fuckton of things in his life, Yunho! You want me to be a man? I am his captain. Is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not, Hongjoong. You being captain doesn’t mean shit to me unless you have the balls to back it up, and from where I’m standing, you aren’t going to step up anytime soon. There are only two people on this ship who can put you in your place. That includes both me and Seonghwa, but Seonghwa stopped doing it a long time ago because you changed the dynamic of the relationship without stopping to ask him how he felt.”

“Are you trying to act like you’re in control now?” Hongjoong counters, but his voice has lost a bit of the edge in it.

“Act?” Yunho releases a tiny hum. You can almost feel the way the mood inside the room shifts despite not being inside yourself. “Now you’re just trying to rile me up so you get what you want and I forget about this conversation.”

“That would only be the case if it works, Yunho.”

You pull back from the door, having a slight sense of where this conversation is headed and realizing that you probably shouldn’t stay any longer. As you move to exit the bridge, however, you can’t help but wonder how much of what Yunho said is accurate.

Would — could Seonghwa really want to kill his mother? Maybe for a sense of closure and peace? To put that part of his life behind him for good perhaps?

If Hongjoong truly were to kill the woman behind Seonghwa’s back, then you don’t doubt that Seonghwa would be enraged, to put it mildly. Everything you have seen from him thus far since meeting him has shown you that he prefers to do things himself than to rely on others to do it for him. Yet… even if his mother passed of natural causes, you are not sure that Seonghwa could have his closure unless he saw her body with his own two eyes. So maybe that is why his inner voice is as desperate as it is for him to kill her.

You cannot speak for Seonghwa himself, but you do know a fraction about such closure. Not seeing Hyunwoo’s body after the execution and having to dig an empty grave was one of the most painful experiences of your life, even if you cannot remember much of it or if it was completely fabricated, the pain you were left with from said memory is still sore to the touch. You would have given anything to have his body to bury but instead, you were left with absolutely nothing, not even something small and of value to him in life. You were denied closure then. It causes you to think back to those pardon papers again. If you had been granted that closure, would you have even sought the pardon papers in the first place? Would you have gone off and settled down somewhere no one could find you?

Seonghwa has mentioned craving peace before. You know you will never have yours because of your lack of closure, so perhaps if he were to achieve his, then things would end better for him.

That thought stops you dead in your tracks, midway down the corridor leading away from the bridge.

Although… Seonghwa mentioned begging to be put in the brig. If he truly wanted this, then why the hell would he ask for such a thing?

“Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

You make a spur of the moment decision right then and there, spinning on your heel in the middle of the corridor and inhaling sharply as you head back to the bridge with a new thought in mind. You wish to hear from Hongjoong himself what transpired before Seonghwa was put in the brig and the reasoning as to why Hongjoong agreed to such a thing. Sure, now might not be the opportune time for such a discussion, but you have already made up your mind and it’s unlikely you would be able to sleep with this plaguing your thoughts anyway.

Less than a minute passes before you are back at Hongjoong’s door, this time rapping your knuckles as hard and loud as you can on the metal. You hear nothing more of a conversation inside — neither his nor Yunho’s voices filter through the door until after your knocking ceases. Then a bit of shuffling resounds followed by some mutterings that vaguely sound like complaints of some sort. That could not have prepared you in the slightest for the sight that greets you when the door finally slides open.

First of all, it is not Hongjoong who stands before you, but rather Yunho.

And not only that little shocking tidbit because Yunho is very much standing half-naked with pants hung low around his hips and absolutely no shame or insecurity in the way he leans against the doorframe to greet you.

The inherent shock from the sight causes you to sputter and choke on air, gaze darting off to the side and away from the healer as quick as humanly possible. You truly do your best to ignore the very obvious trail of bruises along the column of his neck and collarbone, along with the ones traveling lower.

“Oh? Looking to join us, Y/N?” He asks. An amused grin paints his lips, you can see that much out the corner of your eye.

“Abs-Absolutely not, Yunho, are you mad?” You refute through a stutter and dare to focus back on his face (and his face only). Yunho arches an eyebrow, not at all shy in the way he drags his gaze over your body from head to toe. You ignore him with a scoff then ready to duck around his stupidly tall form. He seems to catch that before you can though because he darts a hand out across the doorway and effectively blocks your path inside.

“You certain about that? You seem a bit eager to come in.” Your only reply is a pointed glare. Thankfully, Yunho picks up on the hint in that look after a second and shifts his tone. “Is it an emergency?”

“I need to ask Hongjoong something, it’s important. About Seonghwa.” You see movement just past Yunho’s shoulder and glance beyond him. Hongjoong stands back at the other edge of the room in the doorframe to what must be his bedroom. You nearly don’t recognize him right them because of how… incredibly fragile he appears to be. A blanket wraps around his shoulders and torso, dwarfing his already small figure and making him almost come across as something delicate. If someone asked you to point out the horrifying and menacing pirate captain in the room, you would glance over Hongjoong without a thought.

“I take it you’ve been down to the brig then?” Hongjoong pipes up. His voice bounces off the walls to reach your ears, confident and knowing.

“I have.”

Hongjoong ducks his chin to his chest, and the way his breathing shakes his form almost makes him seem like he’s laughing at your response. Then he comes closer to join you and Yunho where you stand. You hardly miss the way one of the captain’s hands darts out to touch Yunho’s bare waist before he brushes a soft kiss over the back of Yunho’s shoulder. It’s a rare — no, more than simply rare, it’s frankly a sight you have never seen from Hongjoong before in that you have never witnessed him be so openly intimate with anyone in the crew in such a way. Perhaps the closest he has gotten was when you were left in the medbay with him and Seonghwa, but even that was not as… openly blatant as the way he touches Yunho before you now. Yet it does not seem to be meant to tease you in any way; you moreso get the sense that it’s almost a threat in a way. After all, you are still the newest on the crew and you aren’t sure you have fully gained Hongjoong’s trust. If this is a challenge, you aren’t sure how it is meant to test you.

“Go back to the bedroom. I’ll be there shortly,” Hongjoong murmurs against Yunho’s slightly flushed skin. The healer steps away with nothing more than a nod. Hongjoong waits until the taller man disappears into that room he just emerged from before turning back to face you. He still seems smaller in your eyes like this even though he is closer; the two of you are more evenly matched when he’s not wearing his typical heeled boots. The blanket around his body strains as he pulls it tighter. He, like Yunho, is very clearly not wearing much in the way of clothes underneath, but at least he covered himself mildly even if you can see a deep v exposing his chest through the folds of the fabric. It is enough for you to see numerous bumps and ridges along that strip of skin, all discolored and mismatched lines that mar an otherwise perfect canvas of tanned skin. Even if expected, it’s an alarming amount of scars for such a small expanse of skin. And if you look past the points where scars are, you can make out the barest hint of black ink accompanying the marks — it spreads over him like a constellation, connected by lines and threads of varying thickness to meet each other in other corners.

You tear your gaze away with great effort, clearing your throat as you blink up to look the captain in the eye.

“Seonghwa mentioned that something happened while we were gone on the mission. He asked me to leave before I had the chance to ask further about it but…” Your voice dies in your throat then, and nerves suddenly curl in your stomach. When you speak again, it’s in nothing more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Hongjoong hums.

It’s the only sound he makes for quite a while too, and you think he has no intention of continuing the conversation until he shifts his blanket all of a sudden and exposes the lower half of his body. Just as before with Yunho, you are swift to look in the opposite direction before you spot anything you do not wish to see.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Captain,” you grit out, finding a newfound interest in the wall to your left. Hongjoong exhales a laugh that’s so soft it sounds more like a sigh.

“Seonghwa stabbed me.”

Now that has your head jerking back to examine him, and thankfully, your eyes settle on pants around his hips rather than nothing at all. One of his hands slips down to tap what looks to be a bandage. He peels it back as gently as possible and reveals a narrow yet long slice along his abdomen, almost parallel to his side. All in all, it doesn’t appear to be too gruesome or gnarly, no doubt held together by liquid stitches of some sort.

“We had a small argument after putting Han in the brig,” Hongjoong continues. As usual, his tone is near impossible to read with no clues as to what he is feeling as he recalls the memory.

“Did it involve discussions of Seonghwa’s mother?”

“Yes, yes, of course, it did.” Hongjoong returns the bandage to its original placement then tugs the blanket back around his body. He brings a hand up to run through his mess of fading blue hair. “It didn’t start that way though. He accused me of caring more about him appearing to be an Elitist than anything else. Threatened to tell Jisung that he is a Siren along with the rest of the crew. I doubt Jisung even cares about Sirens in the slightest given the way he is hyperfocused on you instead, but Seonghwa has always been so adamant about being wanted by others because of what he is. And I know that we were both acting rashly and out of fear rather than reason, but it doesn’t — that does not excuse what we said to each other. I told Seonghwa that perhaps he might feel better killing me rather than his mother, and that obviously did not go over very well. That’s when he stabbed me, well, it was more a glancing blow than a stab. Hardly even deep enough to cause significant damage, but Seonghwa damn near acted as though I was fucking bleeding to death though. He called for Yunho to get me patched up them begged that I put him in the brig. As much as I wanted to deny him that, I complied.”

“I can talk to him,” you offer without a second thought.

“Talk to him? What is it you think to do, Y/N?”

“I was denied my closure, Captain, and that has haunted me every day for the past several years. You… you are a person who achieved that already; I don’t need to know the details of your backstory to understand that because it is more than clear in the way you handle yourself and matters around you. But Seonghwa? He hasn’t gotten his closure either. At least allow me to talk with him and see if this is what he truly wants before you rule anything out.” Hongjoong regards you with nothing more than a lingering stare for a bit. You take it as a cue to excuse yourself and leave, yet the second you turn to do so, he catches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to be face to face with him. The jerk of his arm sends you propelling forward more than you expect because it tugs you close enough to nearly smack foreheads with the captain.

“I am willing to trust you with this and with Seonghwa, at least for now. Take care to remember that, especially when it comes to Seonghwa’s heart. For if you mislead him in the slightest, there will be hell to pay.” Your subconsciousness has you straightening your back at those words, reading the thinly veiled threat with ease.

“I won’t do anything to influence his decisions. They should all be his own anyway, so I won’t try to change that for him. You have my word. Besides, you no doubt plan to talk with him again soon, right?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into a pointed glare at that comment, and you catch yourself a little too late. “At least, I’m sure he would appreciate that either way.” That soothes the captain enough for him to release his grip on your arm, and he lets you step away from the door after that.

“I pray for both our sakes that his mind is kind enough to have a reasonable discussion with you. But… don’t — don’t get too close just in case the worst happens.”

“Understood, Captain,” you whisper back. The warning is a bit haunting albeit necessary; it’s moreso unfortunate that Hongjoong has to even usher the warning in the first place because the Seonghwa you know would never willingly harm someone he cares about. Especially not Hongjoong.

As you walk away from Hongjoong’s quarters and off the bridge for a second time tonight, you have to remind yourself that it is still Seonghwa down there. He isn’t a different person, he’s not some monster even if there is a bit of fear curling through your gut as you walk down to the brig. He remains the same Seonghwa that you know and care about so much. Perhaps you have just been blessed enough to only witness the pretty sides to his character in the time you’ve known him. Thinking all the way back to the way you met — how you knocked him out cold in front of an airlock — he was not cruel or heartless then either. In fact, every ounce of evidence up until recently made you wonder how such a compassionate soul could possibly be such a deadly and fearsome pirate.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go home and face my demons after all,” Seonghwa whispers, letting his smile stretch a bit wider. It falls away a second later, and something dark takes over, something you decide you don’t want to see cross Seonghwa’s features again. Because in that moment, you see something sinister and cruel, and all the legends you heard about the man come to life before you. The stories of a man in a black cloak bearing a silver scythe in one hand with a gun in the other, the fearless killer who stands beside the Scourge of the Black Sea rearing death in his wake. When Seonghwa turns on his heel and leaves the room, you see it. The dark shadows billowing behind him curl outwards and sweep across the floor, crude shapes built by the light in the hallway, and that cloak of darkness sits on Seonghwa’s shoulders. It’s like the Lieutenant of Death has crawled his way out of the dark abyss of hell that Seonghwa kept him buried in, and the face he rears horrifies you.

That thought keeps you occupied the whole way down to the brig, and it continues when you climb down the ladder with hesitant steps. As before, Jisung is the first thing you see when you reach the bottom, although this time he is curled on his side and facing the wall. He must be asleep given his position, yet you’re hesitant to write him off as so without knowing for certain. You don’t dare stop to find out, however, and instead just move past his cell as quietly as you can.

You find Seonghwa still sitting upright in his own tiny prison. He has shifted to put his back to Jisung now though, and his head hangs at an angle that is uncomfortable to look at. Whether he was already awake or merely sensed your presence, you have no way of knowing. Nonetheless, he shifts to glance back at you when you approach, chains jingling and rattling in the silence of the room.

“I asked you not to return,” he murmurs once you are close enough to hear him. You don’t kneel before his cell in the same way you did last time. There’s a bit more distance between you and the bars now, enough to be just out of harm’s way but near enough for you to reach out if you so desired.

“You know I’m no good at following orders,” you reply with a melancholy smile. Seonghwa’s gaze softens a bit at that. He tilts his head back to rest on the bars, still staring at you out the corner of his eye. He seems exhausted beyond belief — muscles lax and with no strength to them, eyelids drooping every time he blinks, breath huffing out in deep sighs rather than even exhales. Despite that, you don’t get the sense he wants to rest at all.

“Why aren’t you resting? I’m sure you’re tired from the mission.”

“I rested enough earlier.” But couldn’t stay asleep because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which you killed both yourself and Hongjoong. Ones where San took the serum and forgot me. “I’m okay.” That seems to be more for your own ears than for Seonghwa’s. He hums a bit anyway, acknowledging your words as his eyelids flutter some.

“You don’t need to come keep me company, you know.”

“I can’t just see you because I want to?”

“Y/N…” Seonghwa faces forward before finishing the thought. Something seems to overcome him, if the sudden spike of distress that rolls off his shoulders is any indication at least, and he curls in on himself some more. Your first instinct is to move closer to him and offer some sort of physical comfort, but Seonghwa only pushes further into the corner of his cell when you move. “Don’t.”

“I trust you, Seonghwa,” you utter back. You heed his words though and stop dead in your tracks.

“That would be your first mistake.”

“Why?”

“What?” Seonghwa’s counterattack sounds nearly incredulous.

“Why would it be a mistake to trust you?”

“You are at a greater risk than Hongjoong, yet I still hurt him. Just like last time.”

“How am I at a greater risk, Seonghwa?”

“I don’t — I fear… I fear my mind mistaking you for someone who should die simply because you are a woman.”

“Ah…” you exhale. The implication is there: he’s afraid of mistaking you for his mother in the craze that his head is putting him through. You hadn’t even thought that to be a risk before honestly. From the memories you saw of her, you don’t think you look anything like said woman, but you also have no idea of what Seonghwa’s demons are capable of convincing him to believe. If they’re strong enough to make him harm Hongjoong, then no doubt they would be capable of that too. Seonghwa reaches down to rub at the skin around his ankles, where the flesh has already turned red and bruised from repeated abuse.

“I can’t stay here, Y/N. I’ll lose my mind. I almost wish that fool behind me would do more to antagonize me, but it’s my own head that refuses to let me come up for air.” The chains rattle once more as he reaches up to massage his hairline. The thin black strands of hair cling to his skin like he’s sweating buckets, and under the little bit of light in the brig, you can see a sheen of sweat on his body.

The room is deathly cold.

“Hongjoong mentioned… he said you believe he is forcing you to masquerade as an Elitist.” The words are spoken quiet enough to where you don’t think Jisung could pick up on them even if he were awake.

“I don’t. That’s the thing — I don’t believe that. I know he’s not. I don’t know what came over me when I said such a thing. It isn’t his fault that I-I am like this, and he shouldn’t even have to b-blame himself for it. I’m the one who chose this and demanded the masquerade before he even knew my true identity.”

“But—”

You stop the thought in your throat, cutting off with a small grimace and sigh of air. Seonghwa jerks to look at you anyway. He waits and waits for you to finish the thought, and under his intense gaze, you have lost much of the confidence you had in saying such a thing.

“From what I saw of your memories, and what you told me of your childhood, you were not the one to decide that,” you say after some deliberation. “It was her.” Admittedly, part of you fears the reaction you might garner from Seonghwa in mentioning his mother directly, so you try to keep it as vague as possible. “You never asked to be kept a secret.”

“My worst crime then was being born,” Seonghwa murmurs more to himself than to you. “Now what is it? A son who wants nothing more than to kill the woman who brought him into this world? The more time goes on, the more I… I-I lose myself. I don’t know where my line of morality is, nor do I know how to adhere to it. Y/N, I’m—” Seonghwa falls silent, tongue caught between his teeth, and when he looks to you, there are tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “I’m so afraid.”

You don’t think you have ever heard Seonghwa utter such words, at least not with the raw conviction he says them with or the wrecked pain that radiates off his body.

“Are you afraid of what might happen if you do kill her or what might happen if you don’t?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away; instead, he hangs his head between his knees and you can only watch helplessly as the man’s shoulders tremble under an invisible weight.

“The right answer… what a good person would say is that I fear killing her. But I’m more terrified of what happens if I don’t. How much longer do I suffer if I don’t take this opportunity now? Can I justify risking your safety, Hongjoong’s safety, the crew’s safety for being a good person? I know the blood on my hands is already immeasurable, the infamous Lieutenant of Death shouldn’t fear one more life ended, and I don’t. I just can’t figure out if the Seonghwa who isn’t an Elitist believes that or if it’s the Seonghwa I’ve pretended to be most of my life. Maybe part of me fears how you all might view me if I do kill her.”

“I can’t say it wouldn’t change anything, but I don’t know if anyone would view you as a bad or evil person because of it.”

Seonghwa huffs out a weak laugh and pushes his hair back with the hand he’s not keeping clenching into a tight fist.

“I think Hongjoong is convinced I’ll turn into some sort of monster.”

“He believes that you don’t want to do it,” you counter. “He thinks that your definition of losing yourself lies in killing your mother.”

“I thought it did too.” Hopeless. That’s the word you would use to describe Seonghwa’s current tone, and it burns you from the inside out to hear such desperation on his lips. “If I keep pulling away simply because I’m afraid to hurt any of you, then what right do I have to call myself a lieutenant? To work as Hongjoong’s right-hand? I-I should have some semblance of self-control rather than continuing to distance myself. I thought back then that my mind was crying for her blood bec-because it wanted me to go insane, but now it sounds more and more like a cry for help. When this is all said and done, when it’s time for me to rest, I don’t want to have lost any of you along the way. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause of it either.”

To you, that sounds like a decision. And so, you echo his words back to him with a resolute tone.

“If you tell Hongjoong that, he would take you there, Seonghwa.” You aren’t strong enough to push the full meaning into your words, but it lingers between you. He knows what you mean. “He’s adamant that the decision be yours, as am I. Even Yunho wants you to do what you think is the best course of action. And should you get there and not be able to carry it out, no one would force you to, and no one would do it for you unless you asked that of them.”

“I could never ask anyone to take that burden for me, Y/N.”

“Then you have your answer.” You muster up the courage to slide closer to Seonghwa’s cage and slip a hand between the bars. You don’t push your luck and touch him quite yet, merely letting your hand rest on the bed of metal for Seonghwa to regard with a terrified stare. Although it’s slow progress, he inches his hand down to rest a little ways away from your own. “I promised Hongjoong that I would do nothing to influence your decision, and I plan to uphold that promise. I just… want you to know you are loved today just as you were yesterday, and you’ll be loved tomorrow as well. Whatever kind of that love is, it’s love nonetheless. These people — the family you have built and chosen yourself — will continue to love you even if you get a little lost along the way.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so certain of something before.”

It’s your turn to exhale a little laugh, although yours is merely one of faux amusement.

“I wish you could see the way they look at you, Seonghwa. The respect they hold in their eyes when they see you, the admiration and love and affection — I don’t need to feel what they feel to know how much they care. It’s not a matter of thinking you are strong because they know you are. You don’t have to force yourself to show restraint or continue to be the thing your mother wanted you to be for them to know you are strong. You have already been with them through some of the toughest moments of their lives, you have been at Hongjoong’s side and you have led just as much as he has. I firmly believe that is not a bond that could be so easily severed.”

Seonghwa’s fingers are so close to yours, so close to curling around your palm and holding you at last, taking that last step of the fickle little thing called trust. At this point, you are throwing yourself headfirst into it with reckless abandon. While there might be some hesitance hiding away in your bones, you would rather see Seonghwa take this step forward in trusting himself.

In the next second, that precious thread of peace snaps and frays at the edges.

“Bravo, Y/N, bravo.” You withdraw your hand from Seonghwa’s cell with a start, lips pressing into a thin line as you turn to regard the man who spoke with a glare. Jisung smiles back at you. It’s all poison and menace. His chains ring to an inaudible song as he claps his hands together. “Oh, you must be so proud of yourself for that one, little lady. Absolutely riveting and… encouraging and… inadequate, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” You hiss back without answering the question.

“I don’t think I do. Because every time I speak, I just dig my way under your skin a little more, and that? That amuses me to no end.”

“Don’t humor him, Y/N,” Seonghwa mutters. His hands are now withdrawn to rest in his lap again and curled into tight balls as he stares down at the floor. “I’ve found he wears himself out if you ignore him.” You can hardly imagine being trapped here for more than five minutes with Jisung, but Seonghwa has been in here for hours. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the same resilience that Seonghwa does.

You push up to your feet and stalk towards Jisung’s cell with no clear intent in your mind.

It feeds right into what he said though, it’s proof that he has gotten under your skin and bothered you to some extent, yet you don’t stop even with that knowledge.

“Don’t you have what you want? Haven’t you wreaked enough havoc in your stay here?”

“Oh? And what is it I want exactly, Y/N? Let me hear it from your pretty lips instead of my own.”

“You want me,” you spit back, leaning over the bars like it will intimidate the man behind them.

“And? Do I have what I want?”

“And you fucking have me. I made the deal, I did what you wanted, can’t you quit now?”

“Such foul language from my little lady’s mouth. A shame, truly.”

“I’m not yours to be clai—”

“Incorrect! You said it yourself: I have you. As far as I’m concerned that makes you mine. I really wanted us to find a nice peaceful place to settle down after all this, but you… you are so violent. Angry. I really would rather not be forced to deal with such behaviors, but if you continue to do so, then maybe we can try that method they’re using on the Spectre. What was it? Regression… therapy? I hear it’s quite effective in breaking someone’s spirit. Shall we try?”

You know better than to fall into that trap again. It’s all for show; Jisung is merely saying and doing these things to bother you because he knows how best to do so. He hasn’t yet even proven that he has the balls to follow through with anything he’s threatened, but he also understands that he doesn’t need to. Whether he proves it or not, he wins merely by garnering a reaction from you. It was a tactic you learned about years ago, something they taught your unit before you engage in high-risk intelligence-gathering missions.

“You don’t get to talk about San,” you fire back, right into the trap Jisung laid before you.

“San, is it? He’s the one you worry about most, no?” The smile painted on Jisung’s lips nearly seems genuine. It probably would be if not for the gleam in his eyes. “You always got too attached too quickly. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

Jisung sits up on his heels and traces a finger over the bars separating you. Whatever the reason in doing so is a mystery to you, but you stand transfixed by the gentle movements.

“I bet you haven’t even told him how you feel. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? The part where they leave? Die? Or worse… forget everything about you? When the doctors go in to reset his brain, they won’t even think to keep those memories of you. If it makes you feel any better, I can take your memories of him away too.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The laugh that tears through Jisung’s lips echoes off the walls and bounces off your ears.

“Is this so amusing to you?” Seonghwa is the one to pose the question, voiced raised a bit so it carries over to where you and Jisung are.

“I haven’t even begun to have my fun yet. I do so adore seeing relationships crack under the slightest bit of pressure though. I suppose that’s one thing dearest Y/N and I have in common. I’m not sure she’s let you glimpse into the cruelest parts of her yet.” His smile drops with such haste that it causes you to visibly flinch. “I’ve seen them all, Lieutenant. Oh, the fun we’ll have once together again, doll~”

“Fuck you, Han,” you spit through the curling fear in your gut. Your words have no effect and offer no respite, however; all it does is bring the smile back to Jisung’s lips and another laugh from his throat.

“You should be grateful that Hyunwoo spared you from living with the weight of your worst crimes. I wanted to let you live with them but he said you would be too guilty and too much of a liability if we left you with them. He had to be the one to take the weight of those crimes after all. I wonder how many of those broken memories will still be intact when I go back into that pretty little brain of yours again. Since Hyunwoo won’t be around to keep me from playing this time, that is. Which ones should I release first, Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

“You saw our lovely whore in Lynder didn’t you? Don’t tell me she forgave you for what you did… perhaps we should start there.”

“Shut the hell up, Han Jisung, if you want to keep your life.”

“Oh?” Jisung presses forward and gets to his feet without batting an eye. You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten to his cell until he comes face to face with you behind the bars, so close that the heat from his body radiates onto your skin. “I would be careful, Y/N. I’ve spent years learning how best to toy with brains using the military’s serum. If you want to keep your sanity, then I suggest you play nice like the good little doll you are. You wouldn’t want to be left with any horribly traumatic memories, now would you?”

Jisung’s lips fall into a faux pout, and you take a hasty step back from the bars in disgust.

“I told you: I know plenty about making people break. All I have to do is tell you the smallest white lie for seeds of doubt to take root. I can make you believe that you killed thousands of people without even taking a single step into your head. Take that into account before you attempt to threaten me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but we… we’re merely two halves of a whole crazy, Y/N. You need me to survive because if you didn’t, you would have forgotten all about me a long time ago, wouldn’t you? Isn’t it funny how someone who doesn’t even have any true and real memories of her past clings to it so desperately?”

“You know, from where I’m standing, you aren’t doing shit to help us find the others, so I have no reason to uphold my end of the bargain,” you deflect, turning the conversation on its head to escape his pointless scrutiny of your reasoning. It works to your advantage perfectly because Jisung huffs air through his teeth and rolls his eyes.

“We’re on Dorado, no? Your Berserker is in the Lower Echelon of Lynder near the Smokehouses. Large warehouse preparing for reprogramming no doubt. You won’t be able to get him out. Your best hope is to wait until after the reprogramming as my crew will take him back to our ship, then we can play tradesies and bring him back while you come with me.”

“Or you can go to that warehouse and tell them the deal is off and there’s been a change in plans.”

You squat down beside Jisung’s cell, hand slipping over your waistband and dipping underneath it to pull the sheathed knife you keep there out. It glints under the low yellow lights above your head.

“Scourge was right in saying that it’s hard to threaten a man like you. But one thing fucks your plans up, Jisung. If I’m dead, then what do you get out of this?”

The playful gleam in Jisung’s eyes fades like a candle being snuffed out. His smirk falls, expression growing grave in mere seconds, and you crank up the heat a little further as you dance the knife over the inside of your wrist.

“If it means ruining your plans, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my crew. You should know that by now.”

“You haven’t fucking changed in all these years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You fucking wish, you harlot. Do you really think—”

You cut him short by digging the knife harder into your skin, just enough to break through and cause a stream of red to slip out. He falls silent with a sharp inhale of air.

“I hope you agree before I run dry, Jisung. You want me to be a psychopath so badly? Let’s fucking play. Ten seconds until I cut again, and this time it’ll be vertical, so I sure hope you realize the stakes now.”

“You think your boy toy in the corner over there will sit still as you kill yourself to prove a point?”

“From where I’m standing, it seems like neither of you is in any sort of position to stop me. Five seconds, Jisung.” A drop of scarlet falls from the tip of the knife to the floor. Jisung watches it splatter, eyes calculating and careful as it moves, then he blinks back up to look you in the eye.

“I’ll tell them to cancel the reprogramming and send your Berserker back to my ship.”

“That’s not good enough,” you reply without missing a beat. The knife careens back towards your arm, and Jisung lunges forward in his cell as you shift, a desperate attempt to stop you from continuing the damage. He can’t fit a hand through the bars with the shackles around his wrists though, and he’s left to hiss out a complaint when the knife penetrates your skin again. It’s closer to your elbow this time, a deceptively shallow slice the runs parallel to the bone. Red blossoms over the line immediately. “You go in there, get them to cancel the reprogramming, then bring him out yourself to deliver him to this ship and this ship only.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away, prompting you to lift the knife again in threat, and he snaps into action at that. Scarlet trails down the blade.

“Fine! You can even send some fucking lackeys with me to make sure I get the job done.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to fuck it up while out there; I will go with you, along with our Berserker Jongho just so you don’t forget what you’re supposed to do out there.” It’s hardly your place to make such decisions or plans in place of Hongjoong, but since he’s otherwise preoccupied at the moment and you have this chance before you right now, you are going to do the most with it. And if Hongjoong has any issue with that? You’re willing to take the consequences of your actions later.

“If that’s what will make you happy, then so be it. My intention has always been to help you recover your lost crewmates.”

“Even though you were the one who kidnapped and sold them in the first place?”

“Did you think I would make things easy for you, Y/N? Come now… don’t let my kindness fool you. You haven’t even thought to ask about the other one — the Spectre, was it? Here I thought he mattered to you. You were oh so concerned when I spoke of him before.”

“I’m fucking getting there, Han. You’re in no position to be impatient,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. Jisung merely laughs at the fire in your tone.

“I’m hardly impatient, doll. In fact, I have all the time in the world. However—” he hesitates to lift one of his shackled hands and points a finger directly up “—that Spectre has a countdown looming over his head, does he not? Countdown to the hard reset? I wonder what stage of regression therapy they’re at by now. Or maybe he’s already given in? My men told me that he was… so responsive whenever your name was mentioned. I wonder if he’ll beg like the mutt he is when it comes time for him to break.”

That tips you over the edge you’ve been teetering on since entering the brig for a second time. You drop your knife to the ground, letting it clatter and fall away from where you’re squatted in front of Jisung, then you thrust your bleeding arm through the bars to close your fingers around his throat where the band of his collar can’t reach. The strain and pull on your skin burns and causes the wounds to split a bit further. It doesn’t stop you from squeezing Jisung’s neck until his face turns purple.

“Run that by me again, Han Jisung, and see what happens.”

It’s that slight insanity creeping back up your neck and into your mind — the same craze that overtook you when Taskmaster Cara stabbed San back on Echidna.

“What? Is this not a fun game for you? You were enjoying it so much not too long ago. Do you not enjoy it not?” You taunt as you twist the blade in her.

“Y-You’re a fucking – fucking psychopath.”

The smile returns to your lips. You pull the knife out of her leg with haste then move forward so that you can squat down in front of her.

“I’ve heard that before too,” you mutter as you twirl the knife in your grasp. The smile coating your lips dissipates. “But only by the people who deserve their fates.”

It terrified you then, made you fear who you were and what you could become. Now? Your mind fights the urge to kill Jisung as best it can, but it’s a losing battle, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot peel your hand away from his neck. It’s like a voice is playing on repeat in the back of your head, saying ‘kill kill kill’ over without cease.

Your ears ring with the blood thumping through your veins. If you squeeze just a little tighter then—

“Enough.”

Your hand pulls away from Jisung’s neck with such haste that you slam it hard against the bars as you’re trying to withdraw it from his cell. You scramble back from the cell full of a terror that can only be directed at yourself because you don’t know what came over you in that moment. The figure creeping up on your left doesn’t even register until he is in your space and squatting beside you. A hand overlays one of your trembling ones and pulls your arm out until your injured forearm is exposed.

“Reckless. What else should I expect from you?” It’s then that you finally decide to look up at the owner of the voice, finding none other than the captain standing over you like you’re nothing more than a petulant child who can’t learn a lesson. Still, his tone holds far more softness than anger, and you don’t get the sense that he’s truly enraged by your actions. “Go see Yunho and get these cleaned, hm? You’ll need to be in top condition if you’re heading out on yet another mission tomorrow. Though we’ll have to discuss your tendency to jump the gun on planning things without orders in the future as well.”

Ah, so he’s been present for a while if he overheard that bit as well. Then he had every opportunity to stop you from harming yourself or making any propositions with Jisung the entire time. It’s almost touching in a way knowing that Hongjoong allowed you to have that moment of control — a moment to take matters into your own hands — even if he’s all but told you that there will be consequences for said moment.

You offer a hesitant nod in response, glancing over at Jisung one last time before Hongjoong helps you to your feet. You are about to step past the captain when he yanks you back by the elbow in a similar fashion to your earlier stand-off with him outside his quarters. He presses so close to you that you smell the distinct musk of a fresh shower on his skin.

“Yunho’s still upstairs so don’t bother dropping by his room.”

You don’t understand why he had to whisper that fact to you like it was a closely guarded secret, but you are not going to point that out either. Instead, you murmur a quiet thank you and turn to climb the ladder out of the brig. Just before you reach the top, you dare to cast one more glance down to Hongjoong. He has moved to assume your previous position in front of Jisung’s cell, squatted low enough to be eye level with the man, and he holds your forgotten knife between two fingers. The scene is telling enough, but you can’t help but wonder what Hongjoong saw when you had your hand wrapped around Jisung’s neck. If he saw the way you started to pull apart at the seams and become slightly unhinged, that is. An even larger part of you wonders if perhaps what he saw was frightening enough to cause him to step in when he did.

The thought does not dwell for long; you put the brig behind you and leave Hongjoong to his own devices in there, deciding it better to not think about whatever he plans to do or say until he inevitably mentions it later to the crew. And even if he deems it unnecessary for the crew to know, you would accept that as well. Either way, you wish to leave what just happened behind you, bury it in the recesses of your mind like it’s a memory that does not belong because you wish it didn’t.

Your hands continue to tremble by your sides for the entirety of the walk back to the Hongjoong’s quarters.

I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

✧✧✧ a/n: here we are again i really played myself and said yeah this will be under 10k so i LIED to mYSELF um yeah wow okay i never know what to say after finishing a chapter i just go brrr i have a lot of energy tho feeling good about this chapter bringing back the survey bc it’s been a minute and i’d love to hear how we’re feeling nowadays and as always let me know how you feel in the comments replies whatever you wish just bring it on let’s GO hit me with the theories and thoughts!

if you would like to, you can take the survey here! if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @eggteez @bangtanxberm @uglychildd @lucymultistan @revehosh @choistan @vampyrejimin @unminuit

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wille-zarr · 4 years ago

Text

The Mandalorian: “That’s My Girl”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Nine ~ “That’s My Girl”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; smoking; violence; mild descriptions of wounds; mild sexual themes; angst

word count: 14.4k

chapter summary: heartbroken and grief-stricken, you do everything within your power to stay hidden away from danger… and din djarin. but when plans go horrifically awry, you have no choice but to face down a ghost from your past.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: @sana-katarn suffered and nearly died for this chapter. give her a follow as a thank you from me. (though she’ll also happily accept pictures of cassian andor in her inbox instead.)

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Nine: “That’s My Girl”

“Mando can’t kill us if he can’t find us.”

“Pablo,” Cara snaps. “We can’t just-”

“It’s not our fault the Mandalorian’s ‘girlfriend’ ran away.” Pablo scoots forward, a scowl etched deep on his face. “But he’s going to shoot us when he finds out-”

“Shoot you, maybe.”

“Pardon? If memory serves me-” Pablo waves a hydro-spanner at her- “we were both left to look after Mando’s precious little sunstar.”

“Get that thing out of my face.” Cara swats at the hydro-spanner, ignoring Pablo’s curse as it flies through the air.

Maker. She can’t believe she’s been stuck alone with Pablo for three whole days. The man is-

“Hey!”

Cara twists, watching as Peli stomps around the side of the Razor Crest, barely visible even with the moonlight.

“I can hear everything you’re saying! You’re not about to run away-” Peli juts a thumb at her chest- “leaving me with the fallout!”

“Oh, come on, Ms. Peli.” Pablo flashes her a cheeky grin. “You have 4PO to protect yourself, right?”

“4PO!”

-Crash.

“Oh, Maker’s mercy!”

“4PO! Get off the ground, for land’s sake!” Peli growls. “Pick yourself up!”

…

“Oh, kriffin’ hell.”

…

“Well…. Anyway… you can’t expect me to handle an angry Mandalorian all by myself!” Peli squawks, shoving at Pablo’s shoulder. “I swear, I’ll have my droids strip every last-”

“We aren’t leaving.” Cara shoots Pablo a pointed look.

He throws his hands in the air, avoiding meeting both their eyes.

“I’m watching you,” Peli grumbles, jabbing a finger at Pablo as she walks away. “4PO! I swear- get UP!”

Releasing a pained sigh, Cara begins going through the motions of loading and unloading her weapon, a distraction against the apprehension, the concern for you beginning to weigh heavy in her chest.

Sure, you might be impulsive, reckless even, but Cara knows you aren’t stupid- far from it, in fact.

…

But damn it if you aren’t being stupid right now.

Just… up and running away? No goodbyes? With bounty hunters- Mandalorian bounty hunters- trailing after you?

…

You won’t last long, and Cara knows it.

And you had to know it too.

“Such, a rash, senseless move. We could have helped her,” Cara mutters, rubbing her brow. “I just… why did she up and leave like that? She’s going to get caught within days.”

Pablo stops spinning the hydro-spanner long enough to chuckle. “So-” he quirks his brow- “you have no faith in that bewildering brain of hers?”

…

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Cara slaps hand against her thigh. “Blast! I just wish Din would get his ass back into town… Maybe I should take out a bike, search for him in Mos Pelgo.”

After all, every day that goes by… Maker, you’ll be only that much more impossible to track. And while Cara respects your independence- your freedom to choose to play the part of the sacrificial hero, in turn sparing your friends from further threat, she also knows-

Din’s… not going to take this well.

“If we couldn’t find any trace of her after three days of searching-” Pablo leans forward, resting his forearms against his thighs- “what makes you think he’ll have better luck?”

Silence.

“Pablo-”

“Oh, I know, I know. He’s an ‘elite bounty hunter,’” he mocks. “Deadly, efficient, blah, blah, blah.” He leans back with a sigh, stretching out across the crate.

“And you ought to know it.” Cara bites back a smirk.

Does she really want to get him going…?

…

Yes.

“After all, Pablo, you’re personally well acquainted with the Mandalorian’s hunting techniques.”

He shoots straight up. “I almost got away from him!” he snaps. “If it wasn’t for that Carbonite, I would have-”

“-Oh, here we go…” Cara chuckles, covering both eyes with a hand. All too easy.

“It’s true!” he barks, throwing both hands in the air. “If Mando hadn’t flung me into the freezing bay, sealing me within that cold, dark, terrifying… tomb of, uh…um… C-carbonite...”

Silence.

“Hell, Cara!” Eyes blasting wide open, Pablo leaps to his feet. “I’m getting the kark outta here!”

“Hold up.” Cara’s hand lashes out, grabbing a fistful of Pablo’s shirt and yanking him back. “Just you calm down- I’ll keep you safe, Babycakes.”

He huffs. “The hell?... Babycakes?” Stuffing both hands in his pockets, he faces away from her. “Uh, love you too, I guess? ... Um, anyway- I still don’t know how he’ll track her if she’s already left the system.”

“This is why you’re the scheming con artist,” Cara sighs, shifting forward to stand, “and he’s the bounty hunter.”

“I prefer the title ‘opportunistic entrepreneur.’”

“Charlatan, swindler, cheat-”

“Now kriffin’ look here-”

“HE’S BACK!” Peli yelps somewhere in the distance.

Cara’s heart squeezes.

Din.

Thank the Maker!

A wave of relief washes over Cara… immediately replaced by a tidal wave of dread. Cara knows he’s probably going to ask for you right away-

Shit.

“Cara!” Pablo hisses, rushing to stand beside her. “What’s the plan? Plan, Cara?!” He twists his eyes to stare out across the hanger. “Do we have a plan? What do we say?”

“Stay calm and shut up!” Cara jumps up, foisting Pablo back down into his seat, ignoring his yelp of protest. “I’ll tell him.”

“Just remember-” he lifts his finger, a brow quirking up- “I’m Babycakes. Don’t let him hurt me.”

“Oh, Maker,” she groans, burying her face in the palms of her hands.

“QUICK!” Peli screeches, dashing around the back of the Crest, flapping her arms in the air. “Act natural! SHOO, go away, droids! Maker, can’t you see we’re in a crisis right now? I swear!”

Peli slams rear-first into a chair, the seat shooting back a few feet against the momentum of the action. Pablo, equally as jumpy, begins fiddling with the random pieces of mechanical junk surrounding him.

“Oh, stars, you both look so suspicious- uh, Mando!”

There he is.

The Mandalorian is frozen beside the Razor Crest, the soft moonlight casting a hazy glow against his Beskar armor. Resting across his back, a bar strung up with gear and supplies weighs his shoulders down low.

He doesn’t move. He just… stares, angles his head to the side.

Oh, great. Just great.

He had to of heard all the yelling- he knows something’s wrong.

“Din?” Cara rises to her feet. “What- why are you carrying all of that? Here, let me-”

“No.”

The curt reply slaps her hands back.

“Well, someone had a lousy trip,” she mutters as she moves to sit back down. Even with her fatigued sigh, she’s unable to keep a slight smile from slipping onto her face at sight of the baby- only the tips of his ears visible from satchel resting against his father’s side.

The Mandalorian lumbers forward, each step slow, weighted, the clank-clank of his Beskar and blaster-casings the only noise reverberating throughout the hanger.

“…Sorry,” he mumbles, barely audible through his helm’s vocoder. Ducking his head away from Cara, he gently lowers his gear, resting it down against the hanger floor. “It’s… been a long couple of days.”

Even with the burden of his gear now lifted from him, his shoulders remain slumped forward, exhaustion, weariness tattooed on every square inch of his frame. The stance is completely unlike the ordinarily deft, foreboding Mandalorian- abnormal enough for concern to take root in Cara’s mind.

“What happened to you?” she snorts, raising an eyebrow at his languid, fatigued walk forward. “What- hell, Din, what’s that… green goop all over your armor?”

He doesn’t answer- just dips his gloves into the satchel wrapped around his torso, hauling out the sleepy-eyed, listless child. Peli- without waiting for permission- takes the baby from his hands, tucking him against her chest.

“You have a lot to learn about raising a young’un,” Peli grumbles, stroking a finger across the child’s left ear. “He’s too young to be dragged half-way cross the desert on some- some fool’s errand.” She glares at him with the word “fool.”

Din reaches a gloved hand out, his hand cradling the side of his son’s face.

“I know.”

Cara lowers her brows, concern and anxiety for you squeezing in her chest again, only building with every moment that passes.

“Oh, lookie here! He brought meat!” Peli interrupts Cara’s fretting, lifting up a corner of burlap with her free hand to peer beneath it. “DROIDS! Pull out that- no, stop! We’ve gotta cook- no!”

Cara smiles wearily as Peli bounces away, shouting demands at her droids. But Din stands still, unmoving, visor trained on the ground beneath his feet.

“Well, damn, man-” Pablo reaches down into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cigarra. “You look beat to hell.” He reaches up, lighting the cigarra. Pulling it away from his lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Oh, oh shit, what is all that green stuff?”

“Krayt Dragon stomach acid.”

…

“Kriff, man. Well… I guess that’d do it.”

The Mandalorian bends his knees, sitting down with a pained grunt. He sighs, deep, heavy, his head tilting forward to stare at the dirt.

“Sounds like a party.” A smile quirks on Cara’s lips. “Should have invited us.”

He grunts.

“On the way back, a group of mercs tripped my bike.” Leaning forward on his thighs, he glances back up. “Destroyed it. Had to walk.”

“Kark, they are after the chip again?” Cara growls, clenching her fists. “Just great. How’d they even find you?”

“I don’t know.” The Mandalorian shakes his head, his voice slowing with every word. “I… eliminated them before they could be questioned.”

“Damn!”

…

“Hey, so just to clarify, that’s dragon meat and not merc meat, right?”

“Pablo-”

“Just making sure!”

“Well, this little one would eat either!” Peli snorts, walking up the child, who’s beginning to fuss and whine in her arms. He pushes against her chest, motioning to be let down. “Alright, alright.” Peli coos, setting the child back down on the ground.

The child bolts straight for Din, a long, high-pitched whine erupting from his tiny frame. The Mandalorian obliges him, hauling him up into his lap.

“He’s been-” he pauses, staring down at the child in his lap- “…irritable since we left.”

The Mandalorian begins shifting side to side, almost nervously, in his seat. Setting the child against his hip, he leans forward with a grunt and stands.

“I-” the Mandalorian rasps, stealing a quick glance over at the open ramp of the Razor Crest. With a small groan, so small that Cara almost missed it, he tears his visor away from the starship. “I think he’s been missing… the girl.”

He turns.

“I… he misses the sound of her voice… her… laugh.”

…

“Uh oh,” Pablo mumbles under his breath, shoving the cigarra back in his mouth and turning his body away. At the same moment, Peli- taking Din’s words as her call to action- rips the child out of his arms, muttering under her breath to him as she practically flees from the scene.

The Mandalorian stares at the Razor Crest, oblivious to everyone’s discomfort.

“Is she inside?”

His tone is soft, affectionate…. Damn, there’s… just no easy way to do this.

“Mando-”

One word gives it away.

…

“Where is she?”

…

“Where’s the girl?”

“Din, it’s-”

“Now.”

Din isn’t speaking.

This is the Mandalorian.

“She’s… gone.”

“What do you mean-” his voice tightens- “she’s gone?”

“She ran away, man.” Pablo pulls the cigarra from his lips. “Lost to the force.”

“Pablo!” Cara barks. “Stick a sock in it.”

“We-” the Mandalorian drops to his seat- the word barely a whisper- “…we had words, argued, but-” He leans forward, visor piercing, burning the ground.

“Tell me what happened.”

His voice is hard- the affection, any hint of weariness, stripped from his words.

“I think she thinks she’s protecting us,” Cara sighs. “…From bounty hunters.”

The Mandalorian shakes his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. We’re both involved with the Taek-”

“The same day you left for Mos Pelgo, she had a conversation with Karga.” Cara stands, frown deepening on her face. “He told her that three bounty hunters had approached him on Navarro, asking for information… about her- not concerning the events on Taek. About something else entirely. She thanked Karga; told him she would take care of it. And then she just- slipped away without a word to us.”

The Mandalorian just stares- stares straight ahead as if Cara had never spoken a word.

“…Din?”

“Shit…” he breathes, clenching his hand into a fist. “Shit.”

“Din?”

-slam-

“-Kark, man!”

Din lifts his fist from the crate, ignoring the crack he left behind. “We have to find her.” He shoots up. “We have to find her first.”

A noise- Pablo clearing his throat.

“Cara forgot to mention something.” He takes a puff of his cigarra, disregarding Cara’s warning glare. “The hunters searching for Sweetheart are Mandalorian.”

…

“Damn it,” Din hisses- a sharp rasp of breath through his modulator.

“Well,” Cara grumbles under her breath, looking down to tighten the holster against her thigh. “What’s the plan-”

“Connections,” Din snaps. He spins around, stalking straight for the Razor Crest. “We’ll track down her connections on Tatooine.”

“How do we do that?” Cara sprints to catch up, their footsteps clanking against the metal ramp of the ship. “We don’t know a thing about her, not even the name she went by here.”

The Mandalorian does not speak- does not answer. He merely reaches forward- slams his hand against the control panel for the ship’s Holonet display.

“Din?” Cara prods.

“‘Damn best racer.’”

She lifts a brow. “Pardon?”

“‘Damn best racer,’” he repeats, typing orders into the system. “A speeder bike race-” he lifts his helmet, the words from the Holonet display reflecting off of his visor- “she won one. On Tatooine. Years ago.”

“Ah,” Cara nods her head, beginning to catch on. “Find the race, and you find her connections, her sponsors. Sponsors she might have recently contacted for help.”

Din doesn’t respond, completely engrossed with the display before him.

“Hey.” Resting a light hand atop his vambrace, Cara forces her voice to soften. “You know, if you do find her, you can’t… force her to stay under your protection-” she pulls her hand back- “if she doesn’t want to.”

…

“…I know.”

He stops- stops typing- dips the edge of his helmet against his chest.

“I just… want to talk. Make sure she has a plan… Credits.”

He resumes typing, punching demands into the Holonet.

“…Make sure she’s… safe.”

With a heavy sigh, Cara stares into Din’s blank, unreadable visor.

Unreadable, yes. But that didn’t matter.

The frantic clank-clank-clank of fingertips pounding against search keys told her everything she needed to know.

-------------------------------

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t react to Cara’s grumble- just keeps his head pointed forward. But the curl of his gloves; the clench of fingers against his holster told her-

-He agrees.

A flash of sunlight grabs at her attention, drawing her eyes to stare at the gleaming marble walls- a stark comparison to the dry, arid sands of Tatooine rolling just outside the building’s walls. And she ought to know- they just spent the last blasted hour traveling through a relentless sandstorm to reach the compound’s gates.

“Hey,” she calls, attempting to catch the guard’s attention. “Where exactly are you tak- oh!”

Two double doors burst open- revealing an enormous, palatial… dining room?

If you could even call it that.

Art museum might would be a better descriptor.

“Ah, it’s true- a Mandalorian!” booms a voice that practically shakes the ornate chandeliers hanging from the rafters.

“Now, I knew you couldn’t all be dead.” The voice, a Cathar, stands up from his chair at the head of the table. He shoots his fur-covered hand out to the side, his embroidered sleeve swaying as he beckons them forward. “After all, if you were all dead, you actually made terrible warriors, you know?”

Cara glances at the Mandalorian-

Uh oh.

Shoulders tight- fists clenched against his thighs- he steps forward-

“-Aric Thall!” Cara barks.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me!” Thall bares his fangs in a… smile? “This should be interesting. Please, sit. Join me in my dinn-”

“We’re here on business, Thall.”

The air stills.

…

The Cathar sinks back into his chair.

“Ah,” he sighs. “So, you’re here on… business. Disappointing. Well, you’re not here to collect me, I hope?” the Cathar grumbles, glancing over at his guards. They stand with weapons drawn- ready to take the threat- Din- head on at Thall’s first order.

He flashes another fang-filled grin. “I’m innocent, I swear. My cousin’s the dirty one.” He flops back and sighs, letting both his arms hang off the side of the chair.

Cara rolls her eyes. “Oh, kriffin-”

“I’m here for information.”

The Mandalorian’s tone is hard- grit and warning dripping from each of his words.

“…About what?”

“A race,” the Mandalorian snaps, taking a broad step forward.

“Oh, be specific- I’ve held thousands!” Thall flips like a switch, his persona flooded once again with jubilancy and charm. “But you have certainly piqued my interest.” He holds out a hand. “Please, continue, Mandalorian.”

Your Tatooine name- the one discovered after hours of careful research- drops from the Mandalorian’s vocoder.

“Oh. Oh,” Thall groans, squeezing both eyes shut. “Oh, don’t remind me! Wild little thing-” he presses against his temples- “she left me holding the bag with the Hutts when she disappeared after winning the Boska Springs Classic. Valen’s doing- no doubt. Her grandfather had no imagination.” Thall opens his eyes with a sigh. “When she wasn’t racing, she was giving me a headache.” He leans forward to take a sip from his glass, wiping his mouth with a napkin before continuing.

“Still, so much wasted potential,” he sighs, staring at the glass in his hand. “The girl was karking nuts. The only racer batshit crazy enough to cut a route through a Rancor’s den as a shortcut.”

Cara can’t help but smile.

Well, hell yeah, kid.

Her eyes drift up to Din, who’s now standing a few feet in front of her. Both of his hands are latched on his belt- his shoulders rising ever-so-slightly in… pride? Respect?

Perhaps both.

“You’ve not been in contact with her recently.”

The Mandalorian states it as a fact, his tone even, indifferent. But she- his friend- heard the disappointment layered in between his words.

“I didn’t say that,” the Cathar purrs, folding his fingers together.

“…Has she been in contact?” The Mandalorian slowly, carefully stalks closer. “Answer me.”

Thall chuckles.

“Depends on why you’re asking, Mandalorian.”

Silence.

“Or more importantly-” the Cathar stands, strolling forward, pausing in front of the Mandalorian- “what are you willing to give in return for my information?”

Cara can’t help but notice Thall’s eyes… drift across the Mandalorian’s Beskar.

“I’m not making any deals-” Din steps forward, closing the distance between him and the Cathar- “until you answer my question.”

“Fine. Fair enough,” Thall sighs, folding his arms behind his back. “She was here not that long ago, looking to reconnect with some of her old friends.”

“Where-”

“She’ll have left the planet by now.”

…

The Mandalorian’s shoulders tighten.

“But-” the Cathar throws out a hand dismissively- “I know how you can find her.” He grins and takes a step back. “My question is, again, what are you willing to give up in order to find that information out?”

…

“How much do you want?”

The Mandalorian’s words- dry, hoarse- linger in the air.

“Your Beskar-”

“-is not up for trade.”

“Ah! Fine- I have a… much more profitable proposal to offer you. Profitable for me, at least.” Throwing his head back, Thall grins at the ceiling- chuckles.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

Cara knew she had a bad feeling about this.

“We’ve had a bit of a-” Thall spins his hand around- “let’s say, entertainment drought since the fall of Hutt control. We’re desperate for a good show- good excitement. A reason for a little friendly… betting amongst friends.”

“How does this concern me?”

Din’s patience is wearing thin.

“How does it concern you, Mandalorian?” Thall chuckles. “Well, you’re walking, talking entertainment!”

…

Dank Ferrik. He couldn’t mean-

“I don’t want your credits, Mandalorian; I want everyone else’s credits!” Thall holds up three fingers. “Three fights, starring you, my friend, as primary challenger. I intend to make a small fortune off ticket sales, and the betting?” Low whistle. “Credits galore!”

The Mandalorian tilts his head- staring straight at the Cathar- silent, unmoving.

“You’ll never find her,” Thall says through a clenched smile, “without me.”

“Mando.” Cara steps up right behind him, keeping her voice low. “I don’t think this is a good idea. He’s leading you on. He doesn’t know anything.”

“If he does?” The Mandalorian pauses, angling his head back. “…I’ll take that risk.”

He turns away.

“Do you agree then, Mandalorian?” The Cathar grins, already sensing his answer. “You’ll fight?”

…

“…I’ll fight.”

“Fantastic! I will jus-”

“But just know, if you don’t follow through-” the Mandalorian slowly, deliberately places a hand against his belt- “the last thing you’ll remember is regret for this moment.”

Thall slaps a hand on the Mandalorian’s back, grinning as if Mando hadn’t just threatened to kill him. “Understandable position!... Then let’s lay the rules out…”

Cara grits her teeth.

Oh, here it comes…

“You win two of three fights… and you get the information you seek.”

The Mandalorian turns his helmet, glaring at Thall.

“But you lose two of three fights… or die-” he smiles- “and I keep your Beskar... These are the conditions- I will not budge.”

The Mandalorian huffs.

“… I don’t plan on losing.”

------------------------------

You’re about to commit a murder.

“Curse me out one more time-” you bare your teeth at the Ortolan- “and I’ll stomp you into oblivion.”

The Ortolan just… screams.

“Fine! Fine!” you grumble, taking a step to the side. “Look, I’ll just leave the box over here-”

"-M, m buoou!”

“Okay…. here?”

“Daneeveo dueenboomo!”

…

“…What the hell are you saying?”

“Leeela duundao m…..” The Ortolan whines, yanking on his nose in clear distress.

Oh, to kriff with it.

You knew this was a bad idea.

But beggars can’t be choosers. This Ortolan crew was the only one which offered you a job as a mechanic, for that you are grateful. So, as long as you didn’t start a fire like the last repair you attempted, ultimately leading to your unceremonious marooning on Taek…

You’ll be… just…uh, fine!

…

Yeah.

Either way, you’re willing to take that risk. Anything’s worth it to get off Tatooine as soon as possible. Every minute lingered… stars. You’ve already stayed much, much too long… After all, who, at this point, isn’t trying to find you?

The Mandalorian bounty hunters- you… you don’t want to think about them; what- what they might do on his orders…

Kriff.

Next in line to destroy your life, there’s the Nar Shaddaa hunters. You’ve already been karkin’ stabbed by one. You don’t exactly want to make it easy for them to finish the job.

And then there’s…

Din.

Mandalorian, friend, protector…

…

A good man.

And maybe you are just- completely delusional… But he… cares a lot about you… Then again, the way he spoke to you- the things he said just before leaving-

…

Does he?

…It doesn’t matter.

“J-just,” you push out, rapidly blinking as you look away from the Ortolan. “Let’s agree to move on, start fresh? Otherwise-” you force a tight smile, waving your hand at the starship- “this will be a long, long trip to Nal Hutta.”

Kriff this.

Kriff all of this.

You- shit.

Shit!

Squeezing your eyes tightly together, you spin away, placing your back between you and the Ortolan crew. Damn it- it’s been three days already! Why do you still feel- feel this- this..?

…grief?

You open your eyes.

That’s what it is, isn’t it?

Grief.

You can’t help but snort, almost… relieved at the realization. After all, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s suppressing kriffing grief. Should be simple enough- no one’s even died this time, an overall improvement, you think.

You inhale deeply, pressing a palm to your cheek. Stars, this is going to be- KRIFF!

A hand on your arm-

You spin-

Hand to your belt-

Grab at the staff-

“Whoa! Wait! Hold on!” A hand grips your wrist. “Hey, wait!”

“Screw off!” you shriek, using your free hand to punch at the man’s chest. “Get away-”

“-I’m not trying to hurt you!”

…

You gawk at the man’s face.

Green eyes.

Sandy hair.

Tan skin.

Crooked nose-

-because you broke it years ago.

“Tesen!” you gasp, leaping into his arms.

“Hell!” he grunts, taken aback by your sudden shift in temperament “Kark, thought you were about to break my nose again!”

“Weeping Womprats, Tesen!” You grin, pulling back from the embrace. “Hell, I’ve missed you like a Hutt misses dinner!”

“Well, kriff then.” He flashes you a shy smile, diverting his eyes to the ground. “Didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You always were my second favorite guy-” an impish grin stretches across your face- “after Gavon, of course.”

“Oof-” he clutches his heart- cringes- “Damn, you haven’t changed, I see.”

Pulling him in for another hug, you can only laugh. “But you were my first favorite mechanic.” You bury your face against his chest. “Only one I’d trust to work on my bike.”

He tenses- then there’s a gentle -pat- against your back.

“Yeah...”

Glancing up, you can only smirk- his cheeks are tinged with warmth, eyes darting everywhere but towards you.

“Don’t blush on my account-” you laugh at his groan and pull away- “I’m not worth it, trust me.” You glance away, your eyes catching the Ortolan crew, just blasted… staring at you.

“OH, so were you lot just going to sit there?” you growl. “Let me get kidnapped?”

…

One Ortolan shrugs.

“Oh, fine,” you sigh. “Well, what do you do these days, Tesen? Still a mechanic?” you ask, your lips sliding into a smirk. “Still working with the racing circuits?”

“No, I work here now.” His own smile quirks at his lips. “Cargo inspector for the planet’s administration.”

“Oh.” Twisting back to glance at the ship, your eyes widen. “Um, I… uh.”

“Don’t worry-” he winks. “I know this ship is carrying… hyperdrives.”

You blink.

“…Sure.”

He laughs, giving a quick nod over at the Ortolan captain. “Let’s just say I have an… understanding with a few of the cargo captains.”

Ah.

No need to say a word- you just return the grin.

“So hey,” Tesen clears his throat, breaking from your gaze. “How’s your old man- Valen?”

…

“He’s, uh… gone.”

“Blast.” Tesen’s voice softens. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You slide the toe of your boot across the ground and shake your head.

Hardly…

He’s dead because of you…

“It- it happened a long time ago. Um, anyway… blast. You have no idea how badly I needed to see you again.”

Tesen smiles, his voice perking up. “Oh, yeah? I heard you had been in town, but I never thought I’d run into you like this.”

-Stop.

Your breathing stops.

…

“Wh-what… what?” You stumble back. “How… how did you kn-”

“Aric Thall?” Tesen raises an eyebrow at you. “You… don’t know? About the Mandalorian trying to find you?”

…

Mandalorian…?

…

Trying to find you.

…

Oh.

…

Well.

…

Guess it’s time to fucking go-

-a hand grips, holds you back.

“Let me go, Tesen!” you shout, shoving against him with both hands. “I- I can’t stay- need to- let go!”

“Hey, hey! What’s wrong?”

He releases your arm- touches your face.

“What do you kriffing think?” You slap his hand away, your voice rising, straining against the fear and panic and anxiety bubbling up your throat. “…Bounty hunters? They blasted hunt! What? Did you think they wanted to propose marriage to me?”

“Dank Ferrik,” he whispers under his breath. “You need to get out of here. Aric Thall- he’s helping the Mandalorian find you.”

…

Shit.

Shit!

Hands grip, squeeze your shoulders.

“I- I have no idea how they tracked me here!” The words tumble from your lips, your palm slapping across your eyes. “I- oh, Maker!”

“What in the galaxy did you do?” His eyes widen. “You always did have a penchant for trouble. You sure pissed someone off.”

You grit your teeth, choosing to ignore his blatant prodding for information.

“Tell me, Tesen.” Both hands shoot up to your hips. “Everything.”

Tesen shrugs and turns to sit down. “My cousin told me the Mandalorian cut some sort of deal- I don’t have the specifics. But he’s entering Thall’s fighting rings in exchange for information.” He raises a brow, leans forward. “On you.”

You blink.

“Wait… what?”

This… doesn’t sound right.

Tesen shrugs again. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“I’m-” you stare at the wall- “so confused?”

“Yeah, me too.” He scratches his head. “Thall told him you visited, but that you had left the planet. That’s why I was surprised to find you here.”

“…Blast.”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“Then the lurdo is lying to a Mandalorian.” You shake your head. “Thall is going to get killed.”

“Good.” Tesen glances away, the hint of a small, timid smile on his face. “He… he deserves it- for betraying you.”

Returning the smile, it grows with the warmth crawling across Tesen’s cheeks.

“One thing I don’t understand-” you sit beside him- “I- I was told three Mandalorians are hunting for me.”

“Maybe so, but only one made a deal with Thall- along with some tough looking woman.”

…

You blink.

Oh… no.

“…The Mandalorian- did your cousin happen to… describe him?”

“Tall. Scary. Big cape. Big rifle.” He scratches his face. “Um…”

“Color, Tesen.” Your voice lowers. “…What color was his armor?”

“Silver. Pure Beskar.”

…

“Is he INSANE?”

Your outburst flings Tesen backwards.

Hands hurling into the air, you release a guttural growl. You- You’re going to kill him- Din Djarin- kill him!

“Whoa- wait-”

“Is he crazy? He’s insane! INSANE!”

You march back and forth, back and forth-

“A few days without me, and he’s already kronged things up- trusting Thall?”

“Hey,” Tesen butts in, waving his hands. “Clue me in here!”

“Tesen!” You stop stomping around long enough to glare at him. “The Beskar- Din- he’s… my friend! I- oh, shit. It’s… complicated. Super, stupidly complicated.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Thall- you know Thall. The man plays dirty.”

“Yeah, so? Everyone knows that.”

“Except my friend!” You moan, leaning up against the hanger wall. “Thall…. SHIT!” You slap both hands over your eyes. “Beskar! Kriff! Thall wants his Beskar! He- you know his fascination with- damn it! Din’s in danger!”

“Wait, what are you going to do?”

“Come with me to Thall’s.” You slap both hands against your hips, your voice taking on a demanding edge. “I need your help.”

“I- I- you know I would,” he sputters. “But I can’t leave my post or-”

“Fine,” you grunt, spinning on your heel. “Then I need to go find someone.” You march towards the hanger doors.

“It was great seeing you again, Tesen!”

“Wait, it’s not safe for you-”

“Goodbye, Ortolans!” You throw a hand in the air as you stalk past their ship. “It’s been fun, but I’m afraid you’ll be needing a replacement mechanic.”

Their cheers are cut off by the slam of the door.

------------------------------

His words are cut off by the slam of the door.

-Knock-

“Talk to me, Darling.”

“Just- just leave me alone!”

You sink to the floor, sobs rocking your body as you bury your face in your lap.

“I’m not a mind-reader, little one. Tell me what you need from me.”

-Knock-

“Let me in, kid.”

Grandpa’s husky voice is muffled, barely audible from behind the door. But his words were calm- always so calm.

“Stop shutting me out.”

Always so damn calm.

“I don’t need or want anything from you!” you yell, wiping away your tears with a dirty sleeve. But it’s no use- new tears just roll in to take their place.

“P-please leave me alone! I’m t-tired of you always telling me w-what to do!”

Silence.

"You go out of your way to find the most damaging, dangerous…” You hear him pause- sigh.

You know he’s lighting his pipe.

“Would you rather I left you to self-destruct?”

You only sob harder. “Y-you ruin… e-everything!”

“…I’m trying so hard to keep your head above water-” pause- “but it’s impossible when you are so determined to drown.”

You lift your head- his words beginning to ease your heart- soften your temper like they always do…

“You’re just so…” his voice cracks- “young, little one.”

Your heart shatters.

You’re so kriffing… selfish.

“I can’t control you,” he continues. “I… know you’ll keep running away… searching for whatever it is you’re missing.” His voice grows hoarse, pained with every word. “All I ask is, please, promise me….”

-Pause.

“Please, always come back. You’re… you’re all I have left.”

Footsteps.

He’s walking away.

You slide the door open.

Grandpa is standing by the fire, pipe in his mouth, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. He turns to give you a tentative look. “…I’m sorry, Darling,” he says, voice rough with his failure.

You don’t speak.

-You bolt forward.

His brawny arms open, receiving you in a tight embrace. You hide away, bury your face in his chest-

-and weep.

------------------------------

There he is.

Pablo- leaned back in a chair, faced away from you, smoking that stupid cigarra of his- oblivious that anyone even entered the hanger much less walking up behind him.

“Pablo!” You yank on the back of his chair with a jerk.

“SHIT!”

He flings backwards along with the chair, crashing- hard. “Don’t shoot!” He rolls to the side- stops- freezes.

“Princess?”

He blinks- tilts his head.

“Well, hello?”

“Hello, yourself.” You raise a brow.

“Where have you been?” He leaps to his feet, staring into your eyes like he still couldn’t believe it’s really you.

“I went to get bantha milk. Look, we don’t have time for this-”

“Like hell we do!” Pablo catches your wrist. “Now you just slow down a minute-”

“We don’t have time!”

“You had time to run away-” he drops your arm- “leave everyone worried about you-”

“Yell at me later.” You lower your brows, matching his glare with equal force. “You have to help me.”

“Help you? What, run away again? No-”

“Listen, stop arguing-”

“What if I like arguing?”

“Maker’s mercy, will you shut up and-” you freeze. Glancing up at the sky, you swallow the curses bubbling up your throat.

“Let’s try this again.”

He crosses his arms.

“Fine,” he sighs, shifting his weight to the side. “Okay, Miss Runaway, what the kriff are you doing here?”

You open your mouth, but no words exit.

A thought.

“Wait. Where’s…” Biting your lip- you turn, glancing around the hanger. “Where’s the baby?”

Pablo’s demeaner shifts- relaxes. “Peli has him in the ship.” His voice softens with every word, the anger, frustration draining from his face. “Little green kiddo really misses you, Maker only knows why.”

Kriff.

-a stab

-a lurch in your chest.

Damn it… you’re abandoning a child, exactly what you fought with Din over- he’s alone- alone and-

-stop.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your force your mind to refocus… just refocus.

“Keep your voice low.” You pry your eyes open again- shame and embarrassment bleeding along the edge of your heart. “I- let’s not upset the kid. He… it’s best he doesn’t know I’m here.”

…

“What? Why?”

“I’m not staying.”

Pablo blinks.

“I’m- I’m really confused right now. You’re not back to stay?”

“Pablo!” You knock your hat back, placing a hand on your hip. “Maker, can you please keep up? I’m a ticking time bomb!”

You step forward- Pablo steps back.

“I’m. Not. Staying.”

“Relax, relax!” He holds his palms up. “Just start from the top. Kriff, Sweetheart.”

Grabbing his hand, you peer at Pablo from beneath your hat’s brim. “Din- the rusted tin head- is mixed up in something extremely dangerous. He’s got to get out of there- now.”

“Oh, man. Stinks for him.”

“And I have to go warn him-”

“Oh, for sure.”

“-with you.”

…

“No. No.”

He turns- practically runs away from you. “No, no way!”

“You dirty- Pablo!” you bark, stomping after him. “Stop! This is important! He will- kark- Din could die! Please, come with me- we have to get him out of there!”

Growling under your breath, you continue to chase him down. “I can’t let this happen to Din, especially when he’s doing it to find me. Blast it, that’s why I left- so he and the baby wouldn’t be hurt.”

Stars!

Why the hell did Din agree to this- all just to find you? Did he think about the kid if he were to lose, to die? Did he think about any of that? No, of course he didn’t. He has some nerve lecturing you for your impulsion- yet here he is making the decisions of a karkin’ brainless Gundark.

…

He… he must really care about you.

The guilt, the shame that washes over your body distracts you from Pablo’s irritated grunt.

“Sweetheart,” he huffs. “Need I remind you that your precious Mando had me frozen in Carbonite- mailing me, postage paid, to my death?” Pablo throws you a look across his shoulder and keeps moving forward. “So, what makes you think I’d take any risk for him?”

“Pablo!”

“I don’t even like any of you!” he shouts, stuffing some of his possessions into a bag. “No, I’m out. I’m running away too.”

“Please!”

Silence.

“Please… then don’t do it for him.”

You grab his arm, trying to meet his eyes, but he refuses.

“Do it for me.”

He still won’t meet your eyes- but if you know Pablo- his silence means you’re making progress.

“I’m scared to do this alone.” Your voice drops, a mere whisper. “With all the hunters out there- I’m… afraid to go in without you, as much as it pains me to admit.”

“I need you.”

…

He throws his head back- groans. You bite back your own smile.

“Well-” he flops his head to the side- sighs- “I guess it’s nice to be needed. That’s certainly a first for me.”

You grin.

“Pablo, for once-” you give him a peck on the cheek- “I’m actually glad I saved your life.”

“Then-” he smirks- “I think we’re making progress.”

You giggle and slap a hand on his back. “Then let’s get going!”

You start walking forward, eager to get to Thall’s arena as soon as possible- but movement catches your eye.

You glance up.

Inside the cockpit- two little green hands are pressed against the glass-

Air catches in your throat.

You blink- then a hazy voice…

…

“…Mama, up! Up!”

Her little hands tug on the edge of your cloak.

“Okay, little one-” you smirk, hefting her up to look out the glass. “Dang, girl-” you draw her close, painting her cheek with kisses- “you’re growing like a weed. You better stop, or I’ll send you to live with the Lothwolves.”

“There! Look!” she giggles, pulling away from you to press two little hands against the glass. She looks up, shooting you a bright, toothy smile. “Shiny men, Mama! Shiny men!”

“Yeah.” Your smile fades, dread beginning to swirl at the base of your spine.

“Shiny men…”

…

“Hey.”

You jerk around, staring at Pablo.

He nods his head. “You ready?”

You turn back.

The little green hands are gone.

“Let’s go.”

------------------------------

“Hey, hold up- excuse me, sorry!”

“Pablo!” You glare down at him from the top of the staircase. “Get your sequined butt up here!”

You suppose there really was no use in glaring at him... After all, your entire face (glare included) is completely hidden by your vocoder mask, the same kind worn by the arena’s singers.

“Now, look here, yipe!-” he leaps aside, avoiding the crowd of spectators storming down the steps- “I didn’t come along just so you could bully me- arg!” He is knocked into the rail. “Oof- no, excuse you, sir!”

Pablo stomps up, pausing just in front of you, a scowl etched deep on his face. “I hate everything,” he grumbles, wiggling the collar of his jumpsuit.

“Keep up,” you sigh, turning on your heel.

“Look, I know we’re disguised as performers-” he grabs at the sequined fabric stretched across his rear- “but did you have to steal me a jumpsuit two sizes too small?”

Rolling your eyes, you scamper up the next flight of stairs. “Oh, you look fine,” you bark back. “And it’s all I could find in the basement!”

You don’t have time for this- Pablo’s grumbling.

Din’s first fight could be- stars!- any moment! You have to find him or Cara immediately… which is easier said than done. Thall’s arena is packed- crammed to max capacity. But you know this building like the back of your hand- if Cara is anywhere- if Din is anywhere- it’s Thall’s skybox.

…If they’re still up there.

“Pablo, I- oh!”

“Whoa!” Pablo’s arms wrap around your waist from behind, preventing a nasty tumble down the stairs. “Easy- those heels aren’t exactly made for racing, you know?”

“Dank Ferrik!” you hiss, allowing Pablo to lead you to a nearby chair. You release a heavy sigh. “I’m ashamed of myself.” You glance up at Pablo, a rueful smile on your face. “Heels and dresses were like a second skin to me on Nar Shaddaa, and look at me now, tripping all over myself.”

Stooping down, you adjust the strap on the shoe, allowing for easier movement, and you can’t help but sigh. “I might feel nostalgic if I had the time.”

“Well, speaking of time-” Pablo turns- catches a passerby- “Excuse me, do you know when the first fight starts? Uh, with the Mandalorian?”

The man chuckles and gives Pablo a curious glance. “Son-” he slaps a hand on his shoulder before turning to leave- “why do you think everyone’s yelling?”

You blink.

No…

…

BLASTED STARS!

You burst up from your chair- flying down the hall- Pablo’s shouts licking at your heels. “Dank FERRIK!” you bark, just before diving into the sea of bodies pressed against a viewing window. You try elbowing through the crowd- but no use. Sinking to the floor instead, you crawl under legs, desperate for even just a peek through the viewing window.

“Ouch! Get off my- oh!” Your hand slaps across your mask. “Din!” you hiss, eyes blasting open at the sight below.

Gleaming Beskar- surrounded by pools of blood and corpses… And one colossal, drooling, slashing…

-Rancor.

“Kriff! KRIFF!” Your screams drown in the sea of spectators. “Damn it, Din! KILL IT!”

This can’t be happening- this can’t be happening.

You’re too late- you’re too late.

“Just- blasted kill it! JUMP!” You slam both palms of your hands against the glass. “I can’t- OH- WATCH OUT!”

The Rancor cries, roars against Din’s flamethrower, lashing out with a swing of its claws. Din propels backwards with his jetpack, narrowly avoiding the slice, but he, in turn, loses precious ground to the slobbering beast. The raw stench of burnt flesh wafts through the halls. You slap a hand across your mask, trying to suppress the bubbling bile rising up your throat.

Damn it.

Damn it!

Your fist crashes into the glass.

You swear on your life, if your Mandalorian dies because of this- because of you…

-you will burn this whole damn place to the ground.

It seems the flames only enraged the creature- saliva and bile raining through its teeth as Din turns- reassess his position. Your heart squeezes- aches- he’s cornered- cornered in. And-

“Din!”

He flings into the air- flames cascading down in a golden waterfall, temporarily blinding you. You squeeze an eye open- watching claws and teeth slice through the fire-

-SLAM-

The floor quivers beneath your knees as the creature smashes its fist straight into the side of the arena’s forcefield.

“Dank Ferrik!”

“Holy shit!”

“Did you see that?”

“Best show in years!”

You sneer at the jubilancy surrounding you. To hell with this! You’re not going to sit here and watch your Mandalorian turned into monster chow!

You flip around- scrambling on all fours to squeeze beneath the sea of legs. Stumbling up to your feet, you twist your head- frantic to locate Pablo.

You pause- blink.

“Pablo!”

There he is- down the hall- losing his absolute mind along with the crowd.

“You Nerfherder! Stop cheering!” Slapping a hand on his shoulder, you struggle to pull him away from the viewing window. “He’s going to karkin’ die!”

“Stars!” he groans, relenting to your hold. “But I just put credits down!”

“They better be on Din,” you yell over your shoulder, sailing down the closest flight of stairs. “Or I’m never blasted speaking to you again!”

“That’s not a threat, Sweetheart!”

“Carbonite man,” you growl under your breath. Well, he had better keep up because you aren’t waiting around, even if it leaves you unprotected. You don’t care. You don’t care.

You’re not even sure how many flights of stairs you’ve flown down- all you know is that with every thunderous cheer, with every whoop of the crowd- Din is one step closer to the end result of the fight…

Whatever it may be…

…Oh stars.

Once you reach the ground-level, your instinct, your memory takes over, leading you with straight towards the secured gate that opens into the arena. You cut around corners- heave past crowds- barrel down to- ah, there!

There! The gates!

“Shit!”

You freeze- legs tangling up at the sudden stop, nearly hurling you to the ground. Your eyes widen, staring through the bars of the gate, eyes glued only on him.

Din.

Smoking blaster- his armored chest heaving-

-and dead Rancor pinned beneath his boots.

He gazes down at the creature as if completely unaware of the wild, raucous applause ripping through the building. Re-holstering his blaster, he flings aside his cape, turns, and drops several feet to the ground. Shoulders rolling back in complete and utter ease, he hooks his fingers in his belt.

You smug bastard. A lop-sided grin stretches across your face. You absolute show off.

You blink, the smile wavering on your lips.

Maker, that stance- he- he’s… dang. Really kriffing sexy.

Kriffing sexy… and alive! You- you can’t believe-

“Din! DIN!”

You grab ahold of the gate, bouncing up and down on your toes. “HELL YEAH!” Throwing your head back, you burst into wild laughter. Maker, you’ve never been so damn proud of a man in all your life!

“That’s my Mandalorian!” you cackle, beaming ear to ear. “Din! Over here- wait! No, wait!”

But it’s too late. There he goes, blasting into the air with that stupid jetpack of his.

“Dank Ferrik!” you growl, pushing back against the gate. “You tin-head! You did that on purpose-” you fling both hands into the air- “to make me keep running after you!”

“HEY!”

“Pablo!” you shout back, turning to race down the corridor.

Panting heavily, he catches up to you with a few long strides. “Corellian hells!-” he reaches out to touch your shoulder- “don’t do that again!”

“Do what?”

“I couldn’t find you,” his voice strains. “I was worried you might jump into the ring- try and choke out the Rancor.”

“I would have-” you spin on your heel, squeezing through a large crowd of Twi’lek and human performers- “if I had a shockstaff.”

“Then you’re never getting a shockstaff.”

“Try and stop me.”

You can only smirk at the string of grumbles that fall from his lips.

“Come on-” you grip his hand- “he should be in one of the private rooms in the back. We can slip in and-”

“Hey, you!”

-you freeze.

An elaborately dressed woman rushes forward, snatches Pablo’s hand from your own. “You should have been in section four thirty minutes ago!” she snarls, tugging at his arm. “We have one final dance rehearsal before the performance!”

“…Dance?”

Pablo’s head whips around- staring, pleading with you for help.

“Sw-sweetheart-”

“NOW.”

All you can do is watch, slipping him a pitiful shrug as he is yanked away to Maker knows where… You snort. You sure hope he’s as talented at dancing as he is spinning tales, or he’s in some serious bantha poodoo…

-----------------------------

Ah, here we go!

It took longer than anticipated to locate the corridor housing the private suites, but after a bit of frantic searching, you’ve finally located it. Unfortunately, you still have no idea which room Din could be within… Maybe the grand suite? Or the one overlooking the main entrance?

Well, you’ll figure it out, even if you have to knock on every last door to find him.

You have to admit, you can’t wait to see him again…

Stars! A grin bursts across your face, and you struggle to suppress a giggle. You also just can’t believe he did it! Hell yeah!

He killed a Rancor.

…

…for you.

To find you.

Oh Maker… You don’t deserve him.

You clasp both hands together, laughing under your breath. You’re just so… so damn proud. The second you see him, you’re going… to… to…

You freeze- the air squeezes from your lungs.

…

Well.

You…

You found Din Djarin.

Down the hall, entering his room-

…

-with two women hanging off his arms.

You just… stare, blood throbbing in your ears as they disappear from view. The slam of the door shutting behind them rushes down the hall- ramming into your chest like a punch.

Then-

-silence.

You clench your trembling hands into fists, your nails digging, cutting into your palms.

…

Well.

Guess someone’s having a little celebratory fun… What the blazes do you do? Go knock? Interrupt… whatever?

…

No. You know what?

Kark him.

You press both hands against your thighs, flames beginning to tinge along the edge of your vision. Clenching your jaw, you throw back your shoulders, spin around, and march down the hall.

Why- Maker!- what’s wrong with you? Turn around- go bang on his door- get him out of here. That was the plan- stick to it!

But you…. you’re-

-ridiculous.

The fire scorching the edge of your vision is extinguished by a watery flood. You reach up to wipe your eyes with a glittery sleeve, but- kriff!- the mask prevents it.

Maker above! Karking crying? Damn, you’re embarrassed on behalf of yourself! Why do you care so much what he does? Stars! He’s free to do whatever damn thing he wants… the lurdo.

You’ve never even seen his face! How kriffin’ old is the Mandalorian anyway? Stars, he- he probably just sees you as some stupid girl who can’t stay out of trouble without him! Killed a Rancor because he feels sorry for you!

After all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned about the Mandalorian since the day he pulled you from the sands of Taek, it’s that he has a penchant for collecting friends, pathetic rescues- pathetic rescues like yourself.

That’s all you are to him.

Your lower lip trembles- whether in furor or dejection, you aren’t certain.

…Kriff him!

You grind your teeth, forcing your lip to still.

Stop. It… doesn’t matter what he does.

Your… your feelings for him aren’t… real. You’ve always known that- acknowledged that. You know you’re susceptible to silly daydreams; you’re desperate for attention- a home- a family…

And Din Djarin gave you all of that.

So, no- this burst of emotion? These karking tears?

You clench your hands into fists.

They mean nothing.

Just… manifestations of your loneliness.

But- but still… you had always thought that… his feelings were real…

…

But they’re not.

Which is… good.

If the Mandalorian had real feelings for you, the moment he learned what you’ve done, who you are... No, you were right to run away the first time, for more reasons than one. You- you have to stick to that plan.

It… is what it is.

…

But damn, do you hate him right now.

----------------------------

~I can’t let the way you are influence me~

Shut up, Din.

~You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions~

Shut up! Maker, just shut up!

~We’re done here~

“Yeah,” you growl aloud, trailing behind the flow of people filtering into the arena’s entertainment hall. “We are done, Din Djarin.”

Your first step into the arena’s entertainment hall is a time machine, spinning you back to a time and place you thought you’d never relive. Yet here you are- in the room from your memories- only this time you’re back to search for your dumbass friend in a sparkly jumpsuit.

Maker!

Your eyes trail upwards, following the natural light. Ah, there’s balconies you’d jump from with the crew! And the- you sniff the air- heavy scent of roasting meat still lingers, hovering in the air. The reverberations of booming laughter and mirth twist, meld together in the air. The echoes rise, just barely kissing the ceiling, before slipping out through the open windows and into the sunlight above.

You can’t help but smile softly.

But reminiscing is not the goal for today.

You’re leaving. Getting the kriff off this planet.

And Pablo has to stay and warn Din for you… if you could just blasted find him! Pablo- stars- the man is impossible! You take him on a field trip, and what does he do? Disappears.

Arg! Where the hell is he? Your eyes sweep the lines of entertainers, the tables of special guests- but no Pablo. Hell, did he elope with a Jawa and leave? This is the perfect chance for him to talk with Din! You swear, if he left you-

You gasp- Cara! And… You clench your teeth, biting back an audible growl. Karkin’ Aric Thall- the lying sack of Hutt excrement. There they are- sitting up on his favorite platform, the best view in the house.

You- you have a good mind to march right up there and- and-

“Where’s the Mandalorian?” Thall rises from his chair, standing at the edge of the platform. “Is he in medical? Surely he’s not snubbing my hospitality!”

The crowd murmurs.

-slam-

You spin around- Din! He’s just… standing in the doorway, both hands pressed against the frame.

A cheeky grin begins to stretch, beam across your face, until… you remember what he was doing the last time you saw him…

“There he is!” Thall chuckles, sitting back in his seat. “Come.”

Din remains motionless, silent- and the air thins, as if one wrong move could shatter it into a thousand gleaming shards.

“Uh oh,” you groan, wrapping both arms tightly around your body. You know the Mandalorian- he’s pissed.

In the flick of an eye- he’s moving, sweeping forward through the room- paving a direct path for Thall.

“Stars!” you hiss, moving forward on his mark.

You can’t hear a word of their conversation- but Din is none too happy. If you had to wager a guess… um, well, Din’s probably not amused by the Rancor addition to the fight.

Something tells you that wasn’t part of their original agreement…

Standing as close to them as you can without raising suspicion, you turn up the dials on your mask, amplifying the sound.

“Come on-” Thall’s voice cuts through your mask- “a true Mandalorian can handle any little surprise thrown at them.”

“A Rancor is a little surprise?” Cara butts in.

“Yes!” Thall laughs, swinging his arm to the side. “Surprise, it’s a Rancor! It’s good for business.”

Din tilts his head to the side. “No more surprises.” His voice is low- so low you almost can’t hear him even with the dial turned up.

“Understood?”

Thall just laughs. “Come on! My reputation is built around surprises!” Lacing his fingers together, he throws a leg up and over the arm of his chair. “You handled it like a Mandalorian ought to have. So, what’s the problem?”

“We had conditions,” the Mandalorian growls, taking a step forward. “See that you stick to them.”

Thall’s eyes widen in mock concern. “I have, haven’t I?” He glances at his guards before turning back to the Mandalorian. “You had a fight. You won the fight. So, you win the next fight, and you learn how to locate our... friend.”

Our friend?

Hell no. I think not.

It takes all of your resolve to keep from marching forward, ripping your mask off, and revealing what a blasted liar Thall is.

“You never explained, Mando,” asks Thall. “I hope you don’t seek her for a bounty. As many headaches as both she and Valen caused me, I do still have fondness for her.”

Ha.

Liar.

More like fondness for the cash you drew in.

The Mandalorian is silent, still, then steps forward-

“My reasons are my own.”

“Well,” Thall sighs. “It must be important to go to all this trouble.” He slaps his hands on the arms of his chair, leaning forward. “Who hired you? What did she do? Tell me- I am dying to know.”

Silence.

“Ah! So unnecessarily dramatic,” Thall grumbles, flopping back in his seat. “Fine! We’ll change topics!” The tips of his fingers bounce rapidly against his leg. “Sooo.... we’re excited to have a Mandalorian visiting here again! It’s been a while, am I right?” Thall’s voice booms at the last few words, seizing the crowd’s attention. In a mixture between slurred cheers and boos, the crowd erupts, encouraging Thall to continue.

“I know!” Thall springs from his seat, staring down at the Mandalorian. “Why don’t we switch things up here, and you entertain us!”

Cara’s laugh is a bark. “Killing a rancor wasn’t entertainment enough?”

“Oh!” Thall chuckles, shooting his guards a knowing look. “I know! How about blade throwing? Or sharpshooting? Mandalorians are supposed to be good at that, right?”

The Mandalorian keeps his voice even, but his irritation is not veiled.

“I’m not interested in your games, Thall.”

Of course, Thall pretends he didn’t hear that. The man always was-

“Oh! Yes! Yes, yes!” Thall’s words burst through your thoughts. “I have an even better idea!”

Kark, what now?

You watch, anger only rising in your chest. Thall sweeps his eyes across the room, across the sea of faces-

-stops.

…

You.

Oh… Force.

He’s staring at you.

No.

Oh no.

"Put the dancer against the wall.”

…

Oh, FORCE.

A hand clasps your arm, and you instinctively resist- yanking against the hold. “What?” you hiss. “Wait!”

The guard lugs you forward, pulling a squeak from your lips. Oh stars! What do you do? What’s happening what’s do you do oh stars, stars, stars!

“Move. Now.”

You hiss. His claws dig, cut through your sleeve, into your flesh.

You… you have to stay calm.

You… can’t blow your cover. Stay calm.

…Oh stars.

With one final thrust, you are heaved forward, and you hit the wall with an audible oof through your mask’s vocoder. Sucking in air through your teeth, you fling around, pressing your body flush against the wall, the roughness scraping your exposed back and legs.

You blink.

Din.

He’s just… staring at you.

Unreadable as always.

Blast! Panic nips at your heart. Does he recognize you? Seven Corellian hells! Do you reveal yourself- risk a fight breaking out? Oh kark, your plan was to sneak out. Arg! What do you do?

You clench your hands into fists, resisting the urge to groan.

Hell. The things you get mixed up in…

Wrapping your anxiety up with a bandage of confidence, you lift your chin, awaiting Thall’s next move.

The Mandalorian breaks from his trance.

“What are you doing?” He dips his head back to Thall.

He flashes the Mandalorian that old familiar, no-good grin…

Oh dear.

“You’re going to show us your blade throwing precision skills-” Thall motions a guard, carrying a set of blades, forward- “with a live target.”

....

Live-

OH FORCE.

“If Mandalorians are as good as the legends say, she’ll be just fine.” Thall has the audacity to wink at you. “Or if you inadvertently kill her, well-” he waves a hand- “I have plenty more.”

…

The Mandalorian does not move- does not speak. His blank, lifeless visor is focused only on you.

And you only on him.

“Well?”

…

He shifts- glares at Thall.

“No.”

“Fine…” Thall purrs. He glances over at his guards- raises a hand at them.

…

“Then kill her.”

…

Kill? …Wait-

DANK FERRIK.

“OOF!” You are flung against the wall, a hand pressing, locking you in place. “No, no, stop-”

You freeze- eyes blasting open-

A man-

Blade extended-

Stepping forward-

-BLAST-

Burnt flesh pierces your nostrils.

“Bloody seven hells!” you warble through the modulator, gawking down at the lifeless body mere inches from your feet- the second body also much too close for comfort. Your head shoots up, your eyes widening.

The Mandalorian is facing you- smoking blaster in hand.

“Yay!” Thall’s voice pierces the tension, his claps echoing throughout the silent room. “Excitement already!”

This is the flick that switches the crowd- their shouts and cries swirling together to birth utter chaos.

The guard steps up to the Mandalorian, offering him the blades. He stares down at them- to you- to Thall.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Thall purrs.

You groan. Holy Maker, you knew you should have sent 4PO in your place…

Squeezing both eyes shut, you swallow back your dread. Dank Ferrik, how the hell do things always go so blasted wrong? Should you reveal yourself? Ah, no, no, then a firefight would break out- he- Din- could be killed- or you- or-

“Don’t move.”

Your eyes blast open.

The Mandalorian- he’s… leaning over you- so close you can feel his warm, protective aura wrap around you like a cloak.

“Understood?” He shifts closer, his voice all but a rasp. “Don’t move.”

Well, damn it if you won’t obey him, but all you can muster is a pitiful nod in response.

He returns the nod, turns to leave-

“I trust you.”

He freezes at your words- turns to stare at you. His dark visor bores into your mask, as if he could sear straight through to metal- past all the wiring- and see only you.

But then he’s storming away again, palming a blade in his gloved hand.

You press your head back. Uh, wait- is this really happening? Kark! Well, you suppose you were going to get yourself killed eventually… Might as well be at the hands of a friend, right?

Right…

He stands at a distance- angles his head to the side, the blade firm in his grip.

Silence.

He pulls back-

Your eyes widen. Holy k-

-Slam-

You turn your face ever so slightly to the right, the ice-cold metal of the blade jutting from the wall a chill against your skin.

Your mouth drops.

Did… did he mean to get that close?

His voice hisses in your mind.

“Don’t move.”

-Slam-

Two.

-Slam-

Three.

-Slam-

Four.

You flinch with every landing, eyes squeezed as tightly closed as physically possible. Stars! How many more-

-Slam-

You hiss, and crack an eye open, glancing down at the blood pooling, dripping from your right hand. You moan, and tuck the hand behind your back, hoping no one noticed the graze.

The crowd bursts into cheers, the tension and silence eradicated by the Mandalorian’s final blade toss.

“She lives!” Thall’s voice cuts through the ruckus. “I get to keep my dancer!”

Flopping your head back against the wall, all you can do is groan. “Dank Ferrik,” you warble, pressing your left hand against your chest.

Hell, first he stabs your heart, then he slices your hand. If you weren’t about to run away again, you’d stay and kill Din Djarin.

A flick of movement draws your eyes forward. There- the Mandalorian- Din- he’s making a path straight for you, seemingly blind to the room, the chaos surrounding him.

You blink and watch him approach. You know it’s tempting fate, but… you can’t resist.

“Not bad,” your modulated voice mumbles. “Could use a little improvement.”

Din pauses just before you and leans his head forward.

“You’re not dead, are you?”

Your smirk is hidden behind the mask. “No-” your hand grips the handle of a blade, and with a tug, you yank it from the wall- “I’m alive for now.” You stretch your hand forward, offering him the weapon.

Silence.

You think he’s grabbing for the weapon, but he grabs your right hand. He stares down at his glove, your blood black against the leather.

“L-like I said,” you stutter, biting your lip- “uh, you could use a little improvement.”

His visor is glued to your hand, to your blood. Then, his head trails up… to your masked face- along your sleeved arms- down your torso-

Oh kark.

You rip your hand away, stumbling off to the side.

You don’t say a word- you just run.

------------------------------

Step- step- swing to the left.

Twist- twist- spin.

Left- left- shake your body.

Thrust- thrust- pose.

Stars, thank the Maker Thall’s dancers are performing to standard Nar Shaddaa choreography. The last thing you need is to stand out even kriffing more than you already do… You know this dance, this song like the back of your hand.

You follow along with the line of dancers, your muscle memory taking over as the lights dim further- dipping the room into a neon glow. The bass throbs in your head, preventing you from doing any coherent thinking. So, you flip into autopilot- taking this opportunity to glance out at the crowds for a sign of blasted Pablo.

You gaze out- (spin, spin, to the left)- eyes sweeping across the neon faces- (thrust, thrust, kick your leg)- but it’s no use- (swing, swing, release the pole)- there’s just too many karkin’ faces!

As much as you enjoy dancing, this is a waste of time- (kick, kick, spin around).

You scowl out at the crowd, and your breathing stops.

Din.

Leaning up against the wall, both arms crossed, his visor is trained- unmistakably trained- on you.

Stars!

How long has he been watching you? Or rather… why is he watching you?

You twist your head back and forth with the music- catching Din out the corner of your eye a second time.

-Still staring.

Maker!

You rip your eyes away, your heart fluttering in your chest. Oh hells, now you wish you had never noticed his attention- you can barely remember the choreography much less focus on trying to find Pablo in the crowd.

You hiss, fumbling with your rhythm.

Blast him- the Mandalorian’s ruining your performance.

You grit your teeth, seething. Doesn’t he have his own entertainment to get back to in his quarters? You might would be flattered by the attention… if he knew it was you. But he can’t possibly know it’s you. He… he thinks you’re… someone else.

You can’t help but growl.

Kark him!

Not that you’re jealous…

Right…?

…

Kark him.

…

Ah! There!

Your eyes catch a flash of white light- a door opening and closing just to the side of the room. This is your best opportunity. You slip from the performance, fleeing through the door and down the side corridor.

Thankfully, the crowds are thinning out now, which should make the building easier to navigate- easier to locate your sequined companion. You continue running down the corridor, keeping an eye open for any good hiding spot.

“Pablo!” you hiss, ducking your head into an open storage room door. “You there?” You swear, if he’s been hiding this entire time- you’re going to kick his- YIKES!

A steely grip pulls, yanks you away from the door and straight down the hall.

“W-wait!” you squeak, stumbling over your own feet.

Your eyes shoot up-

Din.

…

Oh…. shit.

His glove is locked around your left wrist, dragging you behind him as he stalks down the hall. Stumbling against his pull, you squeak again, but he does not slow his pace.

“Wh-what are- urg!”

You nearly crash into his back at his sudden stop. The door to his quarters flies open, and he pushes you forward. You stumble into the edge of the bed- collapsing onto it with an oof.

Then the door slams shut behind you.

…

Footsteps.

…

Oh kriff.

You spin around to face him. “I- I can-”

The mask rips from your face-

…

His chest heaves.

His visor- frozen- on your eyes.

Oh…

…

Oh stars.

You stand- hands raised.

“D-Din… I- I ju-”

He grabs your wrist-

-yanks you forward-

-his arms crashing you against his chest.

…

Safe.

…

You’re safe.

…

“Dank Ferrik,” you groan, burying your face in the fabric just beside his pauldron.

His arms tighten at your voice, squeezing you even closer into him.

“You left.”

His voice is rough, strained.

You shove on his arm. “Technically,” you mumble, face buried in fabric, “you left me first.” Peeling away from his armor, you glance up at him.

His helmet dips down, visor trained on your eyes- your face. His arms relax, dropping to the curve of your lower back.

“But at least I had a good reason-” you pout your lips in playful contempt and jab a hand into his side- “unlike you… uh-”

You tense.

The cool of leather brushes down the side of your cheek- curves around your jaw. It stops- pausing just beneath your chin-

-and lifts.

“I-It’s good, um-” you force a grin- “to… see you, Din.”

Leather dusts your ear.

“Ka’r’ika…”

…

Damn, damn it.

That’s it-

You’re done for.

“I- uh- I…” you fumble, flicking your eyes to the floor.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

You reach up, gripping his wrist. “Come now, Din.” Pushing his arm away, you take a step back- space to think. “Don’t get all… uh, sentimental on me.” Your forced smile tightens. “We- we can talk about things later, once we’re out of here.”

He, too, steps back, and dips his head at you.

“Talk.”

Crossing your arms, you can’t help but snort at his brevity. “Well, I came to save your rusted ass, Mando… Thall is a creep. He lied about knowing how to find me so he could con you into fighting.” Rubbing your temple, you can only sigh.

“Trust me, all he wants your Beskar.” You throw out a hand- smacking it against Din’s armor. “You flashy show off.”

Oh-

He’s caught your hand, holding it against his armored chest. His hand is warm, firm above your own.

And he isn’t letting go.

“We… need to leave,” you whisper, tugging against his grip.

He frees your hand- angles his head to the side.

…

“Come.”

His voice is soft, gentle.

…

“I’m taking you home.”

…

Oh.

“S-sure-” you clear your throat, eyes flicking away from him- “I just need that mask… wherever it flew, aha...”

Swooping to the side, you reach down, scooping the abandoned vocoder up off the floor.

“Hells,” you grumble, snapping it into place. “Um, hey, we’re twinning, Mando!”

Hooking his fingers in his belt, he just flops his head to the side.

Grinning ear to ear, you pull the mask away to shoot him a pointed look. “Tell me,” you ask, “how’d you know it was me?”

“Who else but you-” he takes a lumbering step forward- “would say she trusts me to throw a blade at her head?”

He has the audacity to reach up and tap your nose.

“Din Djarin!” Crinkling your nose, you take a swat at his hand. “I didn’t exactly-” you stick your tongue out- “have a choice.”

…

-a stab in your chest…a thought.

It’s petty, but…

“Oh, but I bet one of your companions-” you lower your brows at him, resentment resurfacing on your tongue- “from earlier would have also trusted you.”

…

“…You saw that?”

He stills- fingers flexing by his side.

“They… were in a bad situation,” he mumbles, barely audible through his vocoder. “…From which I helped them escape.”

…

“Oh.”

…

“So… you weren’t-”

“No.”

“…Oh.”

You blink.

“Not that I kriffing care what you kriffing do, Din Djarin.”

He just… stares.

Maker.

You want to die.

You just… awkwardly glance around.

…

“I… recognized the scar on your hand.” His voice is quiet, hesitant. “Kept an eye on you since.”

“Oh. Kark, of course.” Stretching your fingers, you glance down at your hand. “Mmf, got this my first week on Nar Shaddaa- a homecoming gift, I suppose.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you grimace at the scar.

“When we first arrived on-world, the lower level was the only place we could find work.” You flop your head back, groaning at the memory.

“And, just my luck, my first employer was raided my fifth night there. Out of nowhere.” Rubbing your temple, you release a heavy sigh. “Those were… hard days. But- stars- I… I schemed, I plotted, I learned the game as fast as I could.”

…At a price.

The bed dips down beside you, ripping you from your thoughts. You turn, meeting the Mandalorian’s neutral stare.

“…And I made it-” a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips- “I clawed my way into the city skylines, upper-level opulence.”

He chuckles.

“Well now…”

Leather brushes against your neck.

“That’s my girl.”

…

Oh Maker.

…You hate he saw how you grinned at that.

“Here-” his glove drops, motioning for your right hand- “that cut needs to be cleaned.”

“Making fun of my doctoring?”

He grunts, focused only on inspecting the wound.

You roll your eyes. “I just went and-”

Oh.

He’s… tugged his glove off- tossed it aside.

“Here.”

His hand- his human hand- his tan, big, warm human hand- oh stars, oh stars- reaches for yours-

Blast it- stop.

It’s a damn hand, for Maker’s sake!

“Are you hurt elsewhere?” he snaps, oblivious to the turmoil his kriffing hand is inflicting at the moment. He dabs a wipe across the wound. “Have you been eating?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you chirp. “Fried up a womprat leg in the desert for lunch.”

…

“I’m kidding, Din.”

He blows a puff of air through the vocoder, and you can only grin.

Stars, he’s just too much fun to mess with…

“Blast! I told you- nhg- that you needed a little- ah- improvement-” you cringe, forcing your eyes away from the wound.

He makes a noise- continues his task.

“I might be the better blade thrower,” you snort, continuing to ramble. “But, damn, you killed a whole ass Rancor!”

“Well-” he shoots a quick glance up- “I couldn’t kill just half its ass.”

…

He has a point.

“I know! You should teach me Rancor fighting!”

“No.”

“Please? I want to try taming one- ride it through town.”

You hiss- he’s pressed a bactapatch against your flesh.

“That’s beyond my paygrade, Ka’r’ika. I’ve only ever killed one. Taming-” he looks up at you, tilts his head to the side- “…taming is substantially more difficult.”

“Are you talking about me now?” you tease, crinkling your nose at him.

“Your words-” he quips, his tone deepening- “not mine.”

You chuckle, your lop-sided grin only growing.

Blast it.

You’ve… missed this… missed him.

“Well, anyway” you huff, shoving against his shoulder with your free hand. “I still think you’re a banthabrain for even considering Thall’s deal.”

Silence.

One, two, three short tugs, and he’s finished wrapping your injured hand.

“…I’d fight a second Rancor-”

His visor lifts.

“…If it meant finding you.”

…

You blink.

Oh.

Watching as naked skin disappears within the sanctuary of his glove, a… thought occurs.

“Well,” you mumble and stand, flicking your eyes north to his helm.

Oh, hell.

Just do it.

You whirl around, positioning between his legs. He jolts back- startled- as you slap both hands atop his pauldrons.

“…You found me.”

You lean forward- plant a sharp kiss against his visor.

A catch, a hitch in his breath-

-and he leaps to his feet, spinning you aside.

“We… we need to go,” he rumbles, stalking straight for the door. He stops beside it, fumbling with his belt.

“Fine,” you sigh, snapping your vocoder mask back into place. You saunter to stand beside Din, who’s still fiddling with something on his belt.

Throwing both hands on your waist, you jut out a hip.

“Well, you ready, Mando?”

The door snaps open.

And then he’s gone- ducks right out the door, cape swooping around at his heels.

You can’t help but chuckle under your breath.

Okay, so maybe you’ll never tame a Rancor in your lifetime…

…but you think you just tamed your very first Mandalorian.

------------------------------

“Just keep an eye out for lime green sequins.”

At your words, Din angles his head back at you, his silence speaking a thousand words.

“No, we shouldn’t leave Pablo.” You shake your head, glancing down each hallway you pass. “I think he has abandonment issues.”

Din just sighs, resting a hand behind your back to push you forward.

“I’ll tell Cara where to meet us.” The Mandalorian’s voice is all business. “And Pablo- we’ll… find him.”

“Don’t sound so depressed.” You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “He’s starting to grow on me.”

Din makes a noise- then pulls you close.

“Stay with me,” he rumbles. “Don’t say a word.”

“Lips? Zipped.”

He glares at you- and you can only smirk.

Ah, ahead!

The entrance to the entertainment hall…

Upon re-entering, it’s pretty much exactly how you left it- loud and chaotic. As you blink up at the flashing lights, you feel a tug on your arm.

“Keep up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice is hard, a warning.

“I told you that you can’t use that voice on me,” you hiss under your breath. “I’m not afraid of you.” You shove a hand into his back as if to prove your point.

“Aye!” you growl. “Din!”

“Quiet.”

“Don’t pinch me.”

“Quit being a brat.”

Thank the Maker you wear a mask- you’d hate to give Din the satisfaction of your stupid grin.

“Din,” you whisper, tugging on his arm. “Maybe we coul- OH!”

-an eruption, a burst of curses and shouts and chaos.

Your eyes blast open-

“Pablo!”

There he is- arms pinned behind his back as a group of performers trail behind him. There’s… blood dripping off the side of his face-

-and he looks pissed.

“Sir!” one of the guards shouts.

Thall just sighs. “Oh, what is going on? Interrupting my party…”

“An intruder. This man was pretending to be a performer, and he refuses to explain himself.”

“This man is lyin- oh OUCH.” Pablo’s head jerks to the side. “Was that necessary?”

“Ack,” Thall huffs, waving his hand aside. “I don’t care. I don’t care who he is. It isn’t important.”

“Thank you-”

“Just kill him.”

“Wa-wait WHAT?”

You slap a hand across your mouth, but before you can react- Din is blazing past you- straight for the crowd.

“Din!” you hiss, panic welling up in your throat.

Oh stars-

“Stop.”

The Mandalorian’s voice commands the room.

“Yes, stop!” Pablo laughs at Din’s appearance. “Maker, man, I’ve never been so-”

“He’s with me.”

Thall just… leans forward.

“Is there-” his voice is hard, cool- “a reason you have a spy in my midst, Mandalorian?”

Oh… kriff.

You begin pushing forward.

“He’s a friend,” Cara’s voice interjects. “Not a spy.”

“Were we-” Thall chuckles- “plotting something behind my back?”

The room freezes- stills-

-ready to shatter.

Thall- kark!

He’s been waiting for a reason to do this!

…

He’s- he’s going to kill Din for his Beskar.

Thall just… smiles.

…

“Kill them.”

The room erupts-

Bodies racing- blasters flying- shrieks-

Everyone is either fleeing-

-or joining in on a fight.

You scream, ducking behind a table to avoid a flying chair. “Kark!” You reach down, lugging your heels at a passing guard.

“You bunch of creeps!”

But your voice drowns in the ocean of pandemonium.

“Blast it, oof!” you growl, racing past several men wrestling each other. “You’re all idiots!”

Shit, shit!

You- you can’t see any of them!

“DIN?- get back, you- MOVE!”

You shove past a stampede of screaming dancers, spying-

-Aric Thall.

You bare your teeth.

You look to Thall- look to the wall.

An idea.

“Oh, just kill them,” Thall yells, stepping back behind his wall of guards. “Just blas-”

-SLAM-

A collective gasp-

The room crumples into silence.

…

You stand firm atop a table, pointing a second blade at Thall.

“ARIC THALL!”

You reach up- rip the mask from your face- smash it to the floor.

“Fuck you!”

Not the best choice of words, perhaps…

Thall just stares at you.

“Uh…” He casually glances at the blade jutting from the wall… mere inches from his head. “Do I know you?”

Karkin’ hells, you’ve got to be kidding…

You shout your name, rage bleeding through your words.

“Oh, Maker help us! It’s you!” Thall gasps, clutching his temples. “I should have known I had a headache for a reason-”

“I’m going to give you more than just a headache-” you jab the blade forward- “you greasy furball!”

“Ack!” Thall flops dramatically back in his chair. “If you were anyone else, I’d have you blasted for that.”

“You liar!” you shout. “You lied about finding me-”

You pause.

-a voice.

-your name.

Your eyes trail downwards.

Din’s pressed up against your table, inches from your feet, his hands held out for you.

“Ka’r’ika, come down-”

…

You turn- reject him.

You… you know what you’re doing.

…

Din has to trust you now.

“You know, I’m truly sorry our reunion had to be this way,” Thall laughs, flopping back in his seat. “Look at you, all big and grown and bossy. And violent. Valen must be proud.”

Your resolve wavers at his name.

“How is Gramps?”

“None of your concern.”

“Oh, so he’s dead.”

“I’m not here about him,” you growl, throwing your hand to the side. “You lied to the Mandalorian about the conditions of your agreement.” You clench your teeth, forcing an authoritative persona. “You had no information on me. Therefore, the agreement is void, and we will be going now. Thank you, and goodbye.”

“Ack, now, I didn’t lie,” Thall replies. “I just… mistook another for you! My eyes are really getting bad.”

“You need glasses, sir.”

“I know!”

“Uhg,” you groan. “Thall, you’ve not blasted changed a bit.”

“You neither!” he chirps. “And you aren’t going anywhere, isn’t that great?”

Furor threatening to boil over, you rush forward, stopping just at the edge of the table.

“You OWE me!” Your voice strains. “You were nothing but a flea-bitten scrap pile to the Hutts until I-” you jab a thumb at your chest- “came around- until I convinced my friends to give you the time of day- race under your banner.”

“You over-estimate your influence, I think.”

Then he- he laughs at you.

Red flashes, pulses in your eyes.

You- you want- you’re going to-

“Mandalorian.”

Thall crosses his legs, smiles at Din- now standing just behind you on the table.

“You can try and leave, but you-” he throws his hands up; makes a face- “will not make it out alive. Sorry!”

Oh-

That’s karking it-

You start forward. “Thall, I’m going to break-”

“Don’t hurt her.”

The Mandalorian yanks you back- pushes you behind him.

“…Our deal is still on.”

…

“I will fight.”

“Din!” you growl, grasping onto his cloak. “No- you stupid metal-”

“Hurt her-” he steps forward, pushing you back- “…and you’ll beg for me to kill you.”

Thall huffs.

“I don’t kindly to threats, Mando…”

Your eyes catch movement- Din’s hand… hovering above his blaster-

Kriff… No!

You lunge forward-

“A RACE!”

…

Thall tilts his head at you.

“Uh…Care to explain?”

You… you have to do this.

Din…

You can’t let him fight.

“Credits- you’ll have all the credits you can imagine, Thall.” You force your voice to steady, neutralize your waver. “You can advertise it as a big comeback of a… a legend that disappeared. Think- think of the gambling, the ticket sales…”

“Ka’r’ika-”

“I’ll race again, you slimy piece of filth.” You leap down from the table- the clomp of Din’s boots stomping just behind you. You pause beneath Thall’s platform. “And then we’ll go free… unharmed.”

…

“I used to make you a lot of money, Thall.”

“You certainly did…” Thall purrs. “And… an event such as this… would be worth much more to me than… a simple fight…”

“We had a deal.”

Din storms forward- the guards shoving him back.

“Din!” you hiss, shaking your head at him.

“This is more desirable to me, I’m afraid, Mandalorian.” Thall grins. “But on one condition-”

“Here we go,” Cara growls, stepping up beside Din.

“If you win, you all go free. But if you lose-”

Thall throws a leg up and over the arm of his chair.

“You��ll stay and race under my banner… for an entire year.”

…

Oh, hell…

“Ka’r’ika-” a hand wraps around your arm- “let me figh-”

“Deal.”

You lift your chin.

“We have a deal.”

“Ah, excellent! Just like old times!” Thall cheers, claps his hands. “She really cut you a good arrangement, Mando. We were just going to throw you in the Sarlacc for your next fight!”

“Thall,” you snarl. “You blob of-”

“-But you spared him!”

A harsh grip spins you around.

“What are you doing?”

Din’s voice is low- measured.

“Saving your ass.”

His hands just… drop to his side.

“Don’t worry so much, Din. Besides-” you force a grin- “If I lose, the hunters will be on me within a week… so there’s absolutely no risk of me having to stay a year!”

…

“Damn it…”

The curse slips beneath his helm.

“Hey-” you reach out- jab his arm- “you’ve not seen me at full capacity yet.”

The Mandalorian shifts… touches your face.

“I’m the damn best-” you lean into his touch- “remember?”

-a puff of air through his vocoder.

…

“Trust in me, Din. For once, trust in me.”

…

The cool of Beskar kisses your brow.

“...I always have.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Thank you SO MUCH for your patience.

My dudes, I’ve spent an EMBARRASSING amount of time on this chapter. I wrote and rewrote chapter 9 more than any other previous chapter. I just wanted it to be perfect- and between health and personal issues- I’m very proud that I was able to pull this chapter together in a way that exceeded my expectations!

Your beautiful comments kept me going! And, trust me, I savor every last one! I recognize regulars, and I think about the things you’ve commented while writing. They even inform how I write at times! (To the commenter who said they looove when Din hooks his fingers in his belt, I hope I checked that checkbox for you in chapter 9 lollll.)

Chapter 10 will pick up right where we left off here- but the second half of chapter 10 will be much different than the first half- and that’s all I’m saying…. Actually, I will go ahead and say we will be getting a LOT of angst and straightforward answers to Ka’r’ika’s/Reader’s past in chapter 10…

Also, I thought I would share a link to the FANTASTIC fanart a reader of In Fields of White @styxxus drew! It’s AMAZING! (Click here- Note that the images my look a bit squished on desktop. Just ‘right click’ the image and select ‘open in new tab’ to see the full artwork.) If you happen to create anything based off this fic, I’d LOVE to see it! Just head on over to my personal tumblr page! :)

Next, I am shamelessly plugging my new series, Auriga Hills, a Narcos fanfiction. The summary is as follows:

Javier Peña- brash, arrogant, a real jerk.

And now he’s your damn husband.

Allured by the prospect of mischief and money, you consent to marry Javier Peña to assist him in his undercover mission for justice. You’re only in it for the fun, nothing more, nothing less. But traveling together in close quarters on a train bound for the West Coast comes with some unexpected ramifications- you’re actually beginning to like the damn idiot.

(A 1930’s Enemies to Lovers AU)

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #willezarr #in fields of white #wille writes #chapter 9 #ifow

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fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

Text

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 5/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Hange took one deep breath, then another. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Started counting to ten in her head, only to stumble at three.

Nothing worked. The anger, the frustration, the little voice at the back of her mind, the one that whispered it's all your fault, you should have acted sooner, you should have been better - none of it disappeared.

And the longer she stood there, in the room with a man, who had a hole in his head, who died because of her, the harder it became to ignore it all.

If only she was smarter, if only she was more dedicated, if only she worked harder and didn't run away on dates like a lovesick teenager, all of it could have been evaded. The man, young man with a loving family - a weeping wife and confused children - could have been saved.

If only.

Another deep breath, and Hange reached her tipping point.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed suddenly, kicking the wall next to her so fiercely, the impact of the kick reverberated through her leg.

A moment ago, everyone else in the room had only been sending her quick, nervous glances. Now all of them were staring right at her with unmasked panic and concern.

Great, just great. Seemed like she had once again proven why she was called Crazy Hange.

"Proceed with your work!" she barked at other policemen.

They swiftly turned around, returning to their tasks. Looking for clues, searching for the smallest piece of evidence.

They wouldn't find anything. Not if they were at work.

"Hange," a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, and Hange jerked, whirling around. Erwin was standing behind her, his thick eyebrows furrowed in a concerned expression.

How did he manage to sneak up on her like that? How long was he standing there and she did not notice, too occupied with her tantrum?

"I'm fine," she waved him off, before Erwin could say anything.

"Are you?" his blue eyes stared deeply into hers, making her almost uncomfortable. But if there was anything Hange learnt after ten years of working under Erwin, it was how to endure his captious gaze.

"Just a little frustrated," Hange admitted, knowing Erwin would see right through her anyway. "If I wasn't—"

"No." Erwin spoke resolutely. "None of it was your fault, Hange."

"But Ackermans—"

"We don't even know if it's them."

"Bullshit," Hange hissed, lowering her voice so the others wouldn't hear them. One tantrum was more than enough for today. "No fingerprints, no sign of forced entry, no broken locks on doors or the safe, if it wasn't for the unlucky witness," her eyes darted to the dead man again, her heart growing heavier. "We would never know someone was there."

"It's just a house," Erwin reminded. "A house of a wealthy politician, but still just a house. It's too small of a fish for the Ackermans."

"And yet it was them," Hange argued. "The footprints on the snow," she pointed to the window. "Forensics says they belong to two men - one short, one tall. It fits the description of Ackermans that we have."

"Still," Erwin set his jaw. "We don't know if it's them."

"You might not know. But I do."

Looking at the doubt and disappointed that were etched on Erwin's face made her anger grow. Hange turned away from him, before the volcano inside her erupted.

There was nothing else to do here, they wouldn't find any clues, she was sure of it. But maybe someone else knew something she didn't.

Hange left the master's study, heading to the living room downstairs. The hallways stood empty and, despite the bright lights that illuminated her path, Hange felt a sense of unease settle over her. The farther she moved from the study, the quieter the house became. And when she left behind the chatter of her colleagues, quiet, agonizing sobs filled the silence.

Hange shuddered, as she walked down the stairs. The house sustained a tragedy, it was filled with so much grief it was hard not to be affected by it.

Contrary to the hallways and rooms upstairs, the living room was dark, and the only source light was coming from a fireplace that stood by the northern wall.

Next to it was an armchair, and there sat a woman - still wearing a gorgeous light green gown, she was holding a small girl in her arms.

The woman was crying just moments before Hange had showed up, her cheeks were still wet with tears and her chest raised and fell in rapid succession. She pulled herself together swiftly and efficiently, though, all signs of mourning were gone from her gaze as soon as she locked eyes with Hange.

"Did you find something useful?" she strictly demanded.

The dominance and supremacy were oozing from that woman. The sharp contrast - the expensive dress and the glistening jewels, ruined make-up on a hard, scowling face, a child in her hands, who seemingly didn't realize what had happened, who couldn't yet comprehend that her father wasn't going back, and quiet, desperate wails coming from another room and belonging, Hange guessed, to another child of the family - all of it made her breath hitch.

She wondered if the mother of the family would mind it if she sits down to the armchair that stood next to her.

Of course, she'll mind. She is the wife of an influential politic.

She was a wife of an influential politic, Hange argued with an imaginary Erwin in her head.

She sighed and fell down in that armchair. She didn't care if the grieving widow next to her minded or not. She was so damn exhausted.

"We are working on it," Hange said, taking off her glasses and cleaning them with a sleeve.

"You should work harder," the widow seethed.

Yeah, Hange thought, tell me something I don't know.

"So you have no lead? No idea who could have killed my husband?"

Hange could have told her the truth. She even wanted to. But then she thought of all possible outcomes and... If press found out that she hanged another crime on Ackermans and if they found out that she had the plan to apprehend them and still let an innocent man die... They would have her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Not something she was actively striving for.

"We're working on it," she repeated, and before the widow could snarl at her some more, Hange took the line of questioning into her own hands. She came here to interrogate, not the other way around. "Did your husband have enemies?"

The woman snorted. "He was a politician. Of course, he had enemies. But there was no one who hated him enough to kill."

Hange nodded. She expected as much.

"Although, there was this girl..."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she came and went, visiting his office in all times of day. She even stopped by our house a few times. He had hired her to look for something, I guess. I don't know if she had ever found it."

"Hm".

If it was another case, the one where she didn't already know who the culprit was, Hange would have found that new bit of information intriguing. Promising, even. Alas…

"The last question, and I'll be on my way," Hange promised. "The only thing robbed is the safe. Do you know what was inside?"

The widow looked down, gently stroking the hair of her daughter. "He never told me."

Disappointing, but if Hange played her cards right, just in a few days, they would be able to find it out for themselves.

God, interrogating those Ackermans... That surely would be a blast. Hange was beyond excited at the prospect.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she said, rising to her feet. She fixed her jacket and shirt and gave the woman a curt nod. "If you remember something else or need our help, I left my number at the table in the office. Don't hesitate to call at all times of day. And don't worry," Hange smiled, faintly, tiredly, but smiled. "Your husband will be avenged.”

***

It was his last day in the city. Levi thought he'd be feeling melancholic, nostalgic, plain sad. Instead he felt... nothing. The last night encounter, the glassy eyed, dead man... It had shaken him more than he could have expected.

Maybe, Kenny was right. He was too softhearted.

Maybe, that was the exact reason why he was holding a phone right now, contemplating if he should call her.

He wanted to. Perhaps, he also needed to.

It was his last day in the city, and Levi didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. He didn't want to leave without seeing Hange one last time.

Fuck it, he decided. He was a thief, right? Only natural for him to steal one last moment with Hange.

He opened their last chat.

hey, want to hang out this evening?

He pressed send before the doubt could resurface.

The reply didn't come immediately. He expected just as much. He wanted, hoped that Hange would answer immediately, but that was unrealistic desire. Hange was probably working, and, thanks to him and Kenny, she probably had to deal with even more work than usual.

He didn't expect an immediate answer, so Levi went to the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea. He then went to his room and started packing his things.

One hour passed, two, three.

No reply.

There was nothing left for him to do - with his suitcase full and apartment clean, he didn't know how to occupy himself.

Sitting in his room and staring at his phone like a loser seemed too pathetic even for him.

He was beginning to contemplate if he should call Hange instead of texting, when his phone screen finally lighted up. He eagerly opened the message.

I'm busy.

He stared at the text for a few moments, not quite sure what to make out of it.

It seemed so cold, so detached. So unlike Hange.

He deserved it, though, he knew he did. Question was - did Hange know it too?

So that was it then. The end of... Whatever he and Hange had.

An almost all consuming sense of hollowness settled in his chest as he came to this realization.

It didn't go according to the scenario he had envisioned in his head. But that's how it went in the end. Hange was busy and he was leaving. There was nothing he could do about it.

Wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to make him feel any better, so Levi forced himself to move. He hid the phone into his pocket and rose to his feet.

He walked out of his room, searching for Kenny.

He wasn't in his own room, packing his things like Levi had told him to. He wasn't in the living room, lazing on a coach with a bottle of beer and cigarette, either.

Instead he was in a kitchen, sitting behind a dining table with legs propped up on chair. Kenny was talking with someone on a phone, a suspicious smile playing on his lips. That smile wasn't the usual malicious or greedy one, no, that one was uncharacteristically pleased. It seemed like whoever he was talking to, Kenny liked them.

That made Levi pause and narrow his eyes, staring intently at his uncle.

"Thanks for the offer, dear, I'll call you back as soon as me and my nephew polish your plan a bit.”

Levi was barely fast enough to catch his jaw. Dear? Plan? The hell Kenny was talking too?

"Levi!" putting the phone down, Kenny turned to him with that weird smile still plastered on his lips. "It's good you're already here. I have great news! I found another job for us!"

An- another job? Levi couldn't believe what he was hearing. Surely Kenny couldn't be serious.

"We are leaving the city this night," Levi gritted, boring holes into his uncle. "Did you forget about that?"

"Ah, that," Kenny waved his hand and Levi had to stop himself from breaking that hand. "We have to postpone it a bit. Just one job, and we can leave."

Anger was starting to boil inside him. There was so much of it - remnants of last night's incident, frustration brought to him by Hange's text - that Levi had trouble breathing. He balled his hands into fists, resisting the growing urge to lash out at Kenny.

"You promised," he spoke in a voice so low, so tense it was barely audible. "You promised we would leave after the last job."

"And we fucked it up, didn't we?" Kenny retorted, the smile slipping from his lips. His expression darkened, as he met Levi's scowl squarely. "And if we're going to leave like you keep pushing me to, then we need money, Levi. And this job will provide us with enough to last for a few years."

"You said the same thing about last job," Levi reminded, refusing to back down.

"And I was wrong about that," Kenny rolled his eyes. "But this job isn't from Reiss. It's from someone I trust."

Levi arched an eyebrow doubtfully, and Kenny muttered a curse.

"As much as I can trust someone," he admitted with a sigh. "It's a legit job, and it's fairly easy."

"How easy?"

"We already have a plan of the building, a way to the vault and even a way out."

"And what's the catch?" Levi frowned. "If someone has that much info and opportunities, why ask for our help?"

"Ah," Kenny grinned. "Traute is very smart. Very talented too, but, unfortunately, she is not as good at dealing with safes and locked doors as you are."

"Traute? Who the fuck is that?"

"Oh right, you haven't met her. Traute used to be... a partner of mine," the not so subtle implication and the dreamy look in Kenny's eyes made Levi wince. There was nothing in the world he was less interested in than Kenny's partners. "We had so much fun in the past... During the heists and, you know..."

"I don't, and I don't want to," Levi grumbled. "Get to the point, Kenny. When are you planning to rob the place? We can't stay here for too long."

The weird thing was that, despite his insistency and constant urgency, Kenny didn't even ask why they had to leave, and so swiftly. It left Levi with two possible explanations - either, his uncle knew something too, or, he trusted him enough not to question his motives. Levi wasn't sure which one was more outlandish.

"In two days," Kenny answered. "If we're lucky, we'll be able to get on a plane that very same night. If we're extra lucky," he wiggled his eyebrows. "Traute will agree to go with us."

"In that case, I'd better run to another part of the world."

"It will go smoothly," Kenny rose up, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. "Don't you worry. No surprises this time."

Levi wished he could believe him.

***

"No!" Traute raised her hands as soon as the unhinged detective started approaching her. "No hidden cameras, wires or other stuff. It's too risky."

Kenny, that sly bastard would find them either way, no matter where detective Hange decided hide the devices. Setting a trap on him was already dangerous as it was, they did not need additional hazards.

"I can't just let you go there unsupervised," detective Hange glowered, running a hand through her hair in frustration. Traute almost felt bad for her, she could only imagine how much stress the detective was under. The operation and recent murder, all of it fell onto her and she was already on a verge of breakdown. Traute could see it in her red-rimmed eyes and sagged shoulders. "What guarantee do I have that you won't betray us?"

Traute huffed. The answer to that was laughably obvious. "Because I value my freedom much more than a man I used to rob banks with fifteen years ago. I know it's hard for you," it was hard for her too, trusting someone from police to keep their word. However, detective Hange seemed like a sort of person who wouldn't back out on a promise. That sort of people infatuated Traute, but Hange appeared as an honest, trustworthy person. Maybe, in another life, Traute would have respected that. Or, maybe, Hange Zoe would have irritated her even more. But as it was now, Traute had no choice but to rely on her. And she needed Hange to do the same. She laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it softly. "You have to trust me. It's the only guarantee I can give to you."

"If this fails—" Hange sighed, pushing the hair out of her face. For a second, Traute saw a look of uncertainty on her face, but Hange blinked and it was gone. "This operation can't fail," she declared passionately.

The newfound fire in her eyes was almost inspiring.

Traute found herself smiling at her. "It won't."

"Alright," Hange rubbed her hands together, turning to her desk. "Let's run through the plan one more time. You come to the Ackermans and..."

"I show them the blueprints you gave me."

"Right," Hange nodded, satisfied. "And then what do you say..."

"I say..."

***

"This entrance will be left unguarded," Traute tapped her finger against the small dot on a drawing. "You two can sneak in and then..."

"And how do you know that it will be unguarded?"

Traute huffed, rising her gaze from the blueprints. Although, considering the height of Kenny's nephew, she didn't need to raise it too high. He was as short as he was irritating. Traute now knew why Kenny never introduced them. Kenny was an asshole, who could backstab you seemingly at the smallest whim, but, at least, talking with him was pleasant. The same, unfortunately, couldn't be said for his nephew. It was the fifth time he had interrupted her in the last ten minutes. Calling him annoying was starting to become an understatement.

"Levi, give Traute a break," Kenny cut in. "She knows what she's doing, believe me."

This didn't seem to placate Levi. "I just want to know what I'm getting myself into."

Jesus. And she thought Kenny was too suspicious.

"Go on, dear," Kenny urged. "Don't mind my nephew, he still hasn't learnt his manners."

"Then you move to this hallway," Traute continued, ignoring Levi's glare she felt at the back of her head. She couldn't wait until this goddamned mission would be over. She'd be ecstatic to see him behind bars. "It leads right to the vault..."

"And what can we steal from museum's vault? Don't they put everything valuable on display?"

God, another interruption and Traute would throttle the annoying midget.

"They don't always put originals in there," she gritted through her teeth, showing him the glare of her own. "And if you take a painting or two from that vault, it'll be enough to last you for a lifetime."

"That is," Levi didn't back down. "We find a buyer."

"Oi!" Kenny clasped his back. "Don't embarrass me, Levi! Of course, Traute already found a buyer, that's how these things are always done," he turned to Traute then, looking her up and down. "You found someone already, right?"

"Of course," Traute nodded, hiding a smile that threatened to break her face at just the thought of their so called buyer. Would serve the two assholes well, for all the frustration they were causing her right now. "All you need to do is steal the paintings."

"And you? What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I'm taking care of security cameras and alarms."

"Hm," was all Levi had uttered, and Traute had never thought that just a short sound could make her go nearly insane with anger.

He surely had a talent.

Kenny looked over the blueprints, scratching his beard. "So those paintings..."

***

"So those paintings would actually be there? The vault won't be empty?" Traute asked, staring at Hange in surprise. That seemed like an unnecessary risk. Should anything go awry...

"We have to catch them red-handed, remember? But we won't put originals in here. Just something that could be mistaken for them in the dark."

That part could easily backfire too. Of course, detective Hange had already mentioned the dark room, and that would undoubtedly make identifying the paintings a lot harder, but still... Kenny was insanely good at that kind of stuff. It was natural, of course, considering how many years he had spent in this line of job.

"They could realize it's a forgery," Trautedecided to voice her doubts.

"They could," Hange agreed. "But if something goes wrong and they manage to escape with original paintings..." she dropped her head into her hands, letting out a quiet whine. "Dawk will have my head. All brass would have my head, press would have my head, even Erwin..." she shuddered. "Even he would have my head."

"Alright," Traute nodded, more than a little disturbed by detective's shaking shoulders. "Should we move on?"

"Yes!" Hange exclaimed, way too loudly. She raised her head and the almost manic look in her eyes made Traute even more alarmed. She wanted to ask if maybe they should take a break, detective Hange looked like she really needed it, but she started talking before Trautecould even open her mouth.

"You have the most important job, Caven," Hange said, putting hands on her shoulders and staring straight into her eyes. "We can’t put a police officer in the security control room, that could raise Ackermans’ suspicion, so you’ll be the one monitoring their movement. You need to watch Ackermans closely, and you have to make sure they use the exit we'll be patrolling."

"We? How many 'we' are you talking about?"

"Not much. We can't risk attracting attention, so we can't use a lot of people. The team will consist of me and a couple of other officers."

That was a smart choice. A choice that maybe would lead to success of the whole operation.

Once Kenny told her that cops smelled so bad he could actually feel their stench from miles away. Traute wasn't very keen on finding out if it was a particularly bad attempt at humor or another talent of his.

"Once we catch them and apprehend them, your sentence will be cut in half. And that's it."

***

"That's it?" Levi scrunched his nose. "Sounds—"

"Amazing!" Kenny guffawed, shooting Traute a brilliant smile. "Thank you for this offer, dear. You won't regret it."

Oh. Traute was most certain she would not.

"If you want to know more, you can ask—"

"No need," Kenny assured her. "We've heard everything we needed to."

Good. Because Traute told them everything she knew. Should they ask for more details, she'd have to resort to lying and improvising. And that could not only damage their operation, it could also raise Kenny's suspicion. Traute was good at lying, and Kenny... Kenny was good at seeing through everyone's lies.

She grabbed her purse, eager to get out of here as quickly as possible. "I'll see you..."

"In two days," Kenny promised. "We'll be there, don't worry. We're not stupid enough to let this opportunity slide. Well," he grinned. "Levi here might be a little stupid—"

"Oi!" Levi hissed, looking just like an angry cat.

Traute rolled her eyes, watching the two men bicker. She was more than done with them.

"In two days," she reminded them.

She wasn't sure if they heard her, and, frankly, she didn't care. She knew they would show up. Kenny wasn't a man to pass a good job.

She walked out of the hotel room Kenny had rented, because of course the distrustful jerk couldn't let her see their apartment, and exhaled in relief.

The first part was done.

She took out her phone, typing a short message for detective Hange.

The trap is set ***

His eyes were already hurting, watering because of his intense stare, but Levi persevered, looking over the blueprints once again. There got to be something he missed. Some minor detail, a small, miniscule catch.

There got to be. This theft couldn't possibly be so easy.

Several extremely expensive paintings just lying around in some vault? Without any guards to protect them?

Either the museum stuff was incredible careless and unprofessional, or... Traute was lying to them.

It was the most plausible explanation, and yet... Kenny seemed to believe her. He trusted her, as much, of course, as Kenny could trust someone who wasn't himself.

And if Kenny, the most distrustful bastard in the world, trusted someone, it meant that the person had already proved themselves to him ten times over.

However... However Levi still felt uneasy.

And so he continued staring at the blueprints, searching for something that most probably wasn't even there.

He studied the image so intently, he missed the moment when the screen of his phone that lied next to him lightened up. It lightened up a second time, two minutes later, but Levi paid no attention to it either. It was only when it started ringing, startling him, that he finally looked down at it.

He blinked a few times, not quite believing what he was seeing.

Hange was calling him.

He rushed to take the device in his hands, his finger trembling as he accepted the call.

"Hi," he greeted, his voice shaking so slightly.

"Hi!" Hange replied, sounding a little out of breath. Levi wondered what was she doing and where was she. He heard some noises, cars honking and wind blowing. Was she outside? "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Levi glanced at the clock hanging on a wall beside him. It was almost two in the morning. He didn't even notice.

"No. I haven't gone to bed yet."

"You should," Hange said, and Levi closed his eyes, picturing her slightly frowning face. She probably narrowed her eyes and pushed her glasses up in attempt to look more serious. "It's late. Don't you have work in a morning? Where is it that you're working, by the way? I don't quite remember..."

Because Levi had never told her.

He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "I'm working in accounting."

"Oh right! Is it exciting?"

Levi's lips twitched, as he fought back a smile. "It has its moments."

"Good! It's important to love your work!"

Levi snorted. "You have way too much energy for two am, you know that?"

"Sorry," Hange laughed. "It's been a long day, or a week..." she trailed off. "Perhaps even a month... Sorry for calling so spontaneously, I just... wanted to hear your voice, I guess."

God, what a nuisance. Making his heart skip a beat just with a couple of words. Either Hange possessed some kind of super power or... he was just that pathetic.

He didn't realize it, but he missed the sound of her voice too. And her face, her lively expressions, radiant smiles. Maybe, they could...

"Hey, Levi," Hange brought him back to present. "Can we facetime?"

So now she was a mind reader as well?

“Alright," he said, trying not to sound too eager. Hange didn't need to know just how much he enjoyed her company.

"Great! I'll call you a back in a moment!"

Levi used that moment to check himself in the mirror behind him. His blue hoodie seemed good enough, not too wrinkled and without any stains. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it, and forced himself to relax. It was just a simple phone call, nothing to lose his mind over.

In the next second, his phone started ringing again, and he almost smiled.

Nothing to lose his mind over, he reminded himself as he accepted the call. He raised the phone to his face and went to sit on the bed.

Hange waved at him, grinning goofily. Her face was barely illuminated by a phone screen, but even in the darkness Levi saw purple circles under her eyes. She looked utterly exhausted, and yet... inexplicably relaxed.

"It's good to see your face," Hange said, forcing his heart to skip yet another beat. "Wanna see something cool?" without waiting for reply, she turned the phone around, showing Levi a view of a street below from her balcony window. Hange lived in the middle of a city, a few blocks away from him. The night city was splendid - bright, vibrant, alive. The lights poured from every side and even now, in the middle of the night, the streets down below were full of life.

He was going to miss this.

Although, as much as he appreciated the view of the city he grew in, Hange's face was far more interesting for him right now.

Not knowing how to ask her to turn the camera back without sounding utterly moronic, Levi let out a tch sound, and grunted, "get inside. You're going to catch a cold in weather like this."

"Nah," Hange's face was finally staring back at him. "I've got this to keep me warm," she pointed to a blanket that was sliding down her shoulder, showing her sharp clavicle. "And this!" she lifted a bottle of beer, drinking from it.

Levi rolled his eyes. "It's not very professional to get drunk in the middle of a week, you know."

"I won't get drunk on one beer," Hange argued, wiping her mouth. "Besides... It helps to calm my nerves. I have a big day tomorrow..."

He was going to have a big day, or, rather night tomorrow too.

Fuck it, Levi decided, getting to his feet.

"I'll be back," he told Hange and hurriedly left the room, confused 'heys' following after him.

He returned a moment later, holding a bottle of beer of his own.

"Cheers," he grunted, opening it and taking a swing.

"It's not very professional to get drunk in the middle of a week, you know," Hange mimicked his voice, accompanying it by a horrible parody of his face expression.

"It's your damn influence," he shot back.

As he took another swing, all tension that was building inside his shoulders ever since their last theft disappeared. Perhaps, Hange was right and beer did help. Or, perhaps, it was Hange's bright smile that relaxed him so.

"What are you doing this weekend?" Hange asked.

Hopefully, leaving this city behind, Levi thought, but decided not to voice his thoughts. Instead, he shrugged, mumbling, "dunno yet."

"There is a skating rink, it's right outside the precinct," Hange smiled dreamily, playing with her hair. "I have been staring at it for days now, people are having so much fun! Do you want to go?"

"I—"

"It's okay if you don't!" Hange quickly assured. "We could go to some other place or maybe not go anywhere at all..."

"I don't know how to skate," Levi mumbled, embarrassed all of a sudden. "Never learnt."

"I can teach you!" Hange offered, the sparkle in her eyes burning so brightly, Levi could see it through a phone screen. "We would probably end up with dozens of bruises, but it'll be fun, I swear! And then we could order hot cocoa, warm up at a cozy cafe..."

None of it was going to happen, but it was two in the morning and the beer left a bitter taste in his mouth, making him feel snug and comfortable, so he let himself indulge in that little fantasy Hange had created. He imagined a skating rink, illuminated by soft, pretty colors. He tried to imagine how skates would feel on his legs, how they would make him slightly taller. And he imagined Hange's hand in his, her deep melodic voice explaining him how to move his legs and keep his balance. He could almost hear her laughter and feel the cold sipping through the back of his pants as both of them came tumbling down in a heap of limbs.

"I see you like the idea," Hange gently teased, taking note of the content expression on his face. "Then it's settled!"

"Alright..." Levi murmured, washing the feeling of regret with another gulp of beer.

Maybe, he shouldn't have been so adamant about leaving.

No. Levi instantly stopped himself. They had to leave. Because if they wouldn't, Hange would find out who he really was.

Hange liked him, but not the real him. She liked Levi the accountant. If she knew Levi Ackerman, the famous thief, she'd hate him.

And he didn't wish for that to happen.

"It's getting late," he noted, the clock on his phone showing almost three in the morning. "We should go to bed."

"Yeah," Hange mumbled, yawning. She finished her beer and gave Levi a soft, sleepy smile. "Thanks for talking with me, Levi. I appreciate it. And..." she paused, picking at the wrapping on the bottle. "I just wanna say... I'm glad life threw us together."

"It wasn't life," Levi scoffed. "You fell down on me."

Hange chuckled, scratching her neck in embarrassment. "Maybe, it was fate... Maybe, some deity wanted me to fall for you..."

"That was terrible," Levi grunted, making Hange giggle. "Go to sleep already."

"I'll call you soon, alright?"

"I'll be waiting," Levi promised.

Hange smiled one last time and disconnected.

Levi stared at the now black screen for another moment.

He broke out of his trance with a low curse. He was getting too pathetic for his own good.

He finished the beer and took off his hoodie, heading to the bathroom.

Hange was right. A big day was ahead of him.

***

“Traute is already in the control room,” Kenny informed. “If anything goes wrong, she’ll tell us.”

Levi nodded, hoping than nothing would go wrong this time. For now, it seemed like it truly wouldn’t.

Just as Traute had promised, getting inside was almost laughably easy. No guards, no alarm, the backdoor wasn't even locked.

"Stealing is becoming too easy, eh, Levi?"

He leveled Kenny with a long, hard look.

It was a good thing Levi made them wear a mask. There didn't seem to be any security cameras - at least, he couldn't see any that were still functional, it seemed like Traute had held her end of the bargain. But Levi didn't allow himself to relax.

Relax, and they could fuck up again.

However, masks gave him at least some semblance of comfort. They were cheap, ridiculous things bought by Kenny at a carnival during one of his drunken adventures. They did their job, though. If there was a hidden camera somewhere or they happen upon a lonely guard or late working employee, no one would see their faces.

Perhaps, they would be able to avoid another senseless murder then.

They quietly moved through the hallway, and as they did so, it was hard for Levi not to gawk at his surroundings. A painting here, an antique tapestry and extravagant vase there. He was honestly surprised Kenny hadn't started grabbing everything he could. If so much stuff was located there, in a dark-lit hallway, Levi could only imagine what was waiting for them in the vault.

He turned around the corner, coming to a stop in front of the stairway. Everything was just as Caven had planned it. And yet... the worry lingered.

"We don't have all night, brat," Kenny gave him a rough push.

Levi sent him another dark glare, but complied, starting his descent. The vault was there, at the end of the stairway.

Grab the paintings, and he was free. They could leave the city, save themselves.

Leave everything behind.

Levi gulped, swallowing a lump that appeared out of nowhere. Get yourself together, he scolded himself, taking another step down.

Soon the door to the vault was right in front of them. Not wasting another second on doubts and worries, Levi dropped to his knees, taking out his instruments and starting to work on a lock.

"There," just after a few seconds, the lock was dealt with. Levi stood up, pushing the door open. "Let's get this over with."

***

The street seemed so empty. No car passing by, no peculiar pedestrian or even a stray cat, only a bright red light of some bar's signboard that kept flicking on and off. Just like the street they parked at, the bar appeared to be devoid of any life.

Hange scoffed, jerkily moving a lock of hair from her face. She never thought she would say it about one of the most important missions in her life, but she felt bored.

She wanted the action to start already. Wanted to rush in there, catch the damned Ackermans in the act and then revel in the shock and fear in their eyes.

The satisfaction Hange would get out of this surely would be more than enough to overshadow all frustration the thieves had caused her.

"Hange," Mike shook her shoulder. "Caven had just given a signal. The Ackermans are inside the vault."

Finally!

Without wasting any second, Hange opened the door of the police van and jumped out on a street. She heard Erwin's exasperated curse but didn't stop to listen to him, rushing to the entrance of the museum.

Finally, finally, finally.

A whole year of hard work, of everyone doubting her and telling her to just quit, and now she was there, had Ackermans trapped just like she had planned to.

Hange smiled as she felt other footsteps joining hers, the rest of the team already on the move.

No one had believed in her, not even Erwin, but Hange had proved them all wrong. She had done the impossible, caught thieves who were considered untraceable and invisible.

All Hange had to do now was claim her reward.

***

The vault was very different from what Levi had envisioned for himself. He imagined something big, grand, something appropriate for the spectacular art the room was holding.

But in reality, he and Kenny entered a dark, narrow and dusty room. It looked more like a closet than an actual vault.

Kenny didn't waste time surveying his surroundings. He dived in, taking the first thing he happened upon. He unfolded the parch of paper, tilting his head to study it more closely.

"Flashlight, Levi," he demanded, outstretching his hand.

Levi handed it to him, getting to work himself. He wasn't nearly as skilled in art as Kenny was, but seven times out of ten he could distinguish original from forgery just as easily.

"Seems legit," Kenny muttered. "Looks like Traute didn't lie."

Levi paused for a second, turning to stare at his uncle. Here he was, tormenting himself with doubts, and Kenny wasn't so sure about their alliance either?

"You didn't trust her?"

Kenny barked a short laugh. "I wouldn't still be alive, kid, if I trusted people left and right."

"Then why have you agreed to the job?"

"Because," he shrugged. "I wouldn't still be doing it if it wasn't for greed."

Levi scoffed. Of course. What other answer could he expect from Kenny.

"We'll use other exit, by the way," Kenny remarked, shooting a quick glance at Levi. "You studied the blueprints well, right?"

"As best as I could."

He could close his eyes and see it clearly, all entrances and exits, all dead ends and turns. Seemed like feeding Levi's suspicion was a part of Kenny's plan as well. Scheming bastard.

"Then come up with a different route. And quickly," Kenny shoved another folded painting into his backpack. "We're almost done here."

Levi started thinking, turning the imaginary blueprint in his head this and that way. There was only one way to exit the vault. The stairway was inevitable too. But once they reached the hallway, they could take another turn and head to the front entrance. It was a bold move, too bold, perhaps, they didn't know if guards were stationed in other parts of museum or not, but it was the only way.

"Alright," Kenny seized his shoulder. "We're done here. Are you ready?"

Levi nodded and immediately started moving, leading Kenny out.

They left the vault and the stairway was empty. Still, Levi stopped for a second, listening closely. The museum above them seemed silent. Feeling a little more confident, he quickened his pace, taking two steps at a time.

As he reached the top of the stairway, he drew a deep breath, walked into the hallway—

And came face to face with Hange.

*** Hange doubled down, taking one shallow breath after another. Perhaps, Erwin was right in scolding her. She was a little too excited to get there. And now she was completely out of breath.

That won't do, she thought. She didn't want to face Ackermans panting and sweaty.

Hange straightened out, pushed her glasses up and fixed her shirt and coat.

She glanced over her back, giving Mike and Erwin a slight node. They nodded back and Hange took out her gun. The recent murder had proved that Ackermans were always armed and they didn't hesitate to kill. She hoped she wouldn’t need the gun, but just in case…

Hange took another deep breath and prepared to rush in.

However, before she could take a single step forward, two figures appeared right in front of her.

She grinned triumphantly.

Seemed like luck was on her side tonight. Ackermans came straight into her arms.

***

Levi didn't know how long he would have stayed there, staring into Hange's eyes, if it weren't for Kenny's hand that grasped his sleeve and pulled him forward.

"Shit!" Kenny shouted, as they started running.

The rest of Hange's team - Levi didn't know how many there were, there was no time to stop and glance back - followed after them.

Hange was on the front, hot on their heels.

Damn her long legs, Levi cursed.

So Traute had betrayed them, sold them out to police. She was going to pay for that, Levi could clearly see it in the way Kenny gritted his teeth.

"Stop!" Hange shouted. "You're surrounded, there's no point in running!"

"We'll see about that," Kenny muttered and pushed Levi sideways, forcing him to take a sharp turn.

They could have split up, perhaps, it would slow down their pursuers, but Levi knew it was pointless. There were too many of them to create an efficient diversion.

"Do you remember the blueprint?" Kenny breathlessly asked.

Levi nodded, catching his gaze behind the ridiculous mask.

"Good. Then I have an idea. We need to lose at least some of our tail first. Make them stumble."

Levi nodded again, and suddenly took a turn, running to the door. It was another risky move, the door could have been closed, but, thankfully, their luck haven't died out yet. Levi tumbled inside the dark room. If he remembered correctly, there had to be another door at the other side. He located it fairly quickly and headed there. He opened the door, waited for Kenny to get through and pushed it closed, careful not to look behind his back. If he met Hange's eyes again, he wasn't sure he would be able to look away.

He ran into the hallway and took the first door to his left. He kept pushing forward, leaving one room and going into another. Soon the sound of footsteps that followed after them had decreased. However, someone was still pursuing them. Levi prayed it wasn't Hange.

"That will do nicely," Kenny grinned as they appeared in the middle of another long hallway. "Good job, Levi," he threw, coming to a sudden stop.

Levi's heart stopped as he saw Kenny take out his gun. His knees nearly gave out beneath him as he saw Hange appear at the end of the same hallway.

Kenny's hand shot up, aiming the gun right at her head.

Kenny never missed, Levi knew that. He was a witness to his uncle's incredible skills just days ago. The light fading from that man's eyes, his face forever etched in the expression of fear, Levi could never forget that.

He couldn't let Hange suffer the same fate.

He couldn't and— he wouldn't.

It all happened in a span of a heartbeat.

Levi looked up, saw Kenny's finger at the trigger, saw it move and curl and—

And just before he could pull it, just before the shot rang, Levi launched himself at Kenny, pushing the arm with a gun down.

The shot still rang, Hange still screamed. She swayed, falling against the wall—

Kenny never missed, and this time wasn't an exception. But it was as close to exception, as one could get. He hadn't shot her head or her heart. Hange was clutching her shoulder, her already bloodied shoulder, the sight of which made Levi almost ran to her, made his hands tremble with desire to help.

It took all of his willpower to stay put.

Hange was alive, wounded, but still alive. Levi could breathe again.

As Levi was watching Hange, Kenny was watching him. Levi could feel the weight of his gaze, burning into the side of his head. He tore his eyes away from Hange, staring back at his uncle. Kenny's eyes were full of anger and incomprehension. Before he could reach any conclusion, though, they heard approaching footsteps.

"Hurry up," Kenny curled his hand around Levi's forearm, roughly yanking him forward.

Levi stole another glance at Hange, his heart breaking as he saw her slowly pushing herself up, determination pushing her forward despite the injury.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed and left her behind.

#what a ride eh?#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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wesimpforxiao · 4 years ago

Text

Say My Name and I’ll Be There: 5.1

Author’s Note: How’s everyone liking the story so far? Kinda getting into my head about how stiff the writing is. Maybe it just feels stiff to me, idk. Anyways, here’s an early chapter!

"So, why are your eyes different colors?" Childe caught you alone while you gathered firewood a few yards away from the camp. The sun had long set, leaving you to rely on a lantern and the dim light of the distant fire. He was limping from your sparring session earlier.

You had beat him.

And man, did it feel good.

"We crossed paths with a merchant that was traveling from Fontaine. He said they're 'contacts.' Basically little objects a person can put across their pupils and change their color," you repeated the rehearsed words a little too perfectly for Childe to believe.

"Oh? I've never heard of that invention before," he tested.

"I guess it's new? Like the kamera devices they recently developed? Aether has one of those." You watched as he kept his hands idle at his sides.

"Interesting. And Aether was the one who told you to say this to me?" He blocked your path to the fire by placing a hand against the tree that stood behind you. What a terrible liar you make, ojou-chan. His friendly smile never left his lips, but it never reached his eyes. They were cold and demeaning as they examined yours.

"I-I," you stumbled over your words. "Why are you acting so weird, Childe?" You tried to laugh him off and attempted to duck under his arm. What to say, what to say! Oh, maybe this'll work? "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're acting like a schoolboy crushing on one of his friends."

It might have been a wrong move.

He pinned your shoulders to the tree and made sure no one had their eyes on the two of you. "On the contrary, you began acting strangely the minute I found you today." Something in his gaze faltered as he replayed your words in his head. Perhaps I am acting like a schoolboy. But I can't help it if I'm infatuated with my target. His eyes fell to the shimmering necklace resting against your collarbone, and he gently touched it. "This is new."

"Don't touch that," you slapped his hand away.

"I don't recall you wearing such a genuine cor lapis charm before. Where'd you get this from?"

"It was my Granny's."

Childe scrunched his nose at the answer, a brief look of internal conflict passing over his face like a cloud. 'Was?' The woman passed? I made sure she wouldn't get hurt by my men. So then how did she-- He wanted to ask until the realization struck him. They went to Quince Village after my leaving. She saw the Fatui there--

You were too enraged to notice him visually fight himself and approached the campsite with an armful of branches. You made a point to sit next to Xiao and glared at the Harbinger as he returned.

He maintained eye contact with you, even after sitting across the fire from you and the yaksha. Your pupils seemed to glow from his perspective. The fire licked the air in between you until all he could make out was the anger in your eyes. She knows. He mentally kicked himself, but only partially because of the possible complications this could pose for Signora and her grand plan. If you were this angry, there was a chance you had told the yaksha. And if the yaksha saw the Fatui, or at least heard of what you thought happened, then there's a chance he told Mr. Zhongli. While he could not break the contract with the Tsaritsa, he'd find a way around the stated rules. He made a fool of Childe once; he could do it again.

Childe didn't care in the slightest about fighting the entire group--though he was a bit afraid of facing the yaksha despite his urge to fight every living thing on Teyvat. The only thing that mattered to him was you. And if you were angry enough to fight, vision or not, he'd have to take you by force. You may hold a special place in his heart, but his feelings for you meant nothing compared to his loyalty for the Tsaritsa.

One chance, the harbinger strengthened his resolve. I'll give her one chance to prove herself. If she fails, I won't hesitate to take that which will secure Snezhnaya's future.

...................................................................

Several days passed by without incident--

--Is what I'd like to say, but unfortunately, that didn't hold true for you.

Childe and his unrelenting pleas for battles continued to reach your ears day in and day out. He was the one that was attached to your hip, not Xiao. You had only realized today that Childe was around you more often than the yaksha ever since he greeted you with a jumpscare at Luhua Pool. To make matters worse, Xiao neglected to make a move towards him.

She can handle herself, he thought after witnessing the stunts you pulled on Childe. Xiao recognized that the movements you were using as his own; perhaps there was an upside to you unconsciously peeking in on his memories. He put himself on standby when he came to the realization. But make no mistake, he would and will protect you if things got out of hand with the harbinger. He just figured he'd take a step back and quietly observe his weak points, just like the old days. The days in which Childe did not pose a serious threat to the group; when all that was between you and the harbinger was harmless bickering.

It would seem like those old days were still fresh to an outsider, but as the days passed by, you were growing increasingly frustrated with Childe's behavior. After all, how could he continue to play the part of an oblivious comrade, when it was clear as day that the tensions within the group were growing? How could he even call you a comrade with a straight face? How was it that he felt no remorse for his actions toward Granny when he looked you in the eye?

How was it that he could be so carefree?

Maybe part of you envied him for it. Your inner grumblings did you no favor in the present moment though; the team had stepped into the western side of Dragonspine. Your four coats made almost no difference against the sheer cold, and your body shivered uncontrollably even though warmer weather was only a hundred yards behind you.

Everyone except Xiao and Aether wore warm clothes, and it looked like the poor outlander regretted his decision to forego the garments. Xiao appeared to be unbothered and more energetic than usual. Childe looked like he was right at home with the weather, his shirt still sloppily unbuttoned to reveal his toned body underneath. Bennet walked alongside you and was replacing Zhongli for the time being.

Snowflakes lazily floated their way down to earth, but they did nothing to grab your attention when the wind continued to howl against the team's direction. You caught Xiao letting snow collect in his hand with an almost childlike wonder, but he glared at you when he found you staring.

"I want to find some dragon teeth for a sword and since you haven't been here before I thought it'd be a good idea to show you around," Aether called out to you over his shoulder, his arms crossing over his bare stomach for an ounce of warmth.

"You're insane!"

Aether's laugh mixed with the clattering of his teeth. "You only live once, right?" You removed two of your coats and threw them over his head. "T-t-thanks."

You rolled your eyes despite the fact that you were smiling at him, only for your gaze to lock with Xiao's look of disapproval. 'Mortals are fragile,' you interpreted his frown and giggled.

"Here we go!" Bennet lit the firepit with his flaming sword and knelt down in front of it. Everyone joined him; Aether was especially close to the flames.

"It's kind of annoying to find fire every five minutes," you shivered violently. "And you practically go up here for fun?"

"It gets easier the more we do it," Paimon giggled with a nervous smile. "Besides, we get to mine starsilver and find cool dragon stuff that we can sell--"

"Don't lump me in with you," Aether piped up without moving away from the fire.

The distant sound of a conversation was carried over by a bone-chilling breeze. "Huh? Should we go check it out?" Paimon stared in the direction the vague voices were coming from.

"U-uh-huh," nodded Aether.

The group stumbled over a hill only to find the body cavity of Durin. While it threw you off, the sight around the remains was what chilled you to the bone. Of course there's Fatui here, you scoffed.

"I see a tooth over there too," Aether whined.

"What's everyone looking at me for?" Childe let out a nervous chuckle and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "These aren't my guys."

"We know," Paimon cooed.

"That's why we want you to go talk to them and let us pass," Aether held the smuggest expression you've ever seen him pull off.

"Uh...I'm not under any jurisdiction to--"

"Do it," you ordered with cold eyes. When he locked eyes with you, you stood on your tip-toes and spoke in his ear. "Prove your loyalty to the group."

"My loyalty, ojou-chan," his eyes narrowed significantly, "lies with Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa."

"Uh-oh," Paimon poofed out of existence.

"Uh, guys? Those Fatui agents are approaching us reeeaal fast," Bennett warned.

The two of you broke eye contact to find that he was right. One electro and two geo skirmishers were walking towards the group. Poofing would be a more accurate description. Childe gave you a final look before he hopped over a log to greet them.

"Greetings!" He didn't smile, and the skirmishers stopped in their tracks.

"Master Childe? We didn't realize you'd be joining us on the mountain." The three of them knelt out of respect.

"It's a surprise visit, really. I came to check on your progress--" The group made their way around the Fatui and Aether yanked the large tooth out of the ground while Childe chattered away with his subordinates.

#xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao genshin impact #fanfiction #xiao one shot #xiao fanfiction

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mochegato · 4 years ago

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 20 – Dust Yourself Off and Try Again

Chapter 1 Chapter 19

Tim shook his head, dislodging puffs of dust and tiny clumps of dirt onto the immaculate floors. “There was no reason for me to be there for that.”

“There was no reason for any of us to be there other than it was fun.” Marinette pointed out, examining the dust on her arms and clothes, but refusing to brush it off. She was a good two shades darker than usual under all the dust, but she wasn’t about to risk incurring Alfred’s wrath by getting the floors filthy. She didn’t know if Tim was still reeling from the explosions or just that brave.

“You enjoyed it,” Adrien laughed, clapping him on the back. Adrien and Tim coughed as more puffs of dust were released by the claps. The group froze at the sound of footsteps approaching. None of them wanted to face Alfred yet, not looking like they did. Adrien’s smile immediately dimmed seeing Dick walk over to them.

“Hey guys,” Dick grinned, pulling Marinette into a hug. He gave Adrien a warm smile. He may not have been able to win Adrien over yet, but he was still hopeful, despite it seeming like things were getting worse. He supposed the constant missions were probably playing a part in that, but it would all be over soon and once it was, he was confident Adrien would see how devoted he was to Marinette.

Marinette squealed and squirmed to get out of his embrace. She giggled as he struggled to keep his arms around her. “No, I’m filthy. You’ll get dirty.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get dirty with you any time you want,” Dick whispered in her ear.

Marinette turned bright red and looked over to the others to make sure they didn’t hear what Dick had just said. “Dick!” she whisper yelled at him before burying her head in his chest. Her face was completely hidden, but the red tips of her ears could still be seen.

“What did you say to her?” Jason laughed. “I haven’t seen her turn that red in ages.”

Dick chuckled and nuzzled his face into her hair. He wrapped his arms tighter around her. He turned toward the group. “Did you have fun?”

Marinette pulled her face away from his chest to give him a playful glare. “Yes we did.”

“What were you doing?” Dick asked. They had left while he was working on reports so he missed what led to the impromptu trip.

“Target practice,” Jason shrugged heading for a chair.

“More like target destruction,” Adrien grinned.

“I wouldn’t,” Tim warned without looking at Jason. “We all got hit with that last explosion. You sit in a chair now, Alfred will skin you.”

Jason grimaced and smoothly adjusted his trajectory to lean against a doorframe instead as though that had been the plan the entire time.

“Smooth,” Marinette laughed.

“I’m always smooth. I’m nothing but,” Jason retorted.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Smooth brained, maybe.”

“Fuck you,” Jason threw back, like an adult.

“Okay, I think I’m done here,” Tim responded shaking his head and inadvertently dislodging even more dust. “I’m going to go take a shower. You staying for dinner Adrien?”

“No, thanks though. I have papers I need to get graded tonight. I had a lot of fun. Thanks for inviting me,” he nodded to Tim and Jason.

Tim waved him off as he made his way out of the room to take a shower in his room. “You’re welcome anytime. You’re family now.”

“You’re the only family I know that spends time together by blowing things up,” Adrien laughed. Marinette gave him a pointed look. “For fun.” Adrien amended.

“Gotta keep it interesting somehow,” Jason shrugged.

“I trust you are planning on keeping it interesting by cleaning that doorframe after you’ve showered, Master Jason,” Alfred spoke up passing through the room.

Jason jumped away from the frame. “Yep. That was planned. Was absolutely going to do that.” Adrien snickered at him, not even bothering to try to hide it. “Shut it, Model Boy!” Jason narrowed his eyes at him. “Since you’re family and all, it means you can find your own damn way out,” he grumbled turning the other way to get cleaning supplies.

“I’ll walk him out,” Dick volunteered.

“No,” Adrien answered coolly. “I can find my own way out. See you later, Mari.” He gave her a small wave and smile that faded as his eyes met Dick’s.

Marinette broke out of Dick’s embrace to give Adrien a hug before walking with him to the front door. “See you, Adrien.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a meaningful look before he left.

Dick sighed coming up behind Marinette. He swept her hair over one shoulder and rested his chin on the opposite shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. “Sorry about that,” Marinette said quietly.

Dick nudged her head affectionately with his. “Not your fault. It’s mine. I just haven’t proven myself yet. I’m working on it.” He lowered his hands to run them over her bump. “How did the twins like the explosions?”

Marinette giggled and placed her hands over his while her head rested against his neck. “They liked it. There was a bit of shuffling around after each one.”

“Each one?” Dick raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, I couldn’t just let Jason have all the fun.” Dick shook his head and laughed into her neck. “But, I didn’t do the grenade launcher,” she defended herself. “Adrien did though.”

“Was that safe for the babies?” He asked hesitantly. He knew Jason and Tim knew how to act around explosives, and he was sure they would keep an eye out for Marinette, but he also knew Jason could get carried away and might not realize how dangerous it was for a pregnant body.

Marinette nudged his head with hers, bringing his attention back to her. “It was safe. If anything Jason was overcautious. The explosions were always really far away and he made sure it was just dirt. He didn’t even want plants in the dirt in case they became projectiles that somehow went through the concrete walls we were hiding behind. Wouldn’t let me use anything with any kind of a kickback either.” She looked away and got a sweet smile as she remembered the day. “He was much less cautious with Adrien, just kind of let him do whatever, as long as it wasn’t pointed toward me. He hasn’t gotten to destroy anything for fun in a while, so this was nice for him. Get that destructive energy out, you know.”

“Oh God, what have I done by introducing you guys to Jason and Tim. You two are like chaos embodied and mixed with Jason and Tim...”

Marinette coughed a few times. She leaned away from him to study him for any hidden meanings in his comment. Satisfied there were none, she pulled him toward his room and a warm shower. “Do you think we can wash my clothes quickly?”

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” he smirked at her. “I think the most important thing right now is to get you out of these dirty clothes before you get sick.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Marinette tried to look unamused but failed spectacularly.

“I don’t think we should risk it.” He gave her a faux concerned look. “And look at that, now I’m dirty too. I better get out of mine too.” He gave her a frown and made a show of thinking things through. “But then we’ll both be naked… however will we keep warm?”

“Blankets?” Marinette suggested innocently.

“All dirty. Every single one of them in the entire manor. And the clothes. All the clothes are dirty too.” He gave her an exaggeratedly innocent shrug. “We’ll have to come up with something else.”

Marinette laughed and turned in his arms to face him better, trying to angle her bulging belly so she could still cuddle into him. “Good thing I’m an extremely creative person.”

Dick hummed in agreement, pulling her closer to kiss her. “God! You have a room here, you know! And if you didn’t want to use your room, there’s like three hundred others you could use,” Jason groaned at them.

Dick and Marinette laughed. Dick traced her face and pulled her toward the door, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Marinette smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his arm as they walked.

“Just don’t use my room!” Jason yelled after them.

<><><><><>

“Damn. There’s a problem in Bwunda. I’ll probably have to be there for a day, maybe two. Do you want me to drop you off at home on my way to the office?” Dick asked Marinette as he sat back down next to her at the manor’s dinner table to finish the meal with his family.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just stay at the old apartment tonight. Make sure Adrien remembers to eat dinner,” Marinette gave him a weak smile.

“You’re spending more time at your old apartment than ours.” ‘With someone who actively dislikes me’ went unsaid as did the implication that it seemed like she no longer liked being in the apartment, their apartment, their home. But the implication was understood by everyone there.

Marinette looked around at the family. “Maybe we can talk about this later.”

“You’re welcome to stay here tonight, Marinette,” Bruce offered kindly.

Marinette gave him an awkward smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel comfortable with them, it was more that there was too much space at the manor. There was too much distance between the people staying there. She could easily wander for half an hour and not see anyone, without trying to avoid people. She really didn’t’ want that kind of space right now. “Thanks, I think I’d be more comfortable in my old bed, you know?

“Yeah, I do. I’ll give you a ride when you’re ready,” Jason offered.

“Thank you Jason.” Marinette gave him a relieved smile, grateful for the easy acceptance of her preference. “Dick, you can stop by the apartment and feed Kismet before you leave, right? You’ll have to stop and pack anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dick nodded absentmindedly. She hadn’t been staying at the apartment a lot lately. It was like she didn’t consider it home anymore. “Are you not comfortable there?” he finally asked, the thought just now occurring to him.

“She probably doesn’t want to be alone for a long time after passing out last week, Dickhead,” Jason chastised him around the bite of potatoes he just took.

“After what?” Dick exclaimed turning quickly to Marinette with a worried and hurt look.

“I didn’t pass out,” she assured him quickly, placing placating hands on his arm. “I just got lightheaded. I told you about it a few days ago,” Marinette reminded him quietly, again looking around at their audience.

“No, no you didn’t. I’d remember that.” Dick said accusatorily, his voice becoming sharp and hard. There was a problem that could have hurt the twins and she didn’t tell him. She was slowly cutting him out of their lives. Nothing major, just little things like fake smiles, staying at Adrien’s place more often, not telling him things about the babies. He knew they were having a few issues since he told her he loved her, but he didn’t think she would cut him out from the twins too. It hurt to know she could do that, but it hurt more to know she would.

Marinette’s eyes shot to the other people at the table quickly. She blinked quickly a few times, taking in a few breaths and shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “You were working on your computer. Maybe I spoke too lightly. I should have spoken louder. Sorry.”

“Mari…” Dick started.

“That was a delicious dinner, as always Alfred,” Bruce announced loudly, interrupting whatever Dick was about to say. Marinette was clearly not comfortable with the conversation in front of the others, understandably. Dick seemed too caught up in the conversation to recognize the signs and back down and wait until they were alone.

“You’ve had a long day, did you want to go now?” Jason offered. His voice had a dangerous edge to it, but judging by the glare he was leveling at Dick, the hostility was aimed at Dick, not Marinette.

“Um…” she looked back and forth between Dick and Jason before deciding to take the out Jason was offering her. Dick was upset and not thinking clearly. He needed time to calm down and she wasn’t going to be able to offer him that unless she took Jason up on his offer. “Yeah. That might be a good idea. I’ll just grab my stuff and go to the bathroom quickly before we leave.”

“I think Alfred has your clothes in the dryer. I can take you to them,” Bruce offered getting up at the same time. Bruce knew leaving the boys alone in the room when Dick’s temper was rising and Jason was mad, was likely a bad idea, but Dick needed a few moments away from Marinette to calm down and Bruce wanted to offer indirect reassurance that the family wasn’t upset with Marinette even if she and Dick were going through something.

As soon as Marinette and Bruce left Dick rounded on Jason and grabbed him by the collar. “What are you doing?” he hissed at him. “Why are you suddenly so attentive to Marinette’s every whim?”

Jason roughly shoved Dick away. “Relax, Golden Boy. I’m not trying to steal your baby mama. You’re doing a bang up job of losing her all on your own without any help from me.”

“You’re checking on her constantly, taking her out, hanging out with her alone at the apartment, taking her to blow things up, real safe for the babies by the way, interjecting yourself between us when we’re talking,” he seethed. He didn’t know what Jason’s game was but he did not appreciate it. He and Marinette were having a few small issues, because they were in a relationship and relationships had issues sometimes. He didn’t need Jason stepping in to make them into major problems.

“Okay, first, that wasn’t talking that was the beginning of an argument. An argument you were going to lose, by the way. Second, I took her shooting. She wanted to see what the other weapons could do. I wasn’t going to say no. She deserves to blow up a few things considering all the stress she’s under and she isn’t supposed to have any stress according to the doctor, so I thought it would help. And I made absolutely sure it was safe. Third, I’m just trying to help Pixie Pop and your babies. She wants to be somewhere she feels safe and with someone she knows won't abandon her.” He growled the last sentence. “Someone who will notice if she passes out again. Right now that's Adrien, not you. You need to fix that or you're going to lose her. Or maybe that was the point. Then it's not your fault when she walks away, it's the job, not you. But you'll be wrong. It will be your fault.”

“What the Hell is wrong with you? Why would I want that?” Dick yelled at him. How dare he imply Dick wasn’t utterly devoted to Marinette and the twins? Every waking moment was spent thinking about them.

“You tell me, Golden Boy. Or better yet tell Marinette. She deserves to hear it,” Jason barked back, moving into Dick’s space to tower over him.

“I don’t. Everything I do is for them. I’m just wondering why everyone seems to know about this pregnancy than me.” Dick pushed him back.

“Because we pay attention, Dickhead. Because we’re here. We’re not running all over the world, without Mari.”

“I pay attention,” Dick growled.

Jason scoffed at him. “Clearly not well.”

“She didn’t tell me about passing out. I still don’t know about it.” Dick threw his hands up in exasperation. Everyone kept mentioning it but nobody was telling him about it.

“Not a lot of details for you to have forgotten. Happened while you were gone. Anemia, common in twin pregnancies. She’s taking iron supplements now. Tim was there. You weren’t.” Jason stuck and accusatory finger in Dick’s chest.

Dick’s glare snapped over to Tim. “And you never said anything?” He yelled, pushing Jason’s finger away.

“She already had,” Tim shrugged refusing to let his anger rise like Dick and Jason’s had. His face was solidly set, but he was keeping it non-confrontational. Dick and Jason were half a step away from a full blown fight and that was not what Marinette needed right now, or Alfred.

“No, she didn’t,” Dick repeated. Why did everyone keep saying she told him? She didn’t tell him. He would remember if she told him. This was something that could hurt the twins. He wouldn’t just forget that. Suddenly a thought froze him in his tracks. “Did she tell you she did?”

“No. I heard her tell you,” Tim said firmly.

Dick stared at him. There was no way. There was no way he forgot that. “What?”

“Marinette and I were at your apartment working on some details for the show when you came home from a mission. You guys kissed and flirted. Disgusting to watch. You asked what you missed. She told you a few things. You pulled out your laptop. She told you about the anemia. That she got faint, light headed. She told you she went to the doctor and had to start taking more iron or she could pass out. You said something like ‘we wouldn’t want that.’ She didn’t tell you about passing out because she didn’t. That was Jason being dramatic.”

Dick ran the words through his head. That sounded vaguely familiar, but he still didn’t remember that conversation. He should remember that conversation shouldn’t he? She had almost passed out. She had been sick enough that she almost passed out and he didn’t know. If he’d been in Gotham, he would have known. She would have called him to take her to the doctor. And he had accused her of lying and cutting him out. Thankfully, he hadn’t said it out loud, God that would have been terrible, but even that he had thought them…

What was wrong with him? Actually he knew what it was. He was feeling disconnected from the pregnancy and it was causing anxiety. But that wasn’t Marinette’s fault. He knew that. He knew it was him and his missions with the Titans, but he couldn’t not go on the missions. The disconnect was his fault and the damn Court of Owls.

“It was still pretty fucking bad,” Jason grumbled. “And dangerous.”

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but immediately shut it when Marinette came back into the room. She looked between the three of them with a calculating glance as if trying to gauge the feel of the room and figure out what they were talking about. After a few tense moments, she turned to Dick with a painted on smile. “Goodnight, Bluebird. Have a good trip. Please be safe. Please no more injuries.” Her expression morphed to a concerned frown before she rose up on her toes to give him a quick peck on the lips. She turned to Jason with another fake smile. “Ready?”

Jason nodded and they both started to leave. Dick grabbed her hand before she could get too far away. She looked up into his eyes with a confused furrow in her brow. He gave her a small smile. “Give us a minute, please, guys.”

Tim nodded and headed toward the door, but Jason looked over to Marinette for her approval. Marinette nodded to him with a weak smile. Jason looked back and forth between the two before nodding back and leaving.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you when you told me about the anemia. Not because you didn’t say it loudly enough,” he added quickly, seeing her mouth begin to open to take the blame herself, again, “because I was focused on something less important than you.”

“It’s okay.” She had a thin smile on her face, but wasn’t looking at him.

He’d seen enough fights between couples to see the body language. She was trying not to escalate the situation. She thought he was still angry and not listening. He let out a long, deep sigh. She should never feel that way about him. “It’s not,” he assured her. “I should have been listening to you and I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

Marinette finally looked up to meet his eyes. Her eyes were glassy. “I just… is it always going to be like this?”

Her voice had a hopeless, lost quality that broke his heart. He pulled her into a tight hug. He stayed that way for a few minutes, holding onto her, breathing in her scent, feeling her warmth, and listening to her heartbeat even out. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead on hers and look her in her eyes. “No. I swear. The timing is terrible. You’re focused on the show and your store. I’m focused on this project for work on top of the regular, consistent obligations for work. But this project should be over soon and once it’s over, I won’t be as much of an asshole. I know I’m screwing everything up…”

“You’re not,” she assured him, cupping his face.

He gave her a wry smile. “I am. I’m overwhelmed and scattered and scared for you and the babies, and I’m letting that fear dictate my behavior. I love you, Marinette. I love this family we are building. And as soon as this project is over, I am going to be so attentive you’re going to get sick of me… or I can give you space if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to get sick of you. I can’t wait until the project is over.” Her smile was watery, but stronger, more assured in him and their relationship. “I love you, Dick. I love every moment I get with you. Please be careful out there. Please don’t get hurt again.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised her. He nuzzled into her hair as he held her close until they both had to leave.

Chapter 21

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#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - dust

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stillness-in-green · 4 years ago

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Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Part Three)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front

Introduction and Part One Part Two

PART THREE: Ethical Problems

Law Enforcement Conduct

The first thing that jumps out—the thing everyone talks about first and foremost about the raid—was Hawks’ murder of Twice. Murder is a controversial word in this context, I know, but I stand by it: regardless of his guilt or his intent, Bubaigawara Jin was a fleeing man who Hawks made a cold, rational decision to quite literally stab in the back. In that moment, Hawks appointed himself as an executioner of the state and murdered a man without due process—no trial, no judge, no nothing. It was an extrajudicial killing,[26] and while I know many people in the U.S. have gotten kind of jaded about that sort of thing, let me assure you that police brutality is still police brutality even when it’s being exercised against people who have committed crimes.

To illustrate this, allow me to share a few more excerpts from the Penal Code:

Assault and Cruelty by Specialized Public Employees: When a person performing or assisting in judicial, prosecutorial or police duties commits, in the performance of their duties, an act of assault or physical or mental cruelty upon the accused, suspect or any other person, imprisonment or imprisonment without work for not more than 7 years is imposed.

Abuse of Authority Causing Death or Injury by Specialized Public Employees: A person who commits a crime prescribed under the preceding Article and thereby causes the death or injury of another person is dealt with by the punishment for the crimes of injury or the punishment prescribed in the preceding Article, whichever is severer.

The punishments for Criminal Injury are imprisonment for not more than fifteen years or a fine of not more than 500,000 yen or, if the injury results in death, imprisonment for not less than three years. That’s really what Hawks ought to be looking at for Twice's murder, save that apparently heroes just aren't liable for this stuff, otherwise they'd be up against it all the time in the course of “fighting villains.” Certainly, Hawks doesn’t seem to have faced any repercussions thus far, beyond having to apologize in a press conference.

Now, again, many American readers of My Hero Academia are deeply embedded in a culture that normalizes police violence, and so there is a lot of callous handwaving about how Hawks did the right thing because Jin was a significant threat. In response to such dismissal, let me provide a few more numbers:

In the U.S. in 2019, law enforcement killed over a thousand people.

In the same year in Japan, law enforcement killed two. Two people.

In the U.S., a major factor in how police keep skating on these deaths is the legal doctrine of qualified immunity, which is nominally intended to protect officers from frivolous lawsuits in cases where they’re ruled to be acting in “good faith,” a vague ruling which has made successful prosecution of police brutality and negligence all but impossible.

Japan, and I cannot stress this enough, does not have this doctrine. The significance of law enforcement taking a life is not so casually brushed aside in other places in the world, so please don’t try to tell me that Horikoshi was trying to get across the idea that Hawks did the right thing, easy as that. The critical depiction of heroes and Hero Society dehumanizing their enemies is all over the manga.

When the Tartarus guards discuss what the government is doing about Gigantomachia, one of them complains that the higher-ups can’t use missiles—missiles!—on him because he’s quote-unquote-human.[27] During their battle at Kamino, All Might tells All For One that this time, he’s going to put him in a prison cell—he characterizes his attempt to kill All For One six years ago as a mistake. Even in the spin-off manga, Vigilantes, designated police representative Tsukauchi[28] looks absolutely aghast at Endeavor’s willingness to use lethal force against Pop Step, an innocent-until-proven-guilty minor, even though, at that time, they have all the evidence in the world that she is actively engaged in setting off bombs in populated areas.

Most prominent is the series’ treatment of the High End Noumu. The heroes rationalize them as corpses, monsters, inhuman, all in order to kill them guilt-free,[29] and this rationalization spills over to Shigaraki during the War Arc, as the chasm of understanding between heroes and villains reaches its most stark. Yet, that same arc was proceeded by the reveal of the truth about Kurogiri, which had Tsukauchi directly acknowledge that they may have misunderstood the Noumu as the series dangled the possibility that Kurogiri possesses lingering awareness from Shirakumo Oboro. Earlier, we had Ending, a man who wanted Endeavor to kill him and thought Endeavor would do it specifically because Endeavor killed the High End, and this act set him decisively apart from the non-murdery heroic norm. Even into the War Arc itself, we were getting new information on the Noumu: to wit, we were shown incontrovertible proof—in the form of Woman’s internal monologue in Chapter 268—that the High End Noumu do think.

Even if we assume the government has relaxed its prohibitions about public servants assaulting people in the course of carrying out their duty, it does not follow that Hawks’ extrajudicial execution was totally fine. Heroes are not supposed to kill because police are not supposed to kill, and in Japan, it isn’t assumed that they will the moment they run into resistance.

And look, this is not to say that Japanese police never get away with police brutality. Obviously, the country has its own problems with the issue, typically involving racism and ethnocentrism. But the way that some people in the fandom just brush off Jin’s death does a disservice to the way the series frames Hawks’ actions and what that framing is communicating to a Japanese reader.

Also, even putting aside the matter of his death, openly taunting a mentally ill man about how easy it was to fool him definitely pings me as an act of mental cruelty, though of course there’s no one to sue Hawks over that one, seeing as he murdered the victim and only witness. (Chapter 264)

That all said, there are other issues with the heroes’ actions during the raid. One is called out right in the text: Midnight acknowledges that the use of chemical agents is illegal, but calls upon Momo to engineer knock-out drugs to use against Gigantomachia anyway. Is that an action Momo will face any repercussions for at all? And if not, what does it imply about the setting that she won’t?

Here’s another big one: what’s the legality of heroes using their quirks against civilians? Because that’s what the vast majority of the PLF are, civilians. Oh, they’re suspects, sure, but throughout the manga, “heroes” aren’t set up as people who just fight any and every tiny crime they come across. From the very first chapter, heroes are set up as a specific counter to “evildoers” designated as “villains”—legally defined as people who use their quirks illegally two or more times.[30]

There is a very illuminating scene in the second chapter of Vigilantes in which Aizawa confronts Knuckleduster for his assault of a random businessman and, the moment he realizes Knuckleduster is quirkless, apologizes for the misunderstanding and walks away. If Knuckleduster doesn’t have a quirk, Knuckleduster by definition cannot be a villain, and thus, Aizawa is not authorized to throw down with him.[31] It’s somewhat unclear, not least because a lot of the evidence is in the more-interested-in-systemic-worldbuilding Vigilantes, but there is reason to believe that heroes are not allowed to use their quirks against people who are committing mundane crimes.[32] If anything, I should think that heroes only using their quirks on people who are using their quirks illegally is part of the philosophical scaffolding that gives heroes their moral authority—you see this argument from the first bearer of One For All, who loudly espouses that people not only should not use their quirks selfishly, but that quirks should only be used to help others. This kind of supposed selflessness is what MHA’s current society is built on.

To see the relevance here, consider Trumpet. Oh, he absolutely was using his quirk illegally, but can the system prove that?[33] After all, he only ever used it on allies—do you think they're in a big hurry to snitch on him? Do you think Mr. Compress is going to? And if the police can't prove Trumpet used his quirk illegally, then is he even a capital-V Villain? What about all those other rank and file types? Certainly we saw the ones at the villa fighting back with quirks, but what about those supporters at bases scattered around the country? Did they fight back, and if so, did they do it with quirks? If not, was it legal for them to be targeted by heroes?

More importantly, can they mount an argument on that, be it a legal or a moral one?

The Scope of the Operation

The next big ethical problem actually predates the raid itself, and it’s this: how did the Commission know where to target their raids? How did they obtain that information? Specifically, how many privacy violations were involved? It strains credulity well past my personal breaking point to imagine that Hawks and the Commission were able to get every name, every base of operations, especially given the limitations they were under—the fact that Hawks couldn’t communicate openly, the hard time limit before the PLF put their plan in motion, making sure they didn’t tip off someone in the massive secret organization that had people working in heroics, the government, the infrastructure, etc.—but let’s consider the sorts of avenues the HPSC did have available to them.

So to start with, they send in Hawks, who’s specifically trained to extract information from people without raising suspicion about his motives. Doubtlessly, he’s able to get all sorts of names,[34] starting with the higher-ups—not just Re-Destro and his inner circle, but also any of the advisors that e.g. run businesses that they invite him to patronize, MLA heroes, and so on. And with a decent crop of names in hand—let us assume for the sake of argument that Hawks had some way to communicate those names to his handlers—the HPSC can start doing background checks and digging in.

Where do these people come from? Where were they born, and, if they moved, where did they settle? Where do they work? What are their social pastimes? Trace the commonalities, look into publicly available records, use wiretaps…

Yes, the police in Japan can totally use wiretaps if they suspect organized criminal activity—it was one of the powers expanded significantly under that controversial 2017 law I footnoted earlier. One thing to note is that this does require a warrant, or at least the expectation that a judge will grant a warrant.[35] But how far does that go? Can they get a warrant for financial records? How about phone records? E-mail accounts?

Can they wiretap people for no reason save their association with a name Hawks provided? If a PLF member attends a Jazzercize class on Thursday mornings, does every member of that class start noticing a weird little reverb on their phone calls for a week? Does Re-Destro’s hometown have an influx of people poking around evaluating its potential as a place to live? If Slidin’ Go once snatched your dog out of traffic and you subsequently bought a Slidin’ Go keychain, are you and your family now under investigation?

Getting details on people like the CEO of Detnerat and the head of the Hearts & Minds Party is probably pretty straightforward; heck, investigating Kizuki Chitose’s publication history was probably a goldmine in and of itself. That sort of surveillance gets more complicated and difficult to justify—and to make credible to the reader—the further down the chain of command you go, though. Sooner or later, the HPSC would have had to make a call: knowing that they don’t have the time, freedom, and resources to perfectly get only and exactly everyone that’s a real threat, do they overcompensate or do they undercompensate?

You only have to look at Hero Society to know which answer they were going to go with.[36]

To be fair, undercompensating, while it clearly would have been easier on their strained resources, ran the risk of leaving threats out there to come back to bite them later. They likely thought that they’d done enough undercompensating for Shigaraki Tomura, compounded by the fact that apparently there hadn’t been enough done about Destro’s followers back in the day, either. I mean, better to grab everyone and then let the courts sort it out, right? Rather than risk innocents getting hurt?

Well, let’s talk about innocents. Innocents, and the costs of overcompensating.

Pictured: a man who was in daily close contact with the leader of the movement and who was at one point in time in possession of a copy of the movement's manifesto. (Chapter 218)

The problem with grabbing everyone in a group, even the most obviously PLF-aligned groups, is that there are always going to be both people who don’t seem to know anything because they’re very good at living double lives and aren’t particularly active on the recruitment front, and people who don’t seem to know anything because they legitimately don’t know anything.

The Gunga Villa is straightforward enough—on paper, it was probably reserved for a business retreat for four months, because you certainly wouldn’t want some random newlywed couple booked for a nice mountain honeymoon recognizing Shigaraki Tomura wandering around. Same story for the employees; the MLA wouldn’t have put the League up at the villa if there was a chance that anyone there would rat them out. So I think we can assume relatively fairly that anyone in the building the day of the conference is solidly implicated, whatever their claims might be otherwise.

Of course, plenty might well try to claim that they were just there for the vacation, or just started work last week and had no idea the place was a nest for conspiracy, but that was where Hawks spent most of his time, and most of the people at the villa presumably fought back against the heroes. It might be a complicated process, matching hero eyewitness testimony to every person there, but you can at least sort of see the path to it.

Other groups, however, are a lot less straightforward. Consider the following categories:

The Liberated Districts

As I discussed earlier, Deika was presumably a high watermark on societal saturation, but Deika still only counted 90% of the population as “Liberation Warriors, lying in wait.” That leaves 10% unaccounted for. So who are those 10%? Are they children?[37] Some children too young to know anything about the PLF, and some old enough to know but not yet old enough to be considered warriors for the cause? Are they instead elderly people, maybe remnants from when the MLA first started to infiltrate the town that have just never had enough close family or social life to get pulled into the Liberation Army by the usual vectors?

By far the worst option is if Trumpet’s 90% accounts for anyone even remotely connected to the MLA—that would mean one out of every ten people in Deika is legitimately completely ignorant of what the powers that be had brought in. How on earth are you supposed to tell those people apart from the other 90% when the heroes sweep in and arrest absolutely everyone? Or are we to believe that the HPSC had time to get in an agent to flash a covert L-sign at everyone in town and they only arrested people who visibly acknowledged it?

These problems only get worse for our hypothetical town that’s 70% PLF. That opens you up to far more people who have only recently started getting drawn in. Consider the disaffected twenty-something whose family has no idea what’s been keeping him out so late in the evenings. The young mother who met the nicest and most convincing people via the daycare, but whose husband is always out of town on business trips so she hasn’t had time to introduce him to anyone. The working parents who just joined up and whose kid, away at hero school, doesn’t know anything—yet.[38]

Evaluating these peoples’ social circles and financial history for other PLF attachments is going to turn up a ludicrous number of false positives unless the Commission can narrow down exactly when and where such people crossed paths with the ideology of Liberation. So many people would have been raised to it, people whose entire lives are suspect, but mistaking even one new recruit for a lifelong loyalist gives you exponentially more avenues to baselessly suspect people—and as established, the Commission just doesn’t have the time to be overly discerning.

Detnerat, Shoowaysha, and Feel Good Inc.

This is another line of attack that seems like it should be a bullseye, but is actually quite the opposite. Detnerat is a business that is run by the leader of the entire movement, yet the fact that not everyone who works there is a member of the MLA is one of the very first things we find out about them! Miyashita was something akin to a personal aide or secretary to Rikiya, someone Rikiya liked well enough that he was on the verge of introducing Miyashita to his other friends—and Miyashita didn’t know the first thing about his boss’s true affiliations. It’s patently obvious from that alone that not everyone at Detnerat is PLF, and it's likely that the numbers of the faithful are even thinner at Curious and Skeptic's outfits, where they're high-ranked executives but, crucially, not actually in charge.

This is, of course, complicated further by the fact that people who work at e.g. a publishing house are probably there because they agree with that publishing house’s politics, whether or not they know what’s going on behind the scenes. Ditto with Detnerat—certainly there would be people there who just needed a job and could charm their way through an interview without an inner passion for the work, but loads of people probably work there because they legitimately believe in the company’s ethos. So how do you tell people who have relatively radical personal politics without having any idea about the terrorism apart from the people who are absolutely PLF/ex-MLA but who are now lying about it because their organization's cover is blown and the response to that is, “Well, time to go back underground!”

The Hearts & Minds Party

Membership of this party would seem to be a good indicator, but using it that way too unquestioningly is also very flawed. This is because the HMP particularly is probably an excellent recruitment tool for the MLA/PLF. The note above about having radical political beliefs but still being ignorant about the planned acts of terror is especially true for the HMP. The Commission cannot just pull the voting records and arrest all of them because plenty of them are going to be totally ignorant of what was really going on with the heart of the party, only joining up because they believed in the kinds of things the HMP was platforming on—less repressive quirk use laws, prison reform, very possibly issues like the abolishment of the legal category “villain” or greater social safety nets. Just because someone votes for those things, doesn’t mean they know about or would support the MLA’s violent extremism or the PLF’s anarchic goals.

So at what level of initiation does the Commission call a cut-off? How long does someone have to have been voting straight-ticket HMP for them to be considered condemned by that association?

Over and over again, the question arises: how did the heroes and the police distinguish the initiated from the uninitiated? And given that Japan’s legal system at least nominally requires that guilt be proven, what are they going to do when huge numbers of those people claim innocence?

The Presupposition of Guilt

Let’s take a few minutes to circle back to what I talked about earlier, the presumption of guilt and how it relates to arrests, convictions, and the perception of arrestees in Japan. This is going to swerve hard back towards real-life Japan issues for a bit, but it is exceptionally relevant when examining what’s likely to happen to the people arrested in the raids, innocent and guilty alike, so thanks in advance for bearing with me.

In Japan, the rate of conviction is extraordinarily high—if you’re in anime fandom and active in social justice circles, you may have seen the tumblr posts about the country’s famed 99.9% conviction rate.[39] There are a range of explanations for this. Defenders argue that, compared to police in many other countries, police in Japan are very cautious and don't move to prosecute unless a case is all but airtight; thus, many who are arrested may well be released without charge if there is even the slightest doubt that the case will hold up in court. One can easily see truth to this by looking at the numbers on how many people are arrested in Japan versus how many are actually charged: Wikipedia notes (albeit without citation) that in the U.S., roughly 42% of arrests in felony cases result in prosecution, while in Japan the figure is only 17.5%.

Conversely, critics note that a major feature of convictions in Japan is the confession, and confessions can be coerced, particularly in the sorts of conditions that those imprisoned in pre-trial detention are kept—no legal representation, no contact with their families, loved ones or employers, no requirement that they be informed about what they’re being charged with, potential weeks upon weeks kept in isolation, sessions of questioning that can extend for most of the day.

There have also been cases in which confessions have been found to be falsified, for example by having the suspect sign a paper and then filling in or altering other details after the fact.

There are some other factors about confessions to be aware of here:

In Japan, it is not legally permissible for a suspect to be convicted solely based on their confession. The constitutional provision in this regard is something called himitsu no bakuro, the “revelation of secret.” The revelation of secret is something in the confession that is factually verifiable and which, at the time of the confession, only the suspect could have known. Common examples are things like the location of a previously undiscovered body or the time and location where a weapon used in the crime was purchased. The majority of verdicts that are overturned in Japan are overturned because of issues with a confession.

Sentencing is also very lenient compared to the U.S., particularly if the suspect was cooperative with police and admitted guilt (seen as showing remorse). Thus you wind up with a situation in which suspects believe that they’ll lose a case if they go to trial (because practically everyone does) and prosecutors—rather more aware of the weaknesses in a case than a confused and vulnerable layman—don’t want to bring a shaky case to trial, and thus both parties are invested in whatever will get the suspect out with a minimum of effort. The result of this is a high number of people released on “suspended prosecution,” which is an admission of guilt, but with a prosecutor's decision to show lenience while still establishing precedent for possible later offenses warranting more severe punishment. This is a particularly common result for first-time offenders, especially in non-violent crimes.

Note that suspended prosecution is not at all the same thing as being released for lack of evidence; a suspect is conceding their guilt by accepting the arrangement. However, many suspects who the police might not be confident in convicting are known to sign confessions and accept the arrangement regardless, because, along with fear for their livelihoods, it’s known that judges tend to view extended time in detention as a sign of guilt. Also too, if admitting guilt is seen as showing remorse, then maintaining one’s innocence is often perceived as a lack of remorse—leading to fears that fighting the charges will result not only in defeat, but also in harsher sentencing!

All of these factors combine into a problem with perception of guilt that feeds on itself endlessly at all levels. Let me use a run-on sentence to summarize: the general public views anyone who is even arrested as probably guilty, because the police are seen as generally only moving on those who are guilty, because police specifically only prosecute those who they can all but prove are guilty, but guilt can be “proven” by a sufficiently detailed confession, and while confessions are required to have some corroborating evidence, they can easily be falsified and may well be offered up with minimal resistance because the suspect is also convinced that judges will only be harsher on them if they put up a fight because suspects also believe that they will be convicted at trial because everyone knows the conviction rate is unbelievably high.

Japan likes to think of itself as a “safe” country, which is in large part why its deeply concerning arrest and detainment procedures have held up repeatedly in court. These things help keep people safe, after all, and who wouldn't want people to be safe?

Returning, then, to the matter of My Hero Academia and the Paranormal Liberation Front mass arrest, I don’t think it’s overstating things to claim that the dehumanization of villains and the glamorization of heroes has probably exacerbated these problems.

Cruel punishments are illegal under Article 36 of the Japanese constitution? But what if someone really, really deserves it, though? (Chapter 94)

You can see that willingness to shrug off civil rights violations as long as it means safety in the symbol All Might represents, a hero who is there to beat up baddies, not ask questions about why they're being bad. Ditto Tartarus, where the Bad People get put, regardless of whether their Bad really warrants so awful a punishment or whether the severity of such a punishment serves as an effective deterrent.[40]

As to the presupposition of guilt, if a hero thinks they saw someone Doing A Bad, and confidently testifies to that effect, who’s going to doubt them? It’s blunt to the point of headache-inducing that Midoriya Izuku, the boy who will be the greatest hero, who’s treated by the story as if he’s the first person in history to think about “saving” a “villain,” doesn’t even start to think about such a thing until he literally experiences a psychic impression of a five-year-old crying within the heart of Shigaraki Tomura.

At the press conference in Chapter 306, it’s illustrated numerous times that huge portions of society don’t particularly care about Dabi’s accusations. They don’t ask for Hawks to face justice for the murder he openly admits to committing; they don’t ask for apologies for the heroes’ wrongdoings. They ask for heroes to make them feel safe. Even if it means lying to them; even if it means asking Endeavor to go out there and “take down” his firstborn son. People are uneasy about the accusations, certainly, but what they want is not for heroes to take responsibility for their actions, to atone for them, but rather to deny that there’s any truth to the accusations at all.

This is not a society that, in the wake of Gigantomachia’s rampage, is going to be open to the possibility that some people caught up in the mass arrest are legitimately innocent and that everyone, even villains, deserves to be afforded the full extent of their rights.

The Dissolution of the HMP

Speaking of rights, let’s go over one that we can immediately see has been flagrantly violated in the manga compared to the state of real-life Japanese law—the overnight dissolution of the Hearts & Minds Party.

As discussed earlier, it's unlikely that every member is a dyed-in-the-wool terrorist. There are bound to be perfectly innocent people in the country who just so happen to agree with the HMP’s campaign platforms. Now, all of those people are going to turn on the evening news[41] and be blindsided with the news that their political party has just been dissolved and some enormous percentage of its membership arrested. This was not publicized or forewarned; it just happened, in a matter of hours. Do you think those people—people who are members of a party that specifically opposes the current status quo—are just going to nod and say, “Oh, wow, that sucks, but who am I to question the wisdom of the government and its agents? Time to find a new political party, I guess!” Would you?

I can assure you that you wouldn’t, because let me be clear: under current Japanese law, what we’re told happened to the HMP is unbelievably illegal—not only because they were dissolved at all, but particularly the speed with which that dissolution was carried out.

I mentioned earlier, in the section “Japan and Illegal Organizations,” that there were methods by which organizations can be dissolved. Now I’d like to look at that in more detail.

Any organization that’s been flagged as a potential threat—that “terroristic subversive activity” designation—can come under investigation from the Public Security Intelligence Agency. Their recommendations are then passed up for evaluation by a member of the Public Security Examination Commission,[42] who can pass a variety of prohibitions—the bans I mentioned earlier on printing activities, public assembly, and a few others. These prohibitions are issued in periods lasting up to six months, at which point they are re-evaluated and can be dismissed or renewed.

If the Public Security Examination Commission decides that the comparatively soft-pedal restrictions on freedom of the press or freedom of assembly are not sufficient to deter the organization in question from committing terroristic subversive activity continuously/repeatedly in the future, the Commission can elect to order the organization dissolved. This revokes their rights mentioned above entirely, and further stipulates that they liquidate their assets,[42] and that no member of or representative for the organization can take actions in the organization’s interest (e.g. things like opening bank accounts or buying property). The only exception to the latter restriction is a designated representative for the organization who is granted the right to manage its assets in the process of overseeing the dissolution.

Any of the designations above can be appealed, but dissolution is permanent until specifically overturned.

Now, it might well seem that the HMP could be targeted under the “advocating for subversive terroristic activity” criteria, but here’s the problem with that: that criteria is based on the organization engaging in/advocating for such terroristic subversiveness as an organizational activity—that is, the activity in question is a foundational, core aspect of the organization’s endeavors. And I simply don’t think that’s how the HMP operates. To reiterate, I believe they’re a recruitment tool, meant to siphon people into the MLA (later the PLF) proper, but otherwise a perfectly legitimate political party with real political aims, outreach, goals, and so on.

Of course, I can easily see the anger over all the destruction leading the Ministry of Justice to being heavy-handed in its response to the Paranormal Liberation Front and any organization even suspected of being associated with it, of which the HMP is the most prominent. I could also simply be wrong about what the HMP says at their rallies. Regardless of either of those possibilities, however, there is still the matter of the timetable.

There was a period in Japanese history that organizations—political parties especially—could be dissolved on the spot. The Meiji Constitution granted that right to the Minister of Home Affairs, a Cabinet position appointed by the Emperor, and indeed, any number of socialist, communist, or labor-oriented parties were banned and dissolved within scant months of their establishment for their alleged leftist or subversive leanings.[44] The Farmer-Labor Party of 1925 was dissolved three hours after its establishment! So clearly there’s some precedent—or at least, there was. Like many things, the power to summarily dissolve organizations did not survive the Meiji Constitution’s transformation into its modern-day incarnation after World War II.

The Subversive Activities Prevention Act, the same one that lays out the causes for dissolving an organization, also details a legally mandated process by which this dissolution is carried out. Most prominently, organizations cannot just be dissolved with no notice, no chance to defend themselves. Any disposition curtailing an organization's activities, from the bans on their printed material to complete dissolution, is required to be announced both via the government's official gazette[45] and, if the residence of a chief officer or representative of the organization is known, also via written notification. These notifications must be sent at least seven days before the hearing date—a hearing which, further, the organization has the legal right to send agents to in order to present statements and evidence in their own favor, as well as examine the evidence being presented against them.

This clearly did not happen. Bare minimum, Hanabata Koku, as leader of the Hearts & Minds Party, should have had an address the Commission could get ahold of, especially given all the snooping they so obviously must have been doing to unearth the extent of the PLF’s reach.

It’s instructive, in this regard, to look to history. To wit, I’ve said a lot about how gun-shy Japan is to dissolve organizations outright, thanks to its history of governmental repression—but how true is that really? If the government really wanted to, couldn’t it just decide to crack down on something and ride out the controversy? Has it done as much before?

To put all this into proper perspective: no. It hasn’t. The government has invoked the Subversive Activities Prevention Act against a group rather than individuals only once in all the time since the act was passed in 1952.

It was against Aum Shinrikyo, and it didn’t happen until seven months after the subway attacks. Even with nearly unanimous desire to prosecute, even though Aum had been under police surveillance prior to the attacks, even though lawsuits against them were and had been ongoing, meaning at least some measure of investigation was being done openly, it still took seven months to gather the evidence, submit it to the Public Safety Examination Commission, allow Aum their appeal, and enact the ruling. That’s because, in a society ordered by democratic processes, these things take time.[46]

But the HMP? No one who wasn’t a member knew about their affiliation with the League of Villains—much less an underground army!—until Hawks got the word out, and the Hero Public Safety Commission had to be rigorously careful that news of their investigations not leak because they knew they had their own moles to deal with. So far as we know, the Hearts & Minds Party remained a legit organization right up until the day of the raid. It is functionally impossible under current Japanese law for them to have been dissolved in the scant few hours between the commencement of the raid and the attack on Tartarus in which the two guards mention the dissolution.

Even if the relevant agency in the Ministry of Justice submitted their paperwork the absolute minimum of time in advance, there is no way the HMP and Trumpet—and therefore Re-Destro and the League and everyone else—shouldn’t have known that the government was moving against them. The only answer is that the Ministry of Justice was evading its legal obligation to notify both the public[47] and the HMP itself, or that the Japanese government, in the wake of the Advent of the Exceptional, throttled back on constitutionally guaranteed freedoms exactly the way human rights activists today are always warning about.

Stigma and Recidivism

In the same way that In Custody is not (or shouldn't be) a magic status effect preventing villains from escaping from police, In Jail is not an endgame state. Most people in prison are not there for life (or death) sentences, particularly not in Japan. Even if the majority of the PLF gets stuck in prison for decades, there will, eventually, be an “after” for them. So what happens “after”?

Well, like many countries, Japan has made efforts in the modern day to offer training classes and parole officers to help reacclimate ex-convicts into society once they’ve done their time, but it remains a difficult process, and the country has a relatively high recidivism rate. Given the stigma against criminals—present to a degree in all countries, but particularly exacerbated in Japan—it is frequently difficult for released prisoners to find stable housing or employment—both key factors helping to prevent recidivism.

So does MHA’s Japan have similar programs? Well, it’s hard to say, given that the only prison we’ve actually seen is Tartarus, which is obviously a poor model to base a lot of judgement on—save, of course, that any country that could develop a place like Tartarus is a country with an appalling deficit of care for criminals’ human rights, which doesn’t bode well for their other prisons.

Speaking of things that don’t bode well, though, we have two obvious examples in the canon of how convicted criminals fare: both Gentle Criminal and Twice are, it’s suggested, prosecuted for their foundational fuck-ups—Tobita for obstructing public duties[48] and Jin for his traffic infraction. It’s unclear whether they went to prison or not—given the relative lenience shown to first-time offenders, I’m inclined to think probably not—but even given these very mild offenses, their lives were turned completely upside-down, and no apparent efforts were made to help them through chaotic periods that saw Tobita apparently disowned and Jin losing his job.

Consider the harsh reactions they garnered and the apparent lack of assistance from any social structure despite the relative mildness of their wrongs, and things start to look very bad indeed for the PLF. Will there be any steps taken at all to deradicalize them? Does taking such steps seem likely, given what we've seen of MHA’s legal and carceral systems thus far? Further, if there is no plan for deradicalization, how exactly do the heroes propose to stop this from happening again (and again, and again and again and again)?

Here’s another alarming thought: what will be done with the children? There’s no way around the fact that the MLA, and therefore the PLF, included children[49]—and I don’t mean it in the tumblr sense of describing a sixteen-year-old as “a literal child,” though there would be some of those, too. No, I mean the grade-schoolers, the toddlers, the babies. Maybe some of them will have non-PLF family they could hypothetically go to, but as I have written about in the past, there’s a very real bias about orphans and other children separated from their parents in Japan, and even blood ties are not always enough to overcome that stigma. Alternative care is in a woefully sorry state as it is in Japan, and this would only be compounded for PLF kids—damned first for their criminal associations and again for being the children society doesn’t want.

However many thousands of them that may be.[50]

So here again, a question recurs. Where before it was, “How do you tell the guilty from the innocent?” here it’s, “How do you stop the societal backlash from ruining countless peoples’ lives both now and for decades into the future?” What kind of stigma will all these people—rank and file who come out of prison deradicalized and ready to rejoin society, children who were too young to understand why heroes took their parents away, ignorant family and friends who just lost loved ones to a massive government sweep, innocents swept up in the net and imprisoned for crimes they didn't commit—going to be facing? How long, then, before that stigma sees them radicalized in turn?

You cannot sweep 115,000 people under the rug and not expect there to be a stain—and given the narrative themes of the rest of My Hero Academia thus far, it’s absurd to think that’s even an option.

Next time: how scrapping the ex-MLA portions of the PLF undermines MHA's narrative integrity.

-----------------------------------------------------

Footnotes (Part Three)

[26] And in the legal sense, murder in the second degree.

[27] For the monstrous callousness of his comments in that conversation, said guard is immediately murdered by karma All For One. I very much hope we ever get Shishikura’s opinion on this, because I’m pretty sure the guard was his dad.

[28] Who, in Chapter 35 of that series, leads a group of police firing rubber bullets at an active villain, emphasizing that the police are trained in non-lethal tactics, and any escalation from that is not to be taken lightly.

[29] Indeed, you could make a fair argument that that’s exactly why the manga included the Noumu to begin with, though the lower-tier ones wind up captured as often as not.

[30] Vigilantes, Chapter 74.

[31] This sidesteps the matter of “rescue heroes,” those who focus on disaster response and evacuation. Note, however, that this is not a categorization that pits those heroes against non-quirk-abusing civilians. Non-quirk-abusing civilians are criminals for police to deal with, not heroes of any stripe.

[32] This would be in keeping with real-world de-escalation tactics. So for e.g. the purse-snatcher in Chapter 1, where we’re told he didn’t use his quirk until he’d been backed into a corner, I would bet that Kamuy Woods or whoever confronted the thief didn’t start actually using their quirk on the man until he went into giant mode. That is anyway a kinder interpretation than noting that he was a heteromorph and would have been using his quirk automatically just by virtue of existing in public.

[33] After digging him out from under the stairway it had a teenager drop on top of him, I mean. Did he even have much of a chance to use Incite at the villa, do you think?

[34] Though given that literally every member of the MLA we’ve met is addressed solely by their code name, I don’t for a second believe he could have gotten real names out of everyone he talked to.

[35] And judges virtually always grant warrants. It’s that presumption of guilt thing again.

[36] But that panel of the normally taciturn Edgeshot shouting at a bunch of high schoolers not to let a single person escape is pretty damn telling too.

[37] 14% of the Japanese populace is under 14 years old, so that’s not too far off, though I’d be inclined to think, based on everything we know about them, that the MLA was having more kids than Japan at large, not fewer.

[38] This should have been Uraraka, by the way.

[39] An exaggeration, but only by a handful of tenths of a percentage point.

[40] Though until recently, it’s served as a great check on recidivism, clearly.

[41] You know, assuming that they weren't all arrested in the middle of their workday or cleaning house or going to university or what have you.

[42] Both are among the agencies that make up the Ministry of Justice. I’d be willing to bet that, in-universe, the Hero Public Safety Commission is also under the Ministry of Justice umbrella.

[43] The funds are then remitted to the National Treasury.

[44] Though one thing to note for our current context is that, even when those parties were dissolved, it did not automatically follow that any duly elected representatives were expelled from office. Unless there was legal reason to remove them, any elected officials were simply rendered “Independents” rather than being affiliated with a political party. The constitution stipulates that Diet members can only be expelled by a two-thirds majority vote, though in such circumstances, most politicians choose to step down from their positions before it comes to such drastic measures.

[45] A newspaper or other bulletin officially authorized by the government to publish public and legal notices—in Japan these days, it’s an online site/newsletter.

[46] And they’re often still controversial with progressive activists, as the invocation against Aum was even contemporaneously! Incidentally, Aum’s dissolution lasted for a mere two years before the government panel ultimately declined to make it permanent.

[47] And if you don’t think the HMP had someone watching the official Japanese government website, you’re clearly not taking them seriously.

[48] And possibly more besides; the dialogue in question trails off in a way that suggests that the obstruction charge is only the first in a list.

[49] Start at Yotsubashi Rikiya being inducted when he was still in schoolboy shorts and continue right on up through the people we see in school uniforms in various mass battle scenes involving the MLA rank and file.

[50] And it easily could be thousands. If, say, even 10% of the PLF are minors, that’d be well over 10,000 kids, and thus we’re right back to overcrowding problems, except this time they’re about Japan’s child services programs, and the last thing they need is a new group of kids that numbers a full third of the number of children already in their care in real-life Japan. Naturally, the number only climbs if you think Re-Destro wasn’t counting kids in his initial reckoning of the MLA’s membership.

#bnha analysis #bnha meta #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #my writing #plf arrests #stillness has salt

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cucumbers-and-olives · 4 years ago

Text

Enemies To Lovers- Part Two (Charlie Gillespie x reader)

i forgot to post this last night, oops! here it is now...

<<<part one—part three>>>

Summary: Its New Years, and you fare asked to stay in town for the annual New Years party. But what happens before and during the party? Well that’s a story!

Category: it’s a league of its own

Fandom: JATP

Paring: Charlie Gillespie x reader

Word Count: 1,960 (woah)

⚠️PLEASE READ⚠️ Warnings/Includes: if mentions of drinking, drugs, (getting) roofied/drugged, strong language and typos

Please make sure you are comfortable before reading this chapter.

A/N: so it’s a few days late, i hope you guys enjoy this NYE fic a few days after

Mandatory Thanking of the Betas: THANK YOU LOVES!!! you two literally hold me up and help me make my ideas into their finished product, so thank you!

AO3 link here (will be up by 1/7 10pm est, i’m have wifi issues at the moment)

Please don’t repost my work without my permission, in part or whole. My work can also be found on AO3 under the same username. Thank you!

“Y/N!” A woman said entering your room. It had been a week since you had arrived in the Gillespie home. In that short amount of time you had met all of Charlie’s younger cousins (there were only three, but they were a handful), celebrated Christmas the Gillespie way, and gotten into a total of five fights with Charlie over a range of things, but each one had a bigger fall out than the last. You supposed that was why at every meal your spot was next to his, an obvious way that Ms.Gillespie tried to “bring the two of you closer together.”

“Hun, you okay?” Ms.Gillespie said, her hand resting on yours. “You’ve been staring at that shirt for a while.”

“I’m alright, thank you,” You said, placing your shirt into the suitcase that lay on the floor. You were packing to leave, but you could tell that the older woman’s appearance in your room meant that you wouldn’t be leaving on your flight. You held your breath as she spoke.

“I’d like to invite you to stay through New Years. You’ve been such a help with the younger kids, and it’s been delightful to have you here.” She must have been telepathic at that point because she rushed out her next point. “And Charlie has agreed to play nice.”

“Ms.Gillespie, you are so kind, but I don’t think I have enough money-” You said, not wanting to overstay your welcome any longer.

“Nonsense, nonsense!” She cut you off. “I knew you would say this, it’s the kind of person you are, and so Charlie has found you a flight and we are paying for it.” You could tell that there was something that she was leaving out, but you could get hit with that later. Ignoring your work and your family was something that you were good at. And besides, hanging out at the Gillespie house was fun.

“Alright!” You agreed. She sweeped you up in a hug.

“Wonderful! Have you had lunch yet?” You shook your head. “Well that is perfect, I’ve got some sandwiches, so I expect to see you down in a few, okay?”

You nodded, and with that, she left, a smile on her face. You were excited to stay longer, but would Charlie’s promise hold? Would he really be nice for the remainder of your stay?

“Let’s hope so,” You said, closing your door and making your way to the kitchen. You should have been paying attention, but you weren’t. Bumping into someone, you both landed on the floor, your phones and other things flying.

“I am so sorry,” You said, picking up the various items. As you reached for one of the notebooks, your hands met and you finally saw who you had bumped into.

“Is this a game to you?” Charlie asked. His eyes were tear-stained, and you slowly noticed that some of the pages had tears on them too.

“I-” You picked his phone up along with yourself off the floor. “Are you okay?” You asked softly, tucking his phone into his back pocket, where you knew it had been before.

“Does it look like it? God, will you just fuck off! When are you leaving anyway?” He grumbled, his previously sad tone taking on a very harsh one. His hand that used to lay by his side was now in a very tight fist.

“I’m leaving after New Years. Your mom asked me to stay, and she’s paying for the flight back,” You said, answering honestly. You didn’t know what happened when he got angry- really, truly angry. And you didn’t want to see it.

“That’s why she had me- Oh my god, no. Just no.” He barked, stalking off.

“Yeah, you know what, fuck you too,” You whispered hotly, calming yourself down as you walked into the kitchen.

“Cause I don’t care when I’m with my baby yeah,” You sang along with the T.V. You enjoyed dancing to the Wii, and you hadn't minded when Anna had asked you to join. But the same song had played over five times now.

As the song ended, you placed your control down. “Gimme ten minutes, okay? I just gotta get some water,” She nodded, and you stepped out of the room and entered the kitchen.

“Is it this cabinet?” You said, opening the cabinet that you guessed the glasses were in. They weren’t in that one. Or the next, or the next or the next.

“Excuse me,” Charlie said, stepping around you to open a cabinet you could have sworn you had opened. He grabbed a glass and closed the cabinet, and poured himself a glass of water.

You opened the cabinet to grab a glass, but they seemed just out of your reach. You got on your tiptoes, and your fingers just brushed the edge of the glass.

He let out a little chuckle and grabbed the glass, and filled it up. “Thank you,” You said, reaching for it.

“Oh, you thought this was for you?” He feigned shock. “This is for Anna, she asked me to grab her a glass.”

“Are you kidding me?” You shouted after his retreating form. Sighing, you decided you could do without water as you walked back into the game room.

He sat smugly on the couch, sipping at his glass of water.

“Come on, let’s play!” Anna said, tugging at your hand.

“What song?” You asked, looking to the screen as she pressed play.

“I love it when you call me senorita, I wish I could pretend I didn’t need ya,” Anna sang to the track.

You felt the beat and began to follow the moves on the screen. You knew Charlie was staring at you, and so you made everything bigger. More power, more accuracy, more everything.

When the song ended, he walked out of the room, but he backtracked to whisper something in your ear.

“Strictly professional, Ms.Y/L/N. You aren’t that good of a dancer.”

“What do you think of this, Anna?” You said, showing the young girl the sparkling black dress you had on.

“You need more color! And that’s too shiny, and you wore it to Christmas dinner, and-“ She could have kept going, but she caught sight of something in your closet and pulled it out. “This! This is perfect!” Red, off-the shoulder, a leg slit, it was something you would never wear in a million years.

“I’ll… try it on?” You said, and Anna smiled as you stepped into the bathroom.

You pulled it off the black dress and put on the red one, but as you zipped up the back of the dress there was something in the way. A little card.

“Huh,” You were confused as you pulled it out, but as you read it, everything made sense.

You placed the card down to look at yourself in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly, falling down every curve perfectly. It wasn’t you that you saw in the mirror. It was who you pictured in your mind when you thought of yourself.

“Can I see it now?” Anna asked, knocking on the door.

“Yeah,” You said, opening the door.

“Woah,” She gasped softly, looking you up and down. “I think Charlie’s gonna love it.”

Before you could say anything in response, Anna ran out of the room.

“Really?”’ You said as you accepted the call on your phone. “I look amazing, but why?”

“Remind me what you’re talking about?” Savannah asked.

“Your acting is on point, Savannah Lee May.”

“Ooh, full name, I’m so scared!” She laughed. “You look good in red, and I knew you would need a dress for New Years!”

“Ya know, if you want to switch to facetime, all you need to do is ask. And the answer is yes.” You rolled your eyes as she squealed, quickly switching to facetime.

“You look stunning!” She gasped. “I wish I could pull off a dress that good!” She whined a bit.

“Who are you talking to?” Owen hollered in the background.

“Y/N! She looks amazing in the dress, come see!”

“Hey Y/N,” Owen said, stepping into frame. He made a face at Savannah. “If she wears that, you have to deal with Charlie when he calls to ruin my New Years.”

“What does he mean?” You asked. Savannah muted herself and had a heated argument with Owen before answering you.

“When we were drunk one time, Charlie talked about his ex. Specifically, the dress she always wore. A red off the shoulder with,” You cut her off.

“With one leg slit. Well that is specific, and I am not the woman that he wants to see in it.”

“It goes further,” She said. “The only people that heard that conversation were Jer, Caroline, Owen and I. So he’ll know that I did this, and he will call Owen to let out his frustration. He’s a nice guy, in that he’ll only yell at men. Truly yell.”

“Wow. So you are sending me into a death trap?”

“Not exactly-“ Owen’s phone rang, cutting her off.

“It’s him! Get over here and answer the phone for me please, Sav!” Owen shouted.

“Who?”

“Anna must’ve told him. She found the dress in my stuff.” You told her and she sighed, hanging up.

Music played loudly, filling every corner of the house. And where the music was, there were people. Maybe 75 or so, but it was only 11:30, and you had a feeling that number would increase. You didn’t know what, or more specifically who you were looking for as you scanned the room you were in.

“Hey doll, have a drink!” A random man said, and as he walked by he passed a drink to you. A clear but faintly yellow liquid was in the cup. You didn’t want to know what it was.

“Bottoms up-“ You said, about to tip the cup back and down it before someone pulled it out of your hands.

“I may despise you, but I am not about to let you get roofied,” Charlie said, handing you a beer. “Don’t you know that you have to be holding something at one of these kinds of parties?”

“I didn’t realize it was gonna be one of these kinds of parties,” You muttered, taking a swig of the beer.

“It’s always been like this,” He said, watching all of the couples.

“How close are we to midnight?” You asked.

“Maybe 30 miniutes? I’m gonna go see how my family is.” He said, leaving you in your tiny corner.

“10,” The room continued to chant.

You searched the room for Charlie, or at least a familiar face. Couples surrounded you, preparing to kiss at midnight. And you, like a 5 year old, prepared to cover your eyes.

“9,” There was no sign of him, but there were a few men around the room with a similar haircut. You slowly ruled them out.

“8,” His hair was too short.

“7,” His was too dark.

“6,” He was too short.

“5, 4,” You started to give up, just as you saw a couple emerge from one of the back rooms. That couldn’t be him, could it?

“3!” But that was his voice.

“2!” And that was his jacket. Your face dropped as you prepared yourself. You knew what the incoming trainwreck was but you couldn’t look away.

“Happy New Year!” The couples shouted before pulling their lover close.

You watched as his lips met hers. You looked for a bit too long before tearing your eyes away and stalking to your room. But you couldn’t help but look back, and when you did, your eyes met his for a moment.

And the mood shifted.

Send me an ask if you’d like to join my tag list(s)! Strike through means i wasn’t able to tag you.

Enemies to Lovers Tag List: @yagorlemmalyn @ifilwtmfc @kaitieskidmore1 @p0uge420

JATP: @n0wornever @unsaidmegan @calamitykaty @screwunsaidemily @crybabyddl @badwolf00593

All: @funsizearsonist

#julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie #cucumber writes #enemies to lovers pt ♾

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years ago

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Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut

Chapter 12 - Final Chapter

* * * * * *

Natasha’s lithe fingers follow the trail of your spine, her touch on your bare skin gently stirring you from your sleep.

The touch halts, lingering on a darker spot on your hip. Using the tip of her finger she traces the pattern of the birthmark.

She hadn’t noticed that before. Just another thing about your body she’d learned in the past few days.

While you weren’t sex crazed, after your first time together, you and Natasha had become much more sexually active. Almost every available night you spent tangled up in each other.

That didn’t happen of course until after you’d both had a long and understanding conversation about what had happened.

Now though, you’re both closer than you had been before, in every way.

Natasha moves, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the mark on your hip, before curling into your back and kissing your neck. You, basking in her warmth and gentle touch, cuddle back into her and grab her hand, lacing your fingers together and holding it to your chest.

“Good morning lyubov moya.” She speaks softly, each breath fanning your neck.

You turn in her embrace, a sleepy smile on your lips,“ morning malyshka.”

A faint blush coats her cheeks as she ducks her head. Making you chuckle and press a kiss to the top of her head, arms tightening around her.

Looking to the nightstand, your eyes widen when you realize you’d both slept well into the day, the time reading 11:35. No doubt due to the previous nights activities.

“Tash, we should probably get up.” You tell the woman, just barely upset you’d wasted half the day.

She groans, somehow snuggling into you further.

You didn’t think you’d ever see the day Natasha Romanoff didn’t want to get out of bed. The woman consistently wakes up before the sun rises.

“Don’t you just want to stay here with me?” Her words are a whisper against your skin and you shiver involuntarily.

Biting your lip, you try to build a firm resolve in your head, but with the way Natasha’s fingers keeping gently stroking your skin, and the small pout on her lips, you fold.

Playfully groaning, you nod,“ I mean I guess we can stay in bed a little longer.” You look up to the ceiling in fake thought before meeting her gaze again.

"You make it seem as if this isn’t exactly what you want to be doing.” She teases, eyebrow quirked at you challengingly.

Of course she’s right. What right minded person wouldn’t want to stay in the arms of their love.

Instead of indulging her smug attitude, you lean closer and press a kiss to her lips. She moves to deepen it, her lips adding pressure to yours. And then she pulls away abruptly.

Eyes wide you back up a little, in case you just did something you shouldn’t have,“ what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just, I have to pee.” She smacks a quick kiss to your lips and crawls out of bed.

You nod, then watching her sprint to the bathroom. While she’s in the bathroom, you use that time to get up and pull on some clothes, also picking up the clothes you and your girlfriend had discarded last night.

“This does not look like staying in bed.”

Looking, your eyes move to the bathroom door where Natasha stands, hands on her hips. You can’t stop your gaze from trailing over the woman’s naked body. Every inch of her is beautiful: scars, curves, birthmarks, freckles, everything is breathtaking.

You nod and shake your head at the same time,“ yeah no I- well I was just tidying up is all.”

Green eyes narrow and she points to the bed. With a chuckle you obey, crawling back under the covers, and accepting Natasha into your arms when she crawls in afterwards.

The both of you sit in the silence, reveling in each other’s embrace. A low hum leaves the ex-assassin’s lips when your fingers graze her scalp as you comb through her hair. The soft affection from you making her smile a little.

“Hey,” she squeezes you gently,“ I love you.”

Smiling brightly, you kiss the top of her head,“ I love you too Tash.”

Just holding her makes you beyond happy and you can’t express how glad you are things worked out.

Seeing as you hadn’t exactly practiced what you preached, you hadn’t seen the benefits of total honesty with your partner. Now that you’re both on the same page it’s the most incredible feeling.

Natasha’s proven to be the most loving, understanding, and caring woman. Knowing that she can trust you wholly has her acting in a way she didn’t think she ever would. You’d pulled out this childlike happiness that she wasn’t allowed to have in the past. Moments like this: being affectionate and playful, happening more often.

It’s not until Natasha’s stomach rumbles from hunger that you decide to get up. Leaving her to take a shower, you head out to the kitchen.

“Good morning Buck, Mister Rogers.” You nod to both men.

They smile back, Bucky good naturedly patting your shoulder as you pass by.

“Looks like you slept well.” Steve notes, earning a scoff and chuckle from Bucky.

“Or not at all.”

Wide eyed you look back at the man, who sports a knowing grin. Steve’s cheeks heat up and you refrain from retaliating to Bucky purely for his sake.

That doesn’t mean a comment isn’t made though.“ Jealous Rogers hasn’t put out yet?”

All eyes fall to Natasha as she comes in smirking at Bucky and winking at Steve. You sigh, shaking your head at the woman’s antics and focusing on making her something to eat.

As you cook, you engage in conversation with the three. They make it known that there’s been a spike in missions lately, something to do with some mad scientist over in California.

Setting a plate down in front of Natasha, you ask,“ so they’re just mass experimenting on people and there hasn’t been any news on it?”

They all raise their eyebrows at you as you sit to eat as well.“ What kind of news would you expect? It’s not like they’re interviewing the bad guy.”

“Well no, obviously, but if there’s suddenly a bunch of enhanced individuals tearing up the west coast I refuse to believe there are no reports on it. Some kid who saw them and posted about it, a family noticing their relative missing or showing abnormal abilities, hell a news report on some kind of superpowered mugger?” You explain yourself.

You may not be here as a superhero but you’ve seen the way the public reacts to them. When the Avengers came out there wasn’t a news station that didn’t cover their every move.

“She’s right,” Natasha nods,“ we keep looking at underground channels instead of plain ole media.”

Both men share a glance, Steve then leaning forward and looking at you,“ where would we start?”

A small chuckle leaves your lips,“ honestly, I’d go straight to social media. I don’t know what kind of programs or whatever you guys use but if you searched a particular word combination,” as you speak you go to wash up the few dishes you and Natasha had used,“ like superhuman + California it’s likely you’ll find something. Everything is always all over social media.”

“So-”

Natasha quickly cuts Steve off,“ okay okay she’s given us a lead, let’s talk about it with Tony.”

Both men nod, all of you understanding Natasha’s reasons for stopping it here: she doesn’t want you involved in this part of their work.

In one of your many moments of honesty she told you that she would rather you not get into that. The team already comes back from missions and lays all that on you and you’re of course in danger enough just living with them, knowing in depth mission details puts you further in danger and she refuses.

And you’d also told her you genuinely didn’t want to be that involved anyway. As cool as you’ve seen being an Avenger can be, you have no interest in actually being one. Their therapist is a position you’re more than happy to fill.

“Fellas, excuse us.” Natasha nods to them, taking your hand and pulling you back to your room.

You can’t help giggle when she pushes you on to the bed and goes right back to cuddling you like you hadn’t left the bed in the first place.

That’s where you both stay for the next few hours. Even when you decide to do something else she keeps you in her arms. While you play on your switch she watches over your shoulder, sporadically presses kisses to your neck, and asks what the heck it is you’re doing.

Until the time approaches for you to get ready for tonight. Pepper had insisted that the couples of your friend group go out for the night. First dinner and then going to a play Tony had scored tickets to.

Wanting to be comfortable and still formal, you decide to wear a black pant suit, the top you choose is a solid black bralette, and you pair it all with a simple pair of black heels.

“Zip me up?” Natasha steps out of the bathroom and turns her back to you.

As you do so, your eyes roam over her figure in the mirror. How she can make such a simple green dress look so beautifully elegant you don’t know but you love it.

“You look gorgeous, love.” You tell her, pressing a light kiss to her shoulder.

She smiles as she looks at you,“ as do you malyshka.”

Once you both have everything you need, you leave out. Bucky and Steve are waiting for the two of you by the door and together all of you climb into Bucky’s truck.

Everyone meets up at the restaurant and are seated after confirming that they’re a part of Tony’s dinner party.

Admittedly you weren’t too sure about this whole thing for a number of reasons, but your worries fade away throughout dinner.

There’s an amazing energy flowing through the group. It’s beyond entertaining to see the matching sass between Tony and Maria Rambeau. The woman is just as witty as Carol which makes their interactions with the billionaire very entertaining.

You find yourself jumping from about three different conversations, one being with Pepper, Laura, and Natasha, the other with Clint, Steve, and Bucky, and of course the one with Tony, Carol, and Maria.

Funnily enough, the first conversation sounds a lot like what you’d expect to hear from three wives, wine and partner complaints galore, with the guys it’s mainly sports(Bucky and Clint aren’t too happy about the MLB playoffs), and as mentioned, the last conversation is very sassy.

“-if I can fly my suits I think I can fly a fighter jet.” The man continues is his argument.

With a chuckle, you look at him pointedly,“ Tony, my friend, pick your battles,” then you take a bite of your dessert.

Natasha notices the way your eyes widen and you eagerly take another bite. Her elbow gently nudges you and when she gives the cutest little pout you know what she wants. So you scoop another piece of the food onto your spoon and hold it out to her.

A hum of approval leaves her and you smile, wiping a spot of chocolate off the corner of her lip, which elicits her to lean in and kiss you.

The bubble pops when Tony speaks,“ it’s like we aren’t even here.”

His words make your friends laugh, Pepper reaches over to smack his arm,“ pay him no mind, you two are adorable together.”

“Natasha and adorable? Never thought I’d see the day.” Tony further teases.

“Hey T, remember when you lost that bet to me and had to wear-”

“Aye aye okay,” he raises his hands in surrender,“ no more teasing I got it.”

Pepper covers her laugh with her hand, knowing exactly what you’re talking about, and everyone else looks at you and Tony expectantly. But you smoothly change the conversation and everyone soon moves past that moment.

Almost everybody.

It’s after you’ve sat down at the play venue that Natasha brings it back up.

The lights dim and she leans into your side, you wrap an arm around her, and the actors walk on to the stage to begin the play.

“Y/n,” she pokes your side making you look over at her, voice a whisper, she asks,“ what did Tony have to wear?”

Resisting the urge to laugh out loud, you lean over to whisper in her ear,“ assless chaps.”

Her jaw drops, the corners of her lips lifting in amusement,“ you’re kidding.”

You shake your head,“ it’s a long story but the moral of it is that Tony should not underestimate me.”

Even though your eyes are trained on the play you can feel Natasha still looking at you.

If you were looking at her though, you’d see stars in those green orbs. Better yet hearts. You would see how absolutely in love with you she is. And she genuinely can’t believe it.

Had anyone told her, when you walked through the compound doors, that she would’ve fallen in love with you she would’ve laughed. And she would’ve been more wrong than she ever had been in her life. Because here she is staring at you like a lovestruck idiot.

You’d managed to come in and completely flip her world upside down.

“Miss Romanoff, you’re missing the play.” A teasing smile masks your lips as you look down at her.

Before you can turn away, she’s gently grabbing your chin, and kissing you.

“Thank you.” Her breath fans your lips.

“For what?” You frown.

“For proving me wrong. At every turn. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met-”

“Shhhhh.” A voice interrupts from behind you and you turn around to find a frowning, clearly pissed off, older man.

Locking eyes with him you whisper/yell,“ hey buddy my girl’s trying to profess her undying love for me, if you could just not butt in that’d be great.” With a thumbs up you turn back to Natasha,“ as you were saying.”

The woman shakes her head amusedly,“ I love you so fucking much.”

Even though you can tell she has more to say, it’s obviously not the best place for that. Besides you know the two of you have all the time in the world, so you simply kiss her again,“ I love you too.”

* * * * * *

taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o @aaron-despair @natasha-danvers @wildhoney32 @criminallyhamilton @fayhar @nat-km-mh @chicken-wang09 @trikruismybitch

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #reader insert #prove me wrong

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blkmxrvel · 4 years ago

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Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (21)-[CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I know it’s been an EXTREMELY long time and I apologize for that. Life got in the way. But I won’t be giving up on posting this! I’m going to be posting chapters 21-28 daily over the next week, as i’ve already had them converted. As for the last 3, they should be up in rapid succession. Thanks for not giving up on me lol, love you guys and enjoy!

Kara liked the freedom of living on her own. She liked being able to leave her clothes lying around if she wanted to – which she didn’t. She liked being able to have dessert first sometimes – which she did, frequently. And she liked being able to decorate her house the way she wanted to, stay up as late as she wanted, play her music as loud as she wanted and sing along with anything and everything, even the television commercials.

Which she didn’t do.

Not often, anyway.

But every now and then… sometimes it was nice for Kara just to go home. To the place she was born, where she was raised. The place where Kara Sophia Zor-El first discovered just who, exactly, she was.

David Zor-El threw open the door and immediately wrapped his arms around Kara, pulling the girl inside. “I’m not letting you go,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Kara rolled her eyes and carefully disengaged herself from him, returning the hug nonetheless. “Thanksgiving was just three days ago, Daddy,” she said happily. “I don’t think that constitutes forever.”

“It does in Daddy-time,” he said, then looked past Kara, above her head. “And who’s this?”

Kara half-turned, extending her hand with a smile to the Y/H/C-haired, nervous submissive hovering just behind her. Y/N took it and offered her own, albeit smaller, smile. “This is Y/N, Daddy. She’s… my friend. I told you, remember?”

Y/N looked at Kara’s dad shyly, but didn’t say anything, and Kara squeezed her hand...

“That you did, that you did,” David said, stepping over to study Y/N, looking warmly at her. “But you failed to mention that she’s beautiful, Kara. It almost hurts to look at her; it’s like staring at the sun with no sunglasses.”

“Daddy, stop, you’re embarrassing her,” Kara said, lightly punching him in the arm. “And you’re going to make Dad jealous.”

“Yes, stop, my boy,” Randy said, coming into the living room and standing beside his husband. “You’re giving me a complex.”

“He forgets I only have eyes for him,” David said to Y/N, who rewarded him with a grin and a blush. “This is Kara’s friend, Y/N, Sir.”

It was only now that Kara was grown and out of the house that her fathers were more comfortable with their dynamic in front of her. As a child she’d known it existed, because it was the way things were. But her fathers were intensely private, and so their dynamic was often revealed in more subtle ways to their daughter. It was through her fathers that Kara learned a dynamic could be established with just a single word. The raise of an eyebrow. The fact that her Daddy was always the one who made dinner and that Dad was the one she had to ask about a raise in her allowance.

The full force of her fathers’ dynamic, and their love, had become apparent when Randy had gotten sick. Used to Randy making the rules, David had nevertheless become the rock of the family, holding his Sir and Kara together as he cared for the man he loved. Their rules had all but gotten thrown out of the window, and it was interesting to see, if only for a short time, the dynamic shift, in a way. Randy had had difficulty giving up some of his control, especially since that was even out of his control. And it was Randy who had the biggest problem with Kara giving up the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts to help take care of him, but David was the one who voiced it, resulting in the biggest argument Kara had ever had with her fathers.

Every now and then they would bring up NYADA, but it was very easy for Kara to push away that conversation by telling them that she had work to do in National City, and that if she didn’t do it, no one else would. Kara knew that her fathers were proud of her, but she also knew that there was sadness that she hadn’t yet realized her dream, and probably no small amount of guilt from Randy. Kara had repeatedly told him that she didn’t blame him, and she didn’t, but she knew neither of her fathers would be truly happy until she was in New York.

Randy regarded Y/N seriously before smiling just as warmly at her, even as his eyebrow rose at Kara. She felt herself flush and shrugged slightly; her father was always able to see right through her.

“Welcome to our home, Y/N,” Randy said, stepping back and leading the girls more fully into the house. “Do you want anything to drink, something to eat?”

Kara watched Y/N carefully, then practically beamed as Y/N said, “I wouldn’t mind a drink if it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Zor-El.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide and inquisitive, almost like a child’s, as she took in her surroundings. The Zor-El house was small, smaller than Kara’s even, but it was comfortable and it was clear that, unlike Y/N’s childhood home, Kara was sure, that people lived and loved there. Everywhere in the house was evidence of a happy family: from the pictures of Kara and her fathers on the wall, to Kara’s numerous singing awards as a child, and both Randy and David’s work accomplishments. David was chief of staff at a hospital outside of the city, and Randy’s skill as an accountant kept him in high demand at tax season. Kara was proud of her fathers, and proud to be their daughter.

“Please, call me Randy,” he said, before tipping his chin at his submissive, who quickly went to the kitchen to fetch drinks. “And as gushing as my David is, he’s also right. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

They sat on the couch with Y/N close to Kara, who briefly touched Y/N’s knee reassuringly. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Randy, who seemed to have been staring at his daughter ever since he’d entered the room. She felt exposed under his gaze; she knew he could read her like an open libretto, and that he’d no doubt start asking her questions as soon as they were alone, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that, at all. She didn’t have to answer to her fathers when it came to her personal life, Kara knew, but she also knew that they were used to her tendency to leap without a parachute.

“Thank you, Mr.- Randy,” Y/N said softly, losing some of the tension in her muscles as David brought her a drink and handed it to her with a smile. “It’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“Speaking of meeting,” David said, snuggling up to his Sir on the couch, “How did you and Kara meet?”

“Oh, I-I, um…”

“Through work,” Kara said, gently squeezing Y/N’s knee. “I saw her across the room, said hello, started talking—“

“Wouldn’t shut up…”

Kara blinked, looking at Y/N, who smirked at her.

David grinned. “That’s our Kara,” he said. “She’ll talk your ear off if you’d let her.”

“Oh, I’m sure the ears are just the first things to go.”

Kara gaped and as David and Randy laughed, Y/N leaned into her to whisper.

“No rules outside the house, Miss Kara.”

“Might have to rethink that,” Kara muttered in return, but she wasn’t annoyed. No, the reaction she was having at Y/N’s smart little moment of defiance was… inspiring a completely different reaction in her. She coughed and took a sip of her drink to distract herself from thinking about it.

… Was this why Lena liked it so much when Sam was a brat?

But it was dangerous, too, this game Y/N was playing with her, in front of her fathers. Kara had told her before the visit that they would have to be careful.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Y/N had asked her, and the question had cut Kara to the core.

“Of course not,” she’d hastened to reassure the girl. “But little one, I don’t want to jump into this too quickly, and you know why it’s important not too many people know about us right now.”

“Because you’re still scared,” Y/N had said, and Kara hadn’t been sure she had an argument against that.

But there would be no way she could be ashamed of Y/N. It had been a week since they’d made steps towards setting up their dynamic, and slowly but surely both she and Y/N were making progress in discovering what they both liked, and what neither of them wanted. Kara was quickly learning that Y/N craved instruction almost as much as she craved reassurance. It was a delicate balance, for Kara to tell Y/N things like “go get this,” or “bring me that,” and have it be within the context of their relationship and not just her being overbearing or controlling. But Y/N seemed to be thriving with it, and even Nia had remarked that Y/N acted much happier than she had before. Kara had declined to give Nia a reason for it.

For herself, Kara was discovering that one of her favorite things was just to cuddle with Y/N at the end of the day. She’d been worried about having Y/N on her knees so much, but it didn’t matter if she insisted Y/N sit next to her on the couch; inevitably Kara would find that Y/N had slipped to her knees at her feet, and her head was resting either on Kara’s lap or against her side. And Kara would just hold her, stroking her hair, and watch for that quiet look of contentment to appear on Y/N’s face.

That was the one thing that Lena had repeatedly stressed to Kara during her training: watching was a necessity. Watch for happiness, for pleasure. But more than that, watch for any sign of hurt, any sign of discomfort, any sign of loneliness. And it didn’t matter if Y/N was curled up to her or stuck with her nose in the corner, Kara wouldn’t stop watching, guarding against any misstep, terrified to make a mistake. Because for Kara it was a huge thing, finally having a submissive.

And having one that had been completely broken before, at the hands of another? Delicate wasn’t a word Kara would use to describe Y/N, but it was the only way she knew to treat the girl. There was a danger in that, too, Kara knew, though she didn’t think Y/N would ever be one to take advantage of it.

Even if she was a brat.

But her fathers were asking Y/N more questions, much like Alex had that first time, and Kara quickly turned her attention back to them. She was content just to sit and listen to Y/N’s voice as the young woman described everything from her parents to things she liked to do in her spare time… describing anything but how she and Kara had really met, how she had been promised to an abusive boy at the age of 16, the fact that she had ended up at Mt. Overland House.

And as much as Kara remained ever watchful of Y/N, even as they sat there with her fathers, she knew that Y/N was also watching, watching the interactions of Randy and David. It was only the second time she’d seen the way a positive relationship worked, and Kara thought it was cute, the way her eyes were wide and taking everything in. And there was a lot to see; Kara’s fathers, while not outwardly affectionate like Alex and Maggie, were very much in love. It was evident in the way they looked at each other, in the way David refilled his Sir’s drink without even being asked, in the way that Randy offered his hand to help David off the couch. Kara had giggled quietly to herself when Y/N’s mouth had dropped open a little, the first time Randy had said “thank you” to his submissive for bringing him something.

“I’ll be right back,” Kara said, when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket for the third time that evening. She was worried that it might be something for work; even though she had prescribed hours during the day, she was always technically “on-call” at night, and she knew all it would take is one case like Y/N’s, and she’d be out the door and on her way to Mt. Overland House.

But she furrowed her brow when she saw that the calls were not from work, but from Alex, and she hadn’t left a voicemail.

“Huh,” she said quietly to herself, just as Y/N slipped into the kitchen.

“Everything all right, Miss—“ Y/N caught herself and cleared her throat. “Everything all right, Kara?”

“I hope so,” Kara said. “Alex’s been trying to reach me, I’ll have to call her in a little bit and make sure nothing’s happened with Maggie.” As much as she loved her best friend it was always in the back of Kara’s mind that she’d get a call like this, that Maggie had done something to hurt herself, or worse, Alex. She knew Maggie was working hard to escape the demons of her past, but she also knew how easy it was for the demons to catch up.

She turned back to Y/N, and, noting that her fathers were talking together in the living room, reached out to cup her waist, pulling Y/N to her. She kissed her gently, and then whispered, “You’re being an absolute brat right now. I can’t believe you told them I snore louder than Theo when I’m napping!”

Y/N giggled, a blush spreading over her cheeks as she tucked her head on Kara’s shoulder. “But you can’t put me in the corner here,” she teased. “Remember your rule? The only place you’re Miss Kara is in your home.”

Kara rolled her eyes, running her hand through Y/N’s hair. “Am I only Miss Kara at my house, though?” she asked softly.

Y/N shook her head, her breath tickling Kara’s neck, and Kara shivered. “No. You’re my Miss Kara no matter where we are.”

She didn’t know why that made her arms tighten around Y/N, but it did, and Kara gently kissed the top of Y/N’s head. “Then maybe we ought to reconsider that rule.”

Y/N pulled herself up and met Kara’s eyes. “I could be okay with that,” she said, and her gaze was steady, clear.

“Even if it means you’re going straight to the corner when we get back, my little obnoxious one?” Kara said with a grin.

Y/N smiled, flushing an even deeper shade of pink. “Even if it means that, Miss Kara.”

From behind them Kara heard her father clear his throat, and she and Y/N jumped apart. Randy smiled at them both, though it was strained even as he politely said to Y/N, “David is breaking out the family photo albums, I imagine you might want to see them?”

“I- yes,” Y/N said, seeming reluctant to leave Kara. “I want to see just how cute… Kara was as a baby.”

Kara groaned and covered her face with her palm, shaking her head, as Y/N headed into the living room. She grinned at Randy. “Photo albums are things you show girlfriends, Dad.”

“Which is maybe why David wants to bring them out, Sophie,” Randy said, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

Kara sighed.

“Want to tell me where you really met Y/N?”

She should’ve known that Randy would see everything, from the way she looked at Y/N to the little touches they’d both shared, here and there throughout their conversation with Kara’s dads. For Kara it was the casual affection that was easy with Y/N, for Y/N it was the constant need for reassurance but also, Kara was beginning to learn, the desperate need for her. Kara should’ve known that something like that wouldn’t be easy to hide.

“I did tell you. We met at work. I just didn’t tell you… that she lived at Mt. Overland House.”

Randy shook his head. “Mt. Overland House? Kara…”

“I know, Dad, all right?” Kara snapped, and then took a deep breath, moving to stand next to her father. “I know.”

Randy slipped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and hugged her close. “So some jackass was mean to her, then. It’s a shame; she’s clearly an amazing young woman.”

Kara smiled to herself, nodding. “She’s not perfect, but she’s the closest to it I think I’ve found. With the exception of yours truly.”

“Is she good to you?”

“I don’t think that you and daddy could choose anyone better for me, if you were into that sort of thing.”

Kara spilled it all, then, hoisting herself up onto the counter like she used to do when she was little and she’d watch her Daddy cook while her Dad sat at the table poring over his work. How Y/N had grown up, how her claim had been arranged. Her dad made all the right gestures, all the right sounds of anger and indignation as Kara described Y/N’s abuse at the hands of James, and how she had ended up at Mt. Overland House that fateful night. She could hear Y/N laughing in the living room, no doubt giggling at the picture of two year old Kara in the bathtub with a soap beard and a plastic microphone in her hand, and it made Kara tear up.

She’d had so much happiness in her life, despite her father’s illness and the lack of NYADA. And even though Y/N had had her grandfather, she deserved so much more…

“Is she submitting to you?”

Kara hesitated. “Yes.”

“Are you being good to her?”

“Dad!” Kara said indignantly, and Randy held up his hands.

“I love you,” he said, “and you’re my daughter. I know you’ve seen the way your father and I act with each other, and I know Lena trained you well. But I also feel just a little protective towards that young lady in the living room, and just as much as you deserve someone to be amazing with you, she does too. Maybe even more after everything that’s been done to her, Sophie.”

Kara nodded and hopped off the counter to lean against her father, who automatically wrapped his arms around her. “I try,” she confessed. “I really care about her, Dad, and I-I want to be good for her.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think… I’m starting to.”

“But you’re scared.”

Kara shrugged. “Everyone seems to know me better than I know myself.”

“I’d be scared if I was you,” Randy said, “And all David and I had to contend with were his parents thinking he should be with a woman instead of your old dad, here.”

Kara nodded again, remembering how her Daddy’s parents had never met her, never made the effort to contact her or her father. She thought they were somewhere off in California now, but she couldn’t be sure. Daddy didn’t like to talk about them.

“But I also know that if Y/N deserves anybody, she deserves my sweet, compassionate, occasionally loud and very opinionated Kara Sophia.” Randy cupped Kara’s head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

“I always knew you’d make a good mistress,” Randy said, then tilted his head. “Is that an awkward thing for a father to say to his daughter?”

“Very,” Kara declared, laughing, then hugged her father fiercely. “But thank you, Dad.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?” Randy asked. “You’ve never hidden anything from us before.”

“I know,” Kara said, feeling guilty. “But it’s just… work, and I’m trying to be careful for Y/N.”

“You haven’t technically done anything wrong, Sophie,” her dad said, and Kara shrugged again.

“She wants me to go to New York,” she said suddenly.

“In that case, how soon can we make her a part of the family?”

“I-is everything okay?”

Kara moved to once again reassure Y/N, who was standing in the doorway looking like a deer in the headlights with one corner of her cardigan twisted in her hand, but Randy beat his daughter to it as he asked Y/N, “Y/N, would you mind if I hugged you?”

She paused, giving Kara a strange look, but when Kara smiled, Y/N nodded. Randy hugged her quickly, gently, before drawing away and holding her at arm’s length.

“You’re a beautiful young woman, and you deserve to be happy,” he said seriously, then looked back at Kara. “I hope you two take care of each other.”

“He knows?” Y/N asked when Randy left for the living room, and Kara could tell his subtle warning about taking care of his daughter wasn’t lost on her.

“He knows, little one,” Kara said; when she took a deep, shaky breath Y/N came to her immediately, wrapping her arms around Kara and holding her close. Kara closed her eyes, absorbing Y/N’s comfort, her strength, before reopening them and smiling faintly at her.

“And surprisingly, he’s okay with it. I think as long as I’m happy, and you’re taking care of me, and I’m taking care of you…”

“Good,” Y/N said, and surprised Kara by kissing her, deeply, right there in her fathers’ kitchen. It left Kara feeling dizzy, and she had to put her hand back on the counter to brace herself. Y/N’s own eyes widened, and Kara saw her swallow hard.

“W-wow,” was all Y/N said, and Kara grinned a little.

“Wow is right,” she agreed, trying to force out all of the images that had rushed into her head with the ferocity of Y/N’s kiss. Images that involved a bed, restraints, and the two of them, very, very naked…

“Do you want to go back into the living room?” Y/N asked. “I think your dads have more pictures they want to show me.” She stuck her tongue out at Kara.

“You are definitely going into the corner when we get home,” Kara said, and thought that the living room was the last place she wanted to be at that moment. The bedroom would be much nicer… Her phone vibrated again.

Kara looked down at it. Alex.

“Let me just answer this, little one,” she said, “Then we’ll go back so that I can be humiliated some more.”

She pressed the button on her phone. “Alex?”

“Maggie,” she said.

Kara furrowed her brow. “Maggie? What’s going on, why are you using Alex’s phone?

“Well… let’s see, how do I say this? Ma’am’s, uh, terrified to talk to you right now, Ma’am.”

Now Kara was even more confused. “Terrified to talk to me? Why? Put her on the phone, Maggie.”

“Can’t do that, Ma’am, she’s working on a case right now. That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

Alex had been promoted to Advocate within SETS, a liaison of sorts between Dominants and their submissives or former submissives. She wasn’t a lawyer or a counselor, but she did act to ensure that her clients received the fairest treatment under the law and the government. Her promotion was to defense advocate, helping to defend those who were accused of abusing or mistreating their partners, a decision that Kara had found distasteful, and she’d told her so.

“It pays more,” Alex had said honestly, “And you know as well as I do that sometimes the ones getting accused aren’t at fault. Look at Maggie.”

“I’m not really sure why you have to call to tell me about Alex’s case? Y/N and I are my dads’, and we’re kind of busy right n—“

“I know,” Maggie interrupted, and Kara would’ve been angry at being interrupted, if she’d given her a chance to, but instead she kept speaking. “And that’s also kind of why I’m calling, because Ma’am has a new case, it starts next week, and I really think you need to know about it. And you should also know that she’s really, really sorry.”

“Sorry?” Kara said, exasperated. “Why on earth does Alex need to be sorry?”

“Because she’s defending James.”

#madi converts #kara danvers #kara danvers x reader #supergirl #supergirl x reader #kara zor el #kara zor el x reader #HFMWH

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