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mandalhoerian · 2 years

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NO TIME TO DIE | leon kennedy x oc | 3

pairing: leon s. kennedy x oc word count: 15K~ (I AM SORRY) warnings: past child abuse, gore, descriptions of vomit, suicide attempt, vera being blasphemous to god , again with cringy humor inspired by my real life experiences of awkwardness, they're getting to know each other ur honor 😭 summary: For the sake of getting out of the station and to save Marvin, Leon and Vera end up establishing field agent and mission support unit of two without knowing what it is through trials of trust and vulnerability. READ ON AO3 ! CH. 4 ☆ NO TIME TO DIE MASTERPOST

Lt. Branagh was lying sideways on the couch, one glance at the him would suggest he was sleeping but the man was visibly shivering and his lips were pressed into a thin line, face shiny with the pearly droplets of sweat, a white sheet taken from the curtains surrounding them draped over his body that Vera had taken extra care to tuck underneath — so his back wouldn't be exposed should he toss around, according to her crestfallen explanation.

This must be how her father put her to bed when she was a child, Leon thought, cocooning her into warmth and safety. He had to look away from her lovingly caressing her father's head like he was the child and she was the parent, the lump stuck on his stomach got twice the heavier with the sight.

A hollowness curled its way home within his ribs at not being able to imagine that kind of love between him and his late parents, hell, he couldn't even remember receiving that kind of agonizing affection from them, feather soft and sitting-before-the-stove-on-a-winter-night cozy. The closest he got to it was when he successfully completed deliveries or brought money home as a child beggar, his father spared him then from the usual beatings that he told was necessary for people to pity him — people loved broken pretty things, always wanted to fix 'em . Leon was no different from an injured pup in their eyes, he had said, so he had to act like it, too.

Mornings were filled with twenty wink sleeps and nights hardwired him to stay alert like a hawk, gang members coming and going like it was an inn, his mother's cheap sugary perfume hanging in the rotten, molded air as she left home and didn't return for weeks, Leon surviving on salt on bread or bouillon cubes and his father's anger the whole time, the brown-stained refrigerator mostly filled with liquor, strangers randomly spawning in his home with guns in their belts looking at him funny, his father laughing, and then empty film strips and blanks in his memory — and Leon hurting all over, running, sleeping on the streets for a couple of days and managing his hunger until his existence was forgotten and going back home then, body used to the punishment he was sure to receive. It was chaotic and it was routine.

Leon survived. Leon survived because he was simply made that way. He was born into survival.

For him, home was the most dangerous place on earth, a jungle filled with predators — the meaning of the word safe didn't come to him until after the day he lost his family. Then, home was just a box with all the hazardous contents removed, it never meant more than what the definition entailed, never really bothered him unless he was faced with what he wasn't allowed to have, the adolescent Leon avoided parks, hurried straight back after school, anywhere children would flock to, followed by parents who loved them to bits. Those were the places where tears decided to surface after long periods of feeling absolutely nothing. Leon couldn't control his body's response, and he resented the vulnerability and the feeling that he was made of glass — he would never be ready for the danger ambushing him around the corner, salvation had turned him weak.

If only he wasn't introduced to affection by that cop who had shown the first act of kindness in his life that he could remember, changing his life forever. It was when he had gained consciousness, the first time he realized he had autonomy, the first time he had felt unbridled happiness and joy and gratitude in his life that he wanted to share it in abundance: the relaxation of a full night's sleep and a body that could just let go, the warmth of a homemade meal, everyday life not as a fist that came down on him but a hand that was an encouraging push into a kinder world — Leon wanted everyone to feel this way in their life just once. It had healed him. He wanted to change someone's life the way his was changed. He wanted to do that for someone, be that cop for other many Leon S. Kennedy's.

He found his calling in helping people, and he had two people right now who needed him to step up the most.

He tried his hardest not to picture Vera and Marvin in a child's bedroom at night, illuminated by the soft yellow light coming from the bedside lamp, Lt. Branagh younger and healthier and happier, telling a night time story to his little daughter basically made into a blanket burrito. Leon closed his ears to the giggles of a young Vera, of course questioning the story at every turn and nitpicking at every detail ("How's that a twig, dad? It must be a branch if it has leaves!"), enjoying squabbling with her father over the tiny details. Warm, warm, warm.

Leon couldn't swallow the fist-sized rock stuck in his throat. and swore to himself: he would save them, he would take them to safety, no matter what , he would not fail Lt. Branagh.

He had been wavering before, utterly confused and split into two pieces over doing what he thought was right and what he was ordered to do — Lt. Branagh was his boss, but also a man with a family he wanted desperately to be saved before him. It gave massive jitters of anxiety to Leon to be thinking about disobeying orders despite the world ending around them when all he wanted was approval, but at the same time, could he be a good cop if he didn't have the gall to do the right thing?

He was wearing the uniform, he'd better live up to it.

"Let's leave him to rest," Leon whispered, lingering behind the crouched Vera.

The fingers on the lieutenant's sweat-covered forehead stopped and she straightened her spine, looking back at him over her shoulder, a faraway look in her half-droopy eyes. His heart ached for her.

She sniffled without tears, and got up, signaling Leon to follow her to the front desk, and took the Toughbook with her. On the way, she said, "He needs herbs, that could put him to sleep a bit. Help the pain."

Those definitions sounded a bit... Leon stretched out the word, uncertain. "Herbs? You're not talking about cannabis, are you?"

He got laughed at. Again . "I wish. Getting high in the middle of all this would be a dream come true, but no. Herbs I'm talking about are medicinal." She set the Toughbook down on the desk, pulling a rolling chair and sitting down on it, working to open the station's maps. "Native to the Arklay mountains. You know the pharmaceutical corporation, Umbrella? They farm them for medicine. These herbs have healing properties, relax John Law."

His lips twitched upwards from their corners at John Law . Weirdly enough, this felt like they've been acquainted for a long while instead of having met like an hour ago. Leon reckoned it could be because of her personality, Vera seemed like the kind of social, center-of-the-room girl who would get close and chummy with a person who she was just introduced to on the spot. She just gave off the energy of the type who immediately started drunk-defending a girl she met in the bathroom line as if they had been blood sisters since birth.

She had immediately warmed up to Leon and was treating him with the normalcy of a friend, which in turn, he had to admit comforted him greatly. The zombie apocalypse was easier to bear with someone to share the experience together. He only wished Claire could get here soon, safe and sound, they would be stronger together.

He leaned over to see what she was doing on the computer. "That's good to hear, I guess."

One square was slowly blinking red on the map, it had 'Lounge' written on it. He couldn't figure out what he was looking at when she snickered. "The red ones can be used for enhancing the effects of weed though."

He whirled his head around at that toward her so fast that she cackled, holding her stomach and hitting one foot on the ground, not trying in the slightest to hold back the ugliness of that sound. Leon was surprised to say the least, eyebrows shooting up at that. "We are not feeding weed to my dad, oh my god, don't worry I'm just messing with you."

His neck warmed up instantly, but it thankfully didn't reach his face. He was aware his skin was prone to get flushed very easily, it was something he didn't like about himself, it gave away his feelings on a silver platter when he didn't want to. On top of that, Leon really felt bad that he was taking hits left and right in the eyes of this girl, he couldn't be that easy to sway back and forth, could he? "What exactly are these things, then?"

"Alright," she said, sniffling again. "So we have three types of herbs. Green, blue and red. They have official, scientific names of course but I couldn't care less." She stopped, mirth in her eyes. "I only care what flavor they add to my weed."

He made his eyes go wide slightly, a warning in his voice. "You want me to cuff and stuff you or something?"

That earned him fully raised eyebrows up to Vera's hairline underneath her short bangs, and her gaping at him like a fish out of water. Her eyes trailed to the handcuffs hanging from his hip, and back to his face, something suggestive in her face that he couldn't decipher. "Okay, didn't expect to make such a discovery..."

A giant question mark hung above his head as he stared in confusion. Leon didn't get it. "Discover what, that cannabis is illegal?"

She stared for a second, unblinking.

Leon hadn't paid attention before, but they were colorless. Pale monochrome gray eyes. How was that possible? It was striking against the deep tan of her skin and the soot black of her thick and long eyelashes.

Vera hit her fist on the table. "Oh my god, you don't realize," she said, her voice suddenly big, shocking him out of his recent focus on the color of her irises, and panicked for a moment thinking she reacted to him staring into her eyes that intently. "Oh you're the sweet type, oh." Her hand went to her heart.

What was happening? Where had that come from? "I'm not following, but thank you?" That was a compliment, right? This was the second one he got from her that read like an insult but didn't prick like one. Strange.

"Never change," she said, jokingly emotional for some reason and it perplexed him. He knew he wasn't going to get it out of her.

Yep, you guessed it, another insult-compliment.

"Okay?" He half-laughed, disconcerted. "We're getting distracted. Tell me more about the herbs. Outside of their usage in cannabis this time, please."

"I'm tempted to refuse. Oh to be cuffed and stuffed."

Leon tilted his head to the side, not saying anything. He was missing something here, damnit.

"You're sucking the fun out of everything." Vera huffed. "Here I am trying to forget about my sick dad and you just have to pop my balloon." She spun left and right with the rolling chair. The poor girl wasn't serious in her jab, he knew as much, but her admitting she was actively trying to soothe herself bothered him just the same.

Leon wished he could do something already, impatience rising in his stomach to go out there and start working on getting the way out open. He frowned, but she didn't see it, continuing her explanation. "Back to the point, as you wish. Green herbs have the ability to heal basic injuries, chew on 'em and you'll be immediately relieved. It's a huge upgrade from aloe-vera. If you've applied it to any burn or injury you know it's freaky how fast that shit helps, imagine how wild this green herb is. I jumped from the first floor once and the recovery by just eating this was magical."

"Jumped from the first floor, not fell?"

"Hell yeah," she gave him the rock hand sign with both hands. "I’m metal like that."

Leon thought back to her saying twink with her whole chest, amused.

She was searching his reaction for something, eyes squinted a bit, the sheer thickness of her eyelashes made it seem like she was shutting her eyes funny. "Not gonna ask? Not curious in the slightest?"

"Nope," he said. "I respect your privacy."

"Man, we are so different. You don't argue, you're not nosy, you're nice and respectful. How is this gonna work?" Complimenting him once more, making it come out like complaining. That had to be a trait of hers. "We need spice in this relationship."

Easily distractible, got it.

"Let's put herbs in it," Leon reminded her, gently, without making it obvious he was telling her to get back on track. "You were saying blue?"

She came back to the moment, stopping her spins with the chair. "Yeah, uh, blue herbs are to treat poisoning. As for red herbs, they're very pretty but they don't do anything. Or so people thought. I was talking about weed for a reason, they discovered red herbs are amplifiers of some sort when someone in this city accidentally mixed it with pot and thought they were god for like a week and had to be taken to the ER. They said they tried it because they read it in an Asian medicine book or something and now it's being researched and an entire industry is changing. Crazy, right?"

He could indulge her for just a second.

"Were you that person, Vera?" Leon asked flatly.

"No," Vera said immediately, a shocked, deer-in-the-headlights look in her face, she clearly hadn't expected to be hit with that and Leon was satisfied deep down, he had avenged himself. "Why? Thought you weren't curious."

"So you're accepting this is about you."

"I'm— I'm not? I'm not. The fuck." She blinked rapidly, unable to comprehend how fast the conversation had escalated. He had to accept this was kind of satisfying. "Not the point at all."

"Okay," he shrugged, also noting that word irritated her a bit. He did manage to distract her, though, so it was fine. Back to the point. "So how do I get these? They can't be in the station, but according to what you're saying they should be sold in herbal stores. Do we come back once we get out and take what we need from there?"

"You know what happens in a disaster? People stock up on necessities. This is what happened with the herbs. A lot of citizens had the same idea and when they took refuge here, they also flooded the station with all the herbs they brought." She leaned back on the chair and it squeaked. "They are all around the place now. You can imagine why."

"So you're saying I just have to pick them up on the way?"

"Ding-dong!"

"This is the single greatest thing I heard tonight, I can get moving right now," Leon said, knocking on the desk excitedly, an energetic spring to his feet while moving away and inspecting the fenced west wing door and the panel next to it that was covered entirely by yellow duct tape from a distance. The knife Lt. Branagh gave him could slice through. He returned his attention to Vera. "What's the location of the next medallion?"

"Okay, so good news and bad news." Vera raised her hands and then put them down, slapping them on the desk on either side of the Toughbook. "Both medallions are on the east side," her left hand moved to the hellish place Leon had barely made it out of. "One on the second floor," likewise, her right hand moved towards the right. "One on the third floor. I saw you investigating the precinct earlier so you must have seen that the only available way is by the shutter door because the other entrances are locked —- both the east and west side are like that, actually. Doors with a blue spade symbol on it."

"I saw two more spade doors to the left. One on the right."

"There is a spade key to unlock these."

"I'm assuming you don't have it?"

"No. David does. And I have no idea where the hell he is."

From the lack of gunshots, Leon had an inkling of what had happened to the guy, but he didn't voice it out loud, transparent sadness put lines of stress on his brow.

"There are three other doors with different symbols like this one," Vera added. "The interior designer clearly wanted to stick to a theme. This museum is one giant escape room."

Great , Leon thought. Why did he think it would be easy? "So heart, diamond and club keys? How can I get them?"

"Don't worry about the heart key, it belongs to Chief Irons." She almost hissed the man's name, her nose scrunching at it, a faint disgust flashing in her face and then dissipating. Leon’s attention perked up. "It unlocks his private chambers and the places he keeps his art collection in, nothing useful to us."

How did she know that?

Maybe it's common knowledge around here between the officers.

But Vera wasn't a police officer, that much was obvious.

Others could have explained it to her.

It makes sense, Leon concluded, closing that discussion in his head.

“Is the Chief gone as well?”

“Hopefully,” she murmured flatly.

Did he hear that right? “What?”

“I said, doubtfully,” she cleared up, shrugging. “Don’t worry about him. He must have saved himself somehow, getting away is his defining characteristic.”

His eyebrows lowered in discontent, the sarcastic jab was making the hair at the back of his neck stand up.

That was his boss. Leon was unsure if he should try to pry, there was something private there, the hatred burned and he smelled the smoke. He wanted to find Chief Irons as well if he could, but his instincts told him if he tried to talk about that right now, Vera would start pulling away and distancing, that was something he couldn’t afford, he needed her in the moment. He would cross the Irons bridge when he got there.

He pressed forward. "What do I do about the other keys?"

"I guess we just have to look out for them?" Vera shook her head, shoulders pulled to herself, she was clearly lost as well. "Marvin had them together at one point but after everyone split up around the station, the keys got scattered too."

Leon could put together the thought process that led to that decision. Lesson learned. He had to attach himself to Vera and Lt. Branagh by the hip. "Not a good idea to separate, we should stick together moving forward."

"Yeah, I agree as well. They thought they'd be able to cover more ground but they spread out way too thin. The undead overwhelmed them quick. You don't want to be by yourself when that happens."

Leon moved around the desk to stand next to Vera and leaned down, looking at the screen again. He inspected the 'Lounge' area and what surrounded it. Second floor. This had to be the room with one of the medallions. "Lucky to have you look out for me, then."

Vera pushed away from him by making the chair roll away a bit, and cleared her throat, looking unpleasant to be content. How she managed to pull such an expression, Leon didn’t know. "Damn right you are."

Leon gave her a genuine nod to which she slightly scowled that he took as a joke, and then asked, "This where the medallion is?" His pointer finger was on the area flashing red.

"Yeah. It would take five minutes tops to go in and out if we had the spade key since the way is through the library, but we are stuck taking the long road." She groaned, throwing her head backwards, inky strands of semi-long straight hair flying all around with the movement. "Fuck this, ugh."

He had to bring Officer Kennedy out for that, but man, was it hard. This was his first goddamn day, he wasn't used to being authoritative. "For the record, you're not coming with me."

The chair rolled away when she stood up in a hurry. "Listen—"

"I have listened." Leon interrupted. "And I have an idea, but you need to cooperate with me instead of going against everything I say." He recalled Lt. Branagh's words. "We need to trust each other."

" Fine , go on."

Leon sighed in relief. "You need to stay here for the lieutenant, he needs you." He raised one hand when she was about to talk. "And not just as his caretaker. When I get that fence up, there'll be an opening for all the zombies to come through. I'll make sure to be thorough and finish all that I come across but you need to be here just in case."

Finish all that I come across flowed out of him easy as melted butter, but in reality, it was a horrible thing to say and Leon barely held his ground without swaying — like those things didn't use to be living breathing human beings turned into abominations. It was all instinct to see nothing but monsters when looking at them, there was not a shred of humanity about any of those things anymore, but when the adrenaline ebbed away and his conscience flowed in, all he thought was: Oh god, I killed people today, Jesus fucking Christ, what if they were in there? What's gonna happen now? Has the whole world gone to shit? Is there a point to this?

Focus, Leon.

"I can't just let you go out there all by yourself, that's not fair." Vera sucked a breath in, underneath everything, her stiff body language told Leon that she did not really want to come with him, her steel gaze was uncertain at best and begging for him to refuse her at worst. "I wanna have fun too."

Vera needed to sound more condescending, and had to put more vigor instead of discomfort behind having fun if she really wanted Leon to fall for that devil may cry attitude. He knew she was scared, as any human being thrust into sickening survival would, the girl had lost so many people — she was locked in with monsters carrying the faces of once familiar friendly faces and she was all that was left along with her father; nobody could ever be ready for shit like this.

His heart soared at the sight of her trying to sound mean and making it into something personal and isolating it from him so that she could toughen up. She was trying for Leon. That alone was enough to give him strength.

"I know you're feeling guilty because you think you're doing nothing but It's my duty to keep you and the lieutenant safe, and I will." He needed her to trust him for this, just let herself depend on him. Leon knew he didn't look the part, but he was more capable than people would give him credit for. This was the time to prove it. "Just be my backup like before, if you want to? That was a great arrangement and it worked out, didn't it?"

Vera didn't joke, scowling deeply. "I don't feel good about this. You're doing all the work."

"Literally why I'm here for," Leon responded, sure of himself.

She looked down, weary, the light of the chandelier created a big shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks, her hip leaning on the edge of the mahogany countertop. Then she did a double take at something behind him. "This is Marvin's," Vera said, reaching around a hand and gingerly touching the handle of the knife strapped to Leon's Sam Browne peeking out from his waist. And she pulled her arm back fast when it brushed the fabric of the vest covering his side, obviously not meaning to reach for Leon in the first place.

"Yeah," he confirmed, low and soft. "He gave it to me."

She fell quiet.

Then, a spark. "I know what I can do for you!" She jumped a bit and Leon stepped away, eyes huge, for her to run past him, watching her with interest. "Wait here, I'll be back in a flash!"

Minutes later, he was dumbfoundedly watching as the main desk of the hall literally transformed into a workbench. The Toughbook had returned to its original place to make space. One side had a collection of different sharpening whetstones and the other full of tools used in gun repair — gun lube, cleaning picks, wrenches, hammer, electric screwdriver, a whole hex key collection, torx bits, and all the other stuff Leon just couldn't decipher — he only knew the basics to take care of Matilda.

"You're a gunsmith," he stated, now the part about crafting clicking into place. He did not see that coming.

"Among many other things, yes," Vera said, her head shake was akin to a bobblehead, spreading her arms to span the whole length of the desk. "Velkam to mai şop, diır kastımır!"

Welcome to my shop, dear customer. What accent was that? Middle Eastern of origin like her, but not quite Arabic — the sounds didn’t roll like that.

She played imaginary drums, the energy causing Leon to feel this was just him walking into a gun shop after settling better in Raccoon City and getting his first paycheck. "Brrink mi eni parts end ai şal enhens yor fayırarms! If samtink gets brrokın, kam to mi end ayll fiks it! If yor nayf gets damacd, ayll restor it bak to its formır glori!"

Bring me any parts and I shall enhance your firearms. If something gets broken, come to me and I’ll fix it. If your knife gets damaged, I’ll restore it back to its former glory. Hard r’s, emphasized k’s, vowels flat. Seriously, what accent was it?

Her playing into a stereotype he couldn’t figure out yet aside, Leon could not be any far off in figuring someone out. What in the world was she? He couldn't keep the fascination off his face, trailing one finger from the far right end of the desk to the left, just looking at all the equipment as if they had materialized out of thin air in front of him, which they kind of basically did. "Wow."

He caught her, cheeky in her pride, confidence looked good on her. "I get that a lot," Vera said, arms loosely crossed, a sleazy smile pulling on her mouth that only the upper lip colored with black lipstick.

Leon really had to get going, as much as he wanted to stay there and continue chatting, the clock was ticking for Lt. Branagh. He knocked on the wood two times with two fingers before starting to walk away. "Alright, I'm moving out."

Vera called behind him, whisper-yelling. "Don't worry partner, I got your back..." A pause as Leon pulled out the combat knife and started to tear the taped box. "From right here."

He pushed the button to get the fence door open. Partner . He liked that. Ephemeral warmth tickled his chest. "I feel safer already."

Leon braced himself for the worst, his body locking up and kicking the survivalist animal inside him into the driver's seat, quite anticlimactic when all he found was a waiting room with lined brown leather couches directly in front of the booth and already something he thought was a green herb in a pot next to the reception counter. He pulled on the spiky leaves, inspecting the plant. Then with hurried steps, he brought it back to Vera.

"That was fast," she said. But when she noticed what he was carrying like a baby, she abruptly stood up from her chair. "You found it!"

"To be honest, it was right in the next room. Will this help?"

Circling around the desk-turned-workbench, she snatched it from Leon's arms. "Of course it will! I'll feed it to Marvin right now." Vera stopped in the middle of her jog towards her dad. She couldn't directly look at Leon, her eyes were darting around, coy all of a sudden. Her voice was barely audible. "... Thank you."

He hadn’t even done anything to be thanked for quite gratefully like that, her watery silver eyes shone with the kind of appreciation that closed a fist around his heart. That’s how desperate these people were for a drop of salvation in this hell.

He had to get a move on.

"Anytime," Leon smiled slowly, and turned back to continue his journey into the bowels of this place.

Marvin weakly tried to shove Vera's hand off, scowling at the green herb in distaste and inhaling sharply, air hissing and whistling between his teeth. "Get that thing away from me, girl."

He used to be grumpy and unaccepting of help every time he got hit by a sickness and had to be taken care of, and was reflecting the same behavior right now as well, thinking he was throwing fists with the wound itself by fighting Vera. He thought he was being strong by refusing help and asserting he didn't need it.

Overtime, she had learned this was a Marvin thing rather than a man thing. He got angry (at himself) for getting sick and Vera got to deal with the wrong end of the stick. It was so hard to look after him when all he did was snap at her over the littlest things.

Vera kept an eye on the screen, Leon was still investigating the reception, standing perfectly still in front of the famous bronze statue. "Eat this or I swear to Satan’s left nut I'll shove it down your throat, I'm not joking. You are weak right now and I will take advantage of it."

Ignoring her, he tried to turn away. "Save it for yourself."

Vera put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him, wincing when he hissed. "For my sake. You will feel better instantly, I promise." She whined when he grunted. "C'mon I gotta help John Law over here, he's waiting, don't fight me right now."

"No, no, " he wheezed, voice fluctuating, trying to sit up all of a sudden, but she put a hand on his shoulder and laid him down. He grabbed that hand tightly with unexpected strength that made Vera flinch. "No, you can't. Stay right here. Let him do his job."

The ugly coward in her celebrated, happy to receive the green light that she could sit on her ass and expect having everything done for her. It was disgusting. Vera thought she could suddenly have a bravery awakening with Leon, but that wasn't the case, people just didn't change like that with a snap of the fingers.

"Okay, okay ," she said, urgent. "I'm not going anywhere, it's fine, I'm here. Just please take this and get some rest, yeah?"

"You're going to stop yapping if I do?"

She extended the green herb she'd picked into bite sized pieces. "Normally I'd say no promises but I'll make an exception this time."

"Give it here," Marvin said, taking it all at once like he was downing pills, and started chewing, his entire forearm was shaking. "Leave me alone now."

She itched to argue with him on why he was pushing her away like this and not let go like a dog hanging from a criminal's arm until he admitted something, but her priorities had to be reassessed. At least his breathing had gotten smoother and the harsh lines on his forehead had disappeared with the instant effect of the green herb. The anxiety ball in her torso dissipated instantly, they could do this. If she kept feeding him herbs, grind them into powder when she got more to apply it into the gash, he would be able to hold on until they could get him help. This was great progress.

So she stalked back to the desk with the Toughbook in her arm and one hand holding the walkie talkie. Leon still hadn’t moved an inch. "Found something interesting?"

His low quality head on the screen jerked up at that. "Sorry, I must have spaced out. Shit, I have to get it together." His voice was so on the softer side that it wasn't audible from the next room despite there being little distance between them.

Vera sat down and started setting her layout. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's..." He paused. "Just a weird feeling is all, reading this."

He meant the commemorative statue, she'd never stopped to read whatever was written on it, and interestingly, it had piqued Leon's interest immediately. "What's it say?"

"This bronze statue is dedicated to all the brave men and women who have given their lives so that others may have freedom and safety. It is a tribute to all our everyday heroes who valiantly protect us and are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice." He took a pause. "We do it."

The first thing that came to mind was all the police officers who got turned into monsters trying to do just that.

She cupped her forehead and rested all the weight, droopy gray eyes tracing the monochrome blood trails reflected in the reception’s camera feed, a faint ache seeping into her temples. All those sacrifices were for nothing in the end, everything was lost.

It spread a bitter taste in her mouth, so she took out a clove from her pocket and started chewing on it, relishing in the stinging freshness. "Sounds like Nike's motto, just do it."

He sounded somehow down before, but it melted off like caramel. "I think it's as in we do it so you don't have to."

That was a heroic line, had the potential of a dangerous edge to it, but heroic nonetheless. "Just like you, huh? You're out there right now so I don't have to be."

"I think you're giving me too much credit right now," Leon said, and Vera let out a sound back at that. "This is my first day. I did not imagine it'd be like this."

He made way around to the back door leading to the south west hallway. She switched to the cameras overlooking the whole whole loop consisting of the north west hallway and west central passage all linked to each other, surrounding the record's room, supply room and the operations room. The only active threat she saw was one undead officer banging on a vending machine in the passage, with a couple others lying, or rather, playing dead on the floor.

"The coast is clear in the south east hallway partner," Vera said, flipping through the tabs one more time. "So is the north west. I see the undead in the linked west passage though."

"Got it," was Leon's response before he completely sunk into silence and walked forward. Corners were blind spots, and when he didn't immediately turn right, her gut twisted.

She was debating to reach out and question his status, but the walkie-talkie buzzed before she could. “Is there something else here other than zombies?” He was queasy. “I’d rather not describe what I’m looking at, but I can’t imagine zombies have the intelligence to hang someone from a pipe.”

She heard a hammer fall in the landscape of her head.

Fuck , lickers. She had forgotten about those goddamn fuckers. Shit, shit shit shit . “Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry Leon, don’t move an inch from where you are and lower the volume on this and listen to me and listen to me good .”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered.

“Keep those peepers peeled for a whole demon that looks like a skinless mutated human. That’s what probably did what you’re looking at right now. They’re all exposed muscles, and those motherfuckers’ brains are hanging out from their skulls and it’s their weak point, but they’re lethal and have insanely sharp, long claws that can take a whole elephant out in one strike. They’re blind as bats but their hearing more than makes up for that. Whatever you do, stay quiet and move like a shadow, don’t run around like a dog out of leash — make like a snail, and you’ll avoid them altogether.”

“Great, awesome, I should be just fine,” he said, horrifyingly upbeat and casual. Vera ran a hand over her forehead when she heard him say it like that. He wasn’t wrong to be exhausted already, she should have been more attentive and not have fucked around as much as she did back there. Goddamnit. He could have been caught redhanded by those bitches and it would have been on her to not have warned him when she should have.

He said nothing about that and didn’t seem sarcastic or angry at her, but damn, he had every right to be. Vera would have his head if the roles were reversed and he was the one who idiotically forgot crucial information that could have cost her life. Leon was too nice for his own good. Was he a fucking saint or something?

Leon was willingly setting forth on a pilgrimage into the belly of the hell itself for the sake of saving two people he didn’t even know all that well, so that was a stupid fucking question to ponder on. Leon S. Kennedy was whole a guardian angel if such beings existed at all — Vera would be fucked having Marvin wounded on her hands all by herself, and somehow, a rock to lean on had found his way to her. All cloud mellow gazes, and enough boyish softness to go with pronounced cheekbones with a jawline like it was sharpened on a whetstone, Leon had the saying that inner beauty reflected to the outer going on for him. A legitimately great guy. She couldn’t be more grateful, had anybody else been in his place, Vera could only imagine how this would go.

No words would come out of her shame-obstructed mouth after that, she only watched Leon progress and look around—-

—-Until an undead from a broken window fell through and muffled gunshots echoed. He dealt with that smoothly, way too smooth, to be exact. Leon was methodical, shots taken controlled, aiming for the knee first to knock them down, putting distance between him and the target, and popping the heads the last, no panicking whatsoever, nothing that he showed her, at least. She just couldn’t believe he was supposed to be a rookie. All the experienced ones were gone and a rookie was making it.

And all Leon had to comment on was, “I gotta cover these windows with something or they’ll keep thinking this is an open house.”

The line went dark all the way to the operation’s room and the silence only broke when he discovered the record of events by David. Despite collaborating with them and taking jobs from them, Vera was not a part of the force, and was kept outside of documents such as official reports, therefore didn’t know the contents of them. She instructed Leon to read it to her, maybe there was something of use written in there they could work with.

“ September 25th, ” he started. “ We're turning the station into a temporary shelter due to the massive sudden outbreak. All police personnel have been instructed to make the safety of the citizens their top priority as we try to accommodate as many of them as possible. So this is how it started. Did you come here on the 25th as well?”

Vera flashed back to Marvin with all her necessities packed into a duffel bag in his hand basically snatching her out of her apartment basement right after she came back from a crucial meeting with Ben Bertolucci. It came to her in dazed blurbs of hazy, foggy snippets, she was watching it from above; Marvin and she stumbling into a small horde of undead together, seeing the state of a bent Sarah Lakin in with her tattered, bloody long-sleeved linen maxi white dress, insides ripped apart like she was some plush toy, Vera vomiting in her mouth at the sight and pushing the disgusting thick, textured liquid back, and then booking it straight to the station in Marvin’s police car. When she came to her senses, the station had turned into a giant bunker crawling with survivors the officers were having a hard time keeping under control.

That Vera of a couple days ago was dumb and hopeful enough to not know only one infected within the many was all it took to chain-start a massacre.

“There is an addendum here,” Leon continued. “ One of the refugees attacked us in the middle of the night, resulting in the death of 1 officer and injuring 3 others. The person in question was quickly restrained. We believe this was simply a case of someone snapping under intense stress. ” He sighed. “It wasn’t stress was it?”

“No,” Vera said. “It was an undead. Those three others turned eventually as well, and the person proclaimed dead also came back like two days later.”

From the grave she had put him into.

“Shit, no quarantine system?”

“Simply too many people and not enough officers to hold the law above their heads. Cliques formed, leaders were made. And they did not like anybody being accused of being infected, barely any action could be taken without a scuffle and it threatened the safety of others who didn’t want to be involved. It was a mess, no need to go more into it.”

“God what the hell, I should have been there.”

Sweet as always, it squeezed Vera’s heart, bless this guy, fucking seriously. “Again, no need to go more into it. Don’t beat yourself up over hypothetical what-if scenarios, dude.”

“Okay, dude ,” he repeated, and her face soured like she’d eaten a lemon slice. Oh, she did not like that. It was alien coming from him, a suburban middle class cream khaki pants wearing white dad trying to be hip with their children was what it sounded like.

“Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“I also like partner better,” he said, making it obvious he was smiling slightly.

Oh.

Leon gave no time for her to recover from that. “ September 26th, a mob attacked the station today, resulting in a number of casualties. A few survivors were able to make it safely behind the emergency shutters, but surrounded as we are, it'll be hard for any of us to escape this place. We're not sure we can fix any of our comm equipment, so we remain cut off from the outside world.” He contemplated something. “A mob? From the outside? Citizens were able to run around?”

“A horde of undead. To be honest, the news and radio stations were treating this like any other virus, just more deadly. Nowhere did they say it led to coming back from the dead with hunger for human flesh. So we caught on very late and as blasphemous and uncanny as they looked, we still thought of the undead as infected people, just very very sick. Not walking corpses.”

“You said you were trying to fix the comms, so that happened after the 26th. If the news had changed after that, all of you would have known, damn.”

When did she say that? He remembered but she didn’t?

“And September 27th, there was another clash on the west side of the station around 1pm. Twelve people died, and there is only a handful of survivors left. Everything is falling into disarray in here.” The slow exhale he let out continued for about two seconds. “Signed, David Ford.”

The swallow came as a reflex even when all saliva had magically evaporated from the roof of her mouth, the sensation was prickly. This would be the last fucking thing she would hear from David? “Nothing in here, this was a waste of time,” she said thickly, biting back the rolling waves of nausea in her stomach. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think anymore.

Leon didn’t say anything back.

The way to the passage was blocked, the door to the supply room was locked, and Leon had no choice but to jump from the clerestory window in the operations room leading to the other side. Vera wasn’t sure about this, tossing the clove inside her mouth around while she weighed the possibilities. “How about you come back and we think this through?”

“I can climb just fine, Vera.”

Well, he was a rather bulked up guy for his age… Not the point though. “I don’t doubt your physical capabilities, it’s the scenario in which you’re running away and have to back up, and before you’re able to climb that they get you. You have no way of circling back here if you get in trouble.”

The girl was more bothered by the fact that she would be too late to run to his rescue if it came down to that, putting her fear aside. This police station had a lot of shortcuts, but all of them were off the table at the moment, and Leon compromised beyond the operations room would mean Vera taking ages to get to him when his story would be over within seconds, blink and he’d be bitten.

Maybe it was time to work on some lockpicking. Oh how Vera wished Jill revealed some of her tricks in the time they spent together.

“That’s… a great point actually.” Leon acknowledged, though not defeated. He did see her point. Vera knew then he would follow it up with an objection. “But I have to push through. No use in overthinking, I’ll be alright.”

Vera sunk her nails into her palms out of frustration, slumping back on her chair, the clove crushed between her molars. The walkie-talkie made clicky and popping sounds under her tight grip. “Leon—”

“I have you watching my back after all, right?”

Oh you sweet talking son of a bitch.

Fuck, praise was her weak point. If she was on a telephone and it had a cord, she’d be twisting it with her finger right now. “You’re playing into my ego to get what you want, that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war… and the zombie apocalypse, I guess.” He moved to climb the crate right under the window he wanted to jump out of. “You with me?”

She croaked, “Yeah, I’m with you,” like a cranky old grandma who was dragged out of bed for dinner.

“That’s good,” Leon chuckled, a bit held-back by the strength he put into hopping over to the other side, and Vera promptly changed cameras to follow him.

The vending machine undead was still beating the shit out of the same machine, he’d been at it for a while. She had to commend him for the persistence, the guy maybe was expecting the meat to fall through and had no cash, which was admirable compared to his peers thinking they were entitled to eat other people.

She grimaced, hell below, she was fucked in the head coming up with shit like this. That used to be a human being.

“Leon, up ahead—-”

“Yeah, I see it.” He braced his gun. “Leave it to me.”

“Who else can I leave it to? God?” She scoffed. “The old man has been of no help thus far.”

“That is so offensive.” For a guy who was uncomfortably saying that, Leon sure sounded a tad bit entertained.

Gunshots. Undead down. Leon making sure it’s going to stay down.

Even though he couldn’t see it, Vera threw her hands in the air and audibly smacked them on her thighs, picking at the threads of the fishnets. “Oh, my apologies . For compensation, those offended can kindly suck my dick.” Vera was sure they’d understand true abandonment when they saw what terrible fate the most undeserving, sweet souls were condemned to. No better awakening than shock therapy.

“An atheist,” Leon remarked, picking up something off the ground, possibly bullets. He was big on stocking up, it was good foresight on his part, with the speed he was going through shots, Leon needed all the cartridges he could find. Upon seeing it out with its whole polymer-framed glory the first time, Vera had immediately noted down his Heckler & Koch as a 12-shot capacity 9mm handgun, maybe she could teach him how to make handgun ammo with gunpowder so he could manage better in the future without worrying about running out. “Goes with the punk aesthetic, I guess.”

“You’ve been profiling me, John Law?”

“I—” he began to stutter, panicking, going up a couple pitches. Police profiling had incredibly bad connotations, she was a person of color, and he clearly was aware of how wrong this could end. “You’re not a criminal, of course not, I just— um, I’ve just been observing , it’s not as bad as it sounds, really I just—-” He stopped to breathe. “I thought it’d be inappropriate to rapid fire questions right now, so I… Uh…”

“Now we’re going into the stalker category.”

“And now you’re teasing me,” Leon groaned.

“I’ll cut you some slack. You are at a literal crossroads after all.” It was so fun to poke fun at this guy. “You can either go into the safety deposit room, the west office, or follow the corridor all the way to the stairs leading up to the second floor, there is also a darkroom just in the corner.”

The smile on her face died down like a candle unexpectedly being put out. The west office. Ah, no . The welcoming sign was still up. A series of shivers went down her spine picturing Leon standing in the bloodied room with the only unblemished thing being his coworkers’ celebratory welcome surprise, he never got to meet any of them other than Marvin —- this was the only memento left behind for him. Welcome Leon. Welcome to the bloodbath, none of us are here anymore and you are forced to take down each one of us when you were supposed to shake our hands to greet us.

Vera thought not even in her most empathetic moments could she come close to understanding what he would feel upon seeing that. Her new friend had lost a promised life the moment he had got it and the reminder of it was going to be right in his face as the cruelest mockeries from a trickster. The physical want to be there for him overwhelmed all her senses in that moment, she should be able to do at least that when he was risking his life for her and Marvin, but was stuck in front of a Toughbook monitoring his activities. She threw another clove in her mouth and relished the sharp sting. How useless.

She supposed it was a good thing that he went to check out the safety deposit room first, and the movement outside distracted her from the silent mourning and what’d happen with the inevitable discovery. “Leon, two undeads outside. I know honey is the most tempting to a bear, but it also has a whole coven protecting it. Look through the lockers after you deal with them, don’t risk it.”

“On it,” Leon said, baiting the unwanted guests in and looping them around the room to gain some safe distance. The deeper he went into the building, the fainter the gunshots became.

When he was done, Leon became completely invested in getting all the items in this room, but the keypad to the lockers terminal was missing a few keys. “I don’t suppose you have the missing keys on this thing? Or the keycard… I could really use a shotgun…”

Vera raised her eyebrows at that. “Just use a pen or a hairpin to push them down, you don’t necessarily need—-”

“And the keycard to the shotgun?”

Damn. Oh he really wanted that shotgun, didn’t he? One would think he was talking about a girl he had a crush on he was dying to get to. “You’re really en armor ed with that shotgun, eh?” Vera repeated, “Got shot through the heart at first sight. Eh? ” again when Leon fell quiet.

“I don’t know,” Leon began, tentatively. “That’s a loaded question.”

“Oh my god,” Vera could clap like a little kid, voice squeaky. “Keep this up and that’s dinner on me right there.”

“Oh shoot.”

Dad jokes were a language of love between her and Marvin, it felt great to have caught a common frequency they could at least bond over a bit with Leon.

So much for joking back and forth, though, it sure became awkward right after she eventually went into the west office and stumbled upon the welcome sign. After that, Vera didn’t get much response from him apart from humming and agreeing when she tried to engage in distracting talk. Leon focused on solving the little puzzle Marvin and the others had set up for him so that introductions and mingling would make it easier to remember the names —- he would surely not be able to forget it now, with it being radically burned into his mind.

Vera had pumped herself up in her mind to pep talk Leon through this and be the emotional support he would need, to know just what to say to him so that he could bear the weight a bit better, but it all went down the drain when Leon withdrew into his own. Words were suddenly intangible. She was never the type to give inspirational speeches or make someone feel better, always the solution-focused problem solver —- she strongly disliked only listening only, especially whenever someone just needed a person to be there emotionally. It drained her. She wanted to get things done for them and it was irritating as fuck to see the situation not get better.

Vera was terrible at this. She couldn’t do anything for Leon, hell, she couldn’t even give him a helpful couple of words.

“He in the west office?” Vera damn-near jumped out of her skin when she heard Marvin sneak up on her. “I’ll be damned, that thing’s still hanging.”

“Why are you up?” She turned in the chair to see him force himself to sit on the item box, a hand pressed onto his side. Vera immediately reached for him as if he was about to fall. “Go get some rest.”

“No rest for me with this right here.” She helped him give his back to the wooden wall behind, breath shivering. He vaguely pointed at the pink walkie-talkie with his head. “You two established a modus operandi in my absence.” He had that there’s hope for you yet, tone.

“That’s one way to put it.” Vera glanced briefly to Leon when she heard gunshots, he was dealing with two other undeads that had risen from their sleeping state. A self-deprecating ghost of a smile came upon her. “I’m not that much of a help, though.” A beat, her showing the Welcome Leon s ign to Marvin.. “I don’t know how to.”

“Give him time,” Marvin grunted out, swallowing back breaths, it pained her. She really wanted him to go back and lay down, but pain was pain wherever the location, according to a wise man. “He’ll go through it on his own terms. Keep him out of his head in the meanwhile.”

“Don’t think. Thinking slows you down. Slow gets you killed. I know. I’ve been trying” Leaning her head back, she followed Leon’s figure explore the west office, puzzle forgotten for now. “I just wish I could comfort him, you know? I’m not good at shit like this.”

“You got a crush on the rookie or something? To think…” He closed his mouth, giving a stuttering breath from his nose with eyes closed to keep the pain at bay. “You were criticizing the Disney princesses for marrying a guy they just met.”

That green herb had worked too well in restoring his health.

“Marvin! It’s not like that!” The fucking clove flew out of her mouth with the power she put into quietly screeching like she had heard the most blasphemous thing that day, and she immediately closed her her mouth with a hand and wiped her lips. Marvin clutched her wound as he laughed weakly. “You’re seriously that eager to get rid of me?”

Marvin held her gaze, misery and love both nestled on each shoulder, a forlorn smile pulling his lips up. “Yeah,” he quavered, fragile as a broken bird. “You’ve been a pain in my ass for too long.”

Spirit wilting, she picked at the scabs on her lower lip, heart thrumming against her ribcage painfully. “You don’t mean that.”

“Listen honey,” he began, and Vera already wanted to hightail it out of here. Whenever he started being sweet, it only meant something hurtful would be following. “I’m not sure when else I’llbe conscious enough to tell you, so I need you to hear me out while I can get these out coherently, okay? I don’t have the energy to argue with you, please give your father at least this.”

Vera looked away, tear glands being pricked with needles already, thumbs beginning to pick at the ruined black nail polish on her nails. “You’re speaking like— like…” She couldn’t dare to get the word out. “Why are you—”

“Please,” he insisted, taking a few seconds to steady the sounds of protest his body made for using too much effort. “Don’t make me beg more than this, don’t make me…”

Vera slapped her hands on her face, dragging them down to settle on her cheeks and pressing her eyes with her fingers, rocking back and forth for a bit before just frantically nodding her head yes.

“I worry about you,” Marvin began, shuddering with a sudden spike of pain. “There is nothing more important to a parent than their child’s safety. You will only understand when you become one yourself. It’s always going to be you before me. I don’t have much care about anything else.”

Vera could taste iron, the soft tissue breaking under her canines.

“I also have to make sure you’ll be okay… after me.”

“I don’t want to do this,” she said, deliriously.

“After getting out of here…” Marvin ignored her, choking on his words. “Don’t go running around sticking your nose in dangerous places. Not again. Stay out of the shithole Umbrella has dug themselves in… Leave that to Redfield and the others… Stay safe. Forget about all this. Start a new life.”

Like he wasn’t going to be by her side, like he would be dead already by then.

“You did all you could,” he said, compassion enveloping her, yet the meaning itself was a thousand cuts against her heart she couldn't push away. The air became stifling, her vision blurred, everything a soft golden haze. “You did your best, Vera.”

You did your best.

But did she? Did Vera truly do her best?

That was when the dam finally broke and her body began to shake with ugly, treacherous sobs. Marvin’s cold fingers found her nape and pulled her into an embrace, as tender as handling a sand castle, it was perhaps the last time she was taking refuge in his arms. She couldn't take that, the thought alone broke her down to a million pieces.

Vera would never be enough to save her dad, she wasn’t enough to put a stop to this outbreak in the first place. She hadn’t done all she could, hadn’t even done anything. A fucking coward paying for her inaction is what Vera was.

She deserved it, but her dad didn't. Why did it have to be him who got hurt? Why?

“Vera. I’m right by the west office door, can you slip me a hairpin from the gap in the threshold if you have any? I’ll try to push the missing keypad buttons with it.”

Leon.

She gasped for air. Vera didn’t know how long she’d been crying for when he paged in with that. She rose from Marvin’s chest and pushed her wrist to her nostrils, sniffing the tears back in, trying to ignore the coldness of his body. “Go lay down, Marvin,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “You need to conserve your energy.”

More tears swelled up against her will at him leaving at that with the pace of a heavy stock animal, she wanted nothing more than to rush to his side and take his arm to her shoulder, supporting his weight and laying him to sleep like he used to do back in the day when Vera would feign sleep just to be carried to bed in his arms, just to feel that warmth and be a small baby despite her big age of ten to thirteen. Marvin would coddle her every single time, knowing she was starved for that kind of love.

Vera couldn't even give the fraction of that comfort back to him, she had chased him away the moment agitation took over. Why was she like this?

Like a little kid wiping her face with her hands, she palmed at her face trying to erase the evidence for the weakness she'd just exhibited, gloves getting wet with her tears and making for an uncomfortable sensation.

"Vera?" Leon repeated, with more urgency. His voice was audible, layered twice, both from the walkie-talkie and right behind the door he was behind —- that’s how close he was to where Vera was. "You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," she said, walkie-talkie wobbling. "I'll bring a hairpin to you in a moment."

"You sound..."

She shut him down. "Don't worry about it."

Moments later, she was in front of the spade door leading to the west office with the desired object in hand taken from her purse. They didn't need the walkie-talkie to hear each other anymore as she said, "I'm sending it through right now. It's dark in there, will you be able to see?"

"I have a flashlight, it’s fine." Leon's natural voice, not accompanied with the static, was so soothing.

"Here goes nothing," Vera huffed, getting on to her knees and positioning the hairpin right where she could flick it through the slot underneath the door. Hopefully it wouldn't be too strong to go flying that he would lose it in the midst of all disarray in the office.

Rhinorrhea from her nose had to overflow at that moment. "Shit, hold on," she cursed, wiping it with the back of her sleeve, the pink material darkening with the fluid. Sue her. She didn't have tissues. Sniffling, Vera said, "Okay here you go," and flicked the hairpin right towards Leon with a faint 'ping' sound. It was a success.

"Got it!"

"Nice," she echoed back, dusting off her hands and moving to stand up.

"Hey, uh," Leon mused, uncertain, sweet . "Are you okay?"

She couldn't handle kindness at present, couldn't allow it , didn't deserve it. There was no time for this. "Are any of us?"

"That's fair..." He raised his voice when he heard her footsteps. "Just know I'm here for you! We're in this together." Vera could choke in the benevolence, it was a rope tightening around her throat. "Partner."

She had gotten comforted again. When it was him who needed to be consoled.

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, feeling like absolute horseshit, not having any idea what she could say to him. "Together."

"Hey, I got some wooden boards. Gonna backtrack a bit and cover any open windows, you guys are wide open for any zombies that might fall in through those. I don't want to risk it."

"Yeah, okay," Vera acknowledged, no contradiction whatsoever. She'd been quiet the whole time Leon finally solved the puzzle to his desk and acquired all kinds of goodies from the security deposit room; marinating in her own puddle of self-deprecation about not being able to match his energy every time he was enthusiastic about each step and tried his best to draw some sort of response from her. "I don't see any undeads around, you should be okay."

"You got a hammer I can gun these bad boys in with?"

That put a smile on her face scarily fast. "I can meet you halfway if you want, no need to run all the way back."

"No."

"Leon."

"No, seriously, it's dangerous."

"Hey dangerous, I'm Vera."

Unbearable whooshing began to claw at Vera's ears from the walkie-talkie, like wind was blowing directly into a microphone. "Jesus fucking Christ—-"

Vera was closer to the hallway, she had lazily picked up the hammer lying on the counter, closing the distance between the main hall and the reception. She had been so scared before, the fight or flight survival instinct never let her get any close to danger, but this time, she crossed the threshold with no resistance, like she was walking into a room in her own house. Her mind was calm, serene, uncaring if she crossed paths with any undead on the way. She wasn't thinking anything, she just did it. Her mind was blank.

Fuck it, really.

The echo of muted, pounding footsteps was all she was greeted with as she closed the door to the dark, shadowy hallway seemingly reaching into infinity. In the distance, some light with the source being far away, was dancing wobbly on the walls, erratic. Whatever was coming, it was fast as hell.

It could be a licker. All the blood in her body retrieved back to her heart at the thought, a chill taking over her limbs.

Survival instinct didn't kick in, what settled instead, liquid warmth spreading under her skin, was acceptance. Weird as it was, Vera didn't really feel anything, not even fear. Her heart didn't pick up. If Marvin wants to go, then I'll follow, was the faintest childlike whisper of her unconscious, barely picked up by her.

She squinted her eyes to discern just what she was looking at, but soon enough the light got stronger and clearer, the frantic footsteps got closer, the source of it turned the corner and almost splatted on the wall, the momentum was too strong to make a sharp curve such as that.

Holy shit, Leon?

It hadn't even been minutes. What the fuck? He could run like a fucking cheetah?

Eyes wide as plates, hammer clenched in her hand, standing there like a kid who'd gotten caught staying up at night, Vera watched in shock as he came up to her in seconds with the same speed, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.

A strong, prolonged clap of thunder blended into the labored, shaky sounds. "Don't... don't ever." He doubled over, putting his hands on his knees, panting choppy. "Do this again. Ever."

Her blood decided it was the perfect time to restart the flow in her veins, pulse pumping in her ears at the tone of his constrained yet petrified tone.

The lightning that followed afterwards illuminated his tight and tense brow enough for Vera to see she'd scared him to death, despite Leon's torso being basically parallel to the ground due to him leaning forward, his sandy blond hair was damp at the roots. Then it dawned on her that she had basically wandered into a possible death trap willingly and forced his hand to race against time.

What was she doing?

Not thinking.

What was she expecting to happen?

Nothing.

Nothing?

"I know you're going through a rough patch," Leon rose back, breathing still shallow, but able to get sentences out. "Being reckless isn't the solution, please just." His hands reached forward, hovering between the two, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. "Don't scare me like that, fuck. I can't have you die on me, you can't throw yourself out this way."

No, she wasn't.... She wasn't suicidal. She just... she just.

"I don't," she stammered, as if she was being impeached, her shoulders pulled into her bosom. "I didn't. I'm sorry..."

"Can I?" He was asking her for something, but it didn't register until she was able to tear her eyes away from his genuinely worried baby blue gaze, drowning in the earnest compassion for another human being, burning in the darkness despite the absoluteness of the defeat, candidly and undeterred like a humble candlelight, the unbending desire to safeguard a soul.

Vera wasn't aware she had pulled her hands into herself right over her heart, knuckles white as they could get, nails about to draw blood from her palm. Leon's own gloved hands were just above hers as if he was about to try petting a feral, hissing kitten. He wanted permission to hold her hands. Her singular nod accompanied by frantic blinking almost went unnoticed by him.

She made a small noise behind her throat the moment his fingers brushed over the back of her hands and slipped into her palm, the hammer clattered on the ground and Leon paid no mind to it, gently gripping the ends of her fingers as if he was a gentleman helping a lady get off her carriage, awfully respectful to not cross any boundaries with her. His fingertips were burning up, the heat sent little zaps up her arms. "I know you can't be open as a book with me, that's fine. You don't have to say anything. Just know you can lean on me and that I am with you. I am here." He gave her hands a firm squeeze. "We can do this. Don't give up, don't let yourself go like this."

Vera didn't know where, "There's no point if Marvin is gone," came from, she was watching someone else speak for her, awfully numb inside, yet her voice still shook. "There is no point in anything."

"We will help the lieutenant," Leon asserted, determination radiating from him. "But until then, you have to stay vigilant. He is scared too, Vera."

That got her lower lip trembling. Her mountain of a father, small and weak, all on his own, brought tears to her eyes. "He is?"

"Terrified, even. When you're hurt to that point, all you can think about is death. He fears what will happen to you if he dies. That's why he's frantic. He can't be strong for you, so you have to be strong for him ."

There was not one strong bone in her body, Vera was pitiful in front of Leon picking up all her pieces for her, but upon hearing that, something within Vera shifted, all that protectiveness and despair for her father started rebuilding itself from the ground up. "What do I do?" The question came out as if she was 12 years old instead of 21.

"We do this together ," Leon's fingers caressed hers encouragingly, one wayward strand of hair that had probably gotten misplaced while he was running like death itself was chasing him, fell over, curtaining one eye. "We work together to get those medallions. No more running off into oblivion. Okay?"

"Okay..."

"Whenever you feel hopeless, talk to me. Trust in me. We are a team now." Leon leaned in a bit, staring deep into her eyes in determination. "You have me, alright? You're not alone."

Vera could cry. Fuck. She wasn't a crybaby, she really wasn't. Something about the unfiltered gentleness in this guy made her feel so safe that her emotions took it as a green light to flow forward. "You have me too," she said, taking her hands away from him and wiping the sweat on her shorts. "I'm not much, though. Unfortunately you have to make do with me for now."

"That's not true. You're perfectly fine," When you're not attempting suicide, Vera completed in her head. "I couldn't ask for anyone better."

She did smile tiredly at that though, and he drank that in like it was water.

“A good partner wouldn’t have forgotten to inform you about lickers,” she pointed out.

“We’re both rookies, go easy on us.” He bent down and picked up the hammer, throwing it in the air and catching it right at the handle after it spinned in the air a couple times. “Now, I better get those windows boarded up or we’ll really become midnight snacks for zombies.”

Since the only option left for Leon to gain access to the upper levels was the west stairway, the second floor had become entirely inaccessible due to a ruptured steam tank in the men's locker room (courtesy of a Mr. Carlos) with no valve to turn it off with. Leon had to cut his exploration short and return downstairs, focusing on covering another broken window just on the way to the stairs.

Vera was back at her usual station in the main hall as well. She had gotten another set of green herb gifts from Leon, which were fed to Marvin promptly, much to his complaints and chagrin. He was doing a bit better, those really had helped after all. And with understanding what his mindset was better thanks to Leon, she had calmed down considerably, her spirit stood strong with newfound determination to keep her chin high so she could actually be someone to be depended on.

Leon had taught her in such a short amount of time. For a guy as naïve as him, the sincerity in his soul inspired great wisdom.

While he was hammering the nails, she said, "Your name fits you, by the way. Leo-n. L aw E nforcement O fficer." Vera stopped to think about the joke, seriously pondering. " N early."

She thought he would counter with something along the lines of, "Great. Rookie joke. It's not like I haven't heard a dozen of them already."

The real Leon was in awe for some reason. "How did you manage to come up with that? How is the acrostics that fitting? How does this even happen?"

She couldn't differentiate if it was a real reaction or if he said that on purpose after picking up she liked to be complimented. To be honest, Vera had been sitting on that one for a while, wondering what she could put for the last letter 'n'. If he was a detective trainee, she would have said noir .

Rookie joke bested that one, but damn, was noir a good alternative.

In the camera, he rotated towards the darkroom. She mused, "It would have been perfect if your name was just Leo. The n is ruining things."

"Law Enforcement Officer. Not."

Vera snickered. "Good one."

"Another thing about you," he started pacing around the darkroom, checking out the lockers. The quiet clacking of the metal translated as rough static in the walkie-talkie. "Dad jokes. Got it from Lieutenant Branagh?"

Leon profiling him had been a passing joke, but the sheer attention to patterns in her behavior? No joke. " Duh . Though I wonder what else you have noted down in that golden noggin of yours about me? Real detective work right there."

"I wouldn't say it was difficult," Leon blurted, shyness seeping through.

He was trying to be humble and dodging praise, just for that she would be evil to him for a minute. "So I'm that much of a basic bitch, huh."

His breath hitched. "I didn't say that."

"But you thought it."

"I honestly didn't. I'm still thinking about you," Leon said, and had it not been said in that context, the whole thing would sound romantic as hell. But no, it was about a dude analyzing her. "And I still have questions. What else can you do?"

"This sounds derogatory."

"No," Leon corrected. "What else can't you do?"

"That also sounds derogatory."

"It's all compliments. I know you like those."

That was the most derogatory one out of the three, but coming from Leon, it was most probably said in harmless, affectionate commentary. Vera too had picked up a couple things about him, annoyingly, the first thing being the guileless, unusual sweetness. He was cute, she would give him that.

After gathering items and putting some things in his newly acquired hip pouch, he left the darkroom, heading towards the third floor. "I thought you were linked here as a computer technician or something along the lines, but turns out you're a gunsmith?"

"Assuming now, aren't we?" She leaned back on the chair, kicking her feet up on the surface of the desk. Security cameras on the stairs only saw certain areas, and all the cameras in the third floor had gone out after a series of explosions which they had discussed before, so she had to rely mostly on her ears to follow Leon along. "What else do you have?"

"You play the guitar, your fingertips and short nails make it obvious." Vera turned her hands inside, palms up, and curled her fingers inwards to take a look, she'd never really thought about it like that before. "You build electronics because you clearly said that you customized the walkie-talkies. A lot going on here."

Man. She almost blushed there at the notion of having been looked at as intently like that. "Gee, you know how to make a girl feel special, huh, partner?"

"Not exactly the time to play 20 questions, so," Leon explained, modest and apprehensive, not as panic-struck in his answer as before. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Survival depended on observational skills, what could Vera say to that? There was no time for getting to know each other, he was right. "Nah, not even in your wildest dreams. Making people uncomfortable is my job."

He must have laughed soundlessly at that, because only a puff of air was what the walkie-talkie relayed to Vera. He'd reached the third floor.

Yeah, third floor, she had to remind him. "Quick PSA. Be on the lookout for lickers. I don’t like that it’s been quiet so far. Easy and slow, Leon. I'll be tapping out for you now."

"All sweet, all golden," he chirped, and the phrase was familiar to her from somewhere, but Vera couldn't put a finger on it.

It hadn't even been a couple seconds of silence when Leon paged in with, "Jesus Christ, I found it," causing Vera to get closer to the edge of her seat. "I found the spade key."

"You're shitting me. Just like that? Where was it?"

"I went through a hole on the wall into... a study, I guess? It was right on the desk." He was weirded out. "What the fuck happened here?"

"Long story," Vera admitted, Irons polluting her thoughts. "For another time. Now , follow the north west hallway, it should take you directly to the west storage room. Interestingly, you'll be getting to the maiden medallion first. I don't know what condition it's in, you'll have to see."

"Cameras not working, I remember."

"Good luck."

"Don't need it when I have you."

Vera tutted, embarrassment dusting her cheeks. Leon didn't say shit like that for flirting or joking around, he strangely meant this kind of stuff in a corny, cheesy, genuine way. It was hard to get used to. The innocence was legitimately throwing the girl off every single time she got a one-liner such as this.

Leon interrupted the quiet that had befallen between them, hesitant and solemn. “You said that Officer Ford had the spade key, right?”

“Yeah,” Vera confirmed, afraid of what was coming, mouth set in a hard line. “Why?”

“He was here. I found a note about lickers. I think he may have left the key on the study.” He was apologetic when nothing was his fault. “Do you want to…?”

“No,” Vera refused. “I don’t have it in me to listen to it right now.”

Vera wasn’t strong enough to accept now this as what remained last of David, and the fact that this piece of information was possibly going to be how she would remember him for the rest of however long her life was. She had built the last boulder up only for it to be tumbling down the hill like this? Vera could take only so much in one day, she didn’t even know how to explain it to Marvin that yet another friend of his was lost to the faceless sea of the undead.

“As you wish,” Leon said, and that was it.

A little while later, Vera found herself listening to Leon's explanation about the room filled with filth and debris, and the note he found in the west storage room with bleeding repugnance and a firestorm of an outrage, her entire body burned up with the whirlwind of emotions she couldn't let the slightest gust of it out to not Leon know.

Irons. That motherfucker had fucking tortured his own officers up there while innocents fought for their lives underneath him, they fought to protect him all the while their friends were being violated unbeknownst to everybody, and that's what Brian Irons enjoyed the most —- the art of suffering.

She couldn't tell Leon that this asshole was a serial killer. How could she even prove it? Why would he believe a girl he just met over his supposed boss who he'd only ever heard admirable stories about? If Irons materialized out of thin air at the moment and ordered Leon to arrest Vera, he would. He was still a cop. The world had gone to shit but Leon still clutched to some semblance of purpose and order his duty brought, there was nothing to indicate he would go against the whole Chief of RPD.

And because she was blinded red by all the fury her body was trying to contain and her brain was in maintenance, all she could come up with to tell Leon was, "I don't know."

Which was a big mistake, he was an observant guy. "But you just said it was a long story."

Rubbing her brow like it could ever ward off the incoming headache, Vera huffed, "I said that because I don't know."

It felt as if she had accidentally chosen the wrong dialogue that unlocked the bad ending in a video game.

"That's okay." Leon didn't argue back, though, unable to hide the hesitance. She was grateful he had stepped down to change the subject regardless. "By the way, we have a problem with the statue."

"Of fucking course," Vera spat.

"It's behind bars. From what I see, we have two options. Safe or big ."

"Hit me."

"We can find a tool like a pipe bender to open the bars enough for a person to fit, or," Leon said, dragging out the word with intonation. "There is an electronic gadget here. I'm thinking it was left behind by the sick maniac who wrote the note, it looks legit enough to me. Can become a C4 explosive detonator with a battery." The sigh in-between was exasperated. "Which is missing."

"Did you not hear me talking about lickers, Leon?" Vera gripped the walkie-talkie harder. "All of them would flock there the moment it goes kaboom. It's a death sentence."

The confidence he had in himself to take the lickers out reflected in his demeanor as he queried, "Do you have a better idea?"

"How tight are the bars? Maybe I can squeeze in."

"I'm pretty sure you can't."

The anxiety came out on top with all the possibilities she was trying to come up with for how to solve their little problem. In retrospect, Vera had to see how bad it was herself to reach a conclusion, but all instinct was screaming at her to go with the safe route. An explosion wouldn't only lure lickers in, it was also an invitation for the undead. Let's say Leon tried to Rambo the lickers back to hell, the undead surely would get in the way - and that was the least of what they could do to him in such a predicament.

"Let's be on the lookout for anything that can pry them apart, then. You can't fight the lickers, Leon, if these undead people are zombies, then those are actual demons. You'll understand when you see them, it's like a portal to hell opened to this city. Not worth the risk."

"I understand," Leon said. "We'll keep looking."

“You have the spade key, want to go back to the west office real quick and unlock the door?”

“I’m closer to the unicorn medallion, I’ll go get it first.”

“It also would be easier to unlock it from the main hall, you’ve got a point. Only one though. I’m still the smart one here.” She scanned the library, frowning at the screen. “The undead are having a cookout in the library, it’s crowded in there.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Right after saying he'd be careful, Leon literally fell from the second floor, pummeling through some rotten, faulty wooden flooring that gave out under his running steps —- even Marvin heard the commotion, rising from his resting place and peeking his head out from the sofa to the loud crashing and banging accompanied with Leon yelling as he tumbled down.

"Shit," Vera cursed under her breath, heart immediately dropping to her stomach. Half-risen from her seat, she loudly called for him through the walkie-talkie. "Leon! Leon, can you hear me?"

Only static answered. Fuck, what the fuck do I do?

Should she bolt through the reception entrance to go help him? God, fuck, it would take too long, adrenaline was already making every limb in her body tremble like a leaf caught in a storm, so many possibilities racing in her mind.

What to do? What to do?

"Leon!" she tried again. Still no response. No gunshots, either.

"Every goddamn thing in there heard that noise!" Marvin shouted at Vera, alarmed, struggling. She quickly stepped out of the reception desk and ran out to see him sitting up.

Noise. Yeah, noise!

If Leon was being eaten right now, fuck forbid, he would be screeching at the top of his lungs. There was nothing.

It would take him some time to recover if he was still conscious, she had to do something to divert the undead's attention. Noise!

Grabbing her shovel, she scrambled to the spade door of the library. Hitting the door over and over again with all her might with the metal end as if she was beating a rug, she yelled, "Hey! Assholes! Over here!" as high and loud as her voice cords allowed, to accompany the reverberating echoes and ear-grating clangs the shovel made against the wood. It would be okay, no lickers would be able to enter the main hall, she was free to kick up a storm from where she was.

Vera got the fruits of her efforts as she heard the persistent nail clawing and weak banging on the other side, heard the growling and yowling of the undead. Many of them, in fact.

"Yeah, that's right!" Her arms were burning and stinging. "I'm right here! Don't you want a snack? Come!" She kept crashing the shovel on the door, the metal leaving lighter colored dents on the surface. "Here!"

Vera heard gunshots. Yes! "Oh thank fuck," she whined, a wave of warm exhaustion hitting her. But she couldn't stop. Leon could be disoriented, he just fucking bodied one floor.

Gripping the stick tighter and letting out a growl of determination, she went back to making her own ruckus while the gunshots got more frequent and more controlled.

Vera continued until the last of the undeads thumping behind the door stopped after a shot, and the sound of slumping reached her ears. A couple more gunshots followed that, and then silence followed, the shovel slipped out of her hand and clattered on the floor as she tried to settle her heaving chest and thundering heartbeats, suddenly feeling very shaky.

Oh no, was her blood sugar dropping? Right now?

The usual dead giveaway was lips tingling for Vera. She would wait until that happened, otherwise, this could be just adrenaline wrecking her body.

"Leon?" she cried, with nervous anticipation.

Something heavy was being dragged on the other side, blunt shuffling.

"Leon!"

"I'm here!" A thump. "Give me a second! The door-- they got stacked over it."

"Oh my fuck." Vera's body deflated with a groan of relief, her knees buckling. She crouched back on her heels and rested her elbows on her knees, extending both arms forward like she was offering them for vaccination. Her pounding head rolled down. "I almost died of a heart attack, shit. This guy..."

"Vera," Marvin called, unnerved, interpreting it as something else. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she waved a hand weakly, unable to look back at the moment, her back was to him. "It's the adrenaline."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

She got up eventually as she heard the rattling of the key in the hole and the door was finally opened. And there Leon was, a bit ruffled, uniform dusty and dark blond hair messy, but he looked unharmed, no blood visible anywhere on his exposed skin. She could hug him and choke him simultaneously, fuck, she almost expired because of worry.

Instead, trying to keep her voice steady and her expression angry, she lectured him. "I told you to be careful, goddamn."

"Thanks for the help," he beamed at Vera, like he hadn't taken off ten years off her life. "The vest protected me from damage but I was out of it. I would be dead meat if you started banging on the door two seconds later."

Her eyebrows pinched together.

Marvin cut in on Vera's thoughts of pinching both Leon's cheeks and stretching the skin out of frustration. "You okay, rookie? That was a big fall."

Leon stepped around Vera to see Marvin better. "I'm fine, sir."

"Good."

She wanted to ask about his wellbeing too, but the words didn't come out, her concern remained buried and came out as something entirely different. "Where's my walkie-talkie?"

Leon's shoulder jumped and stiffened. "Ah..." He looked back and stared inside the library littered with dead bodies. "It dropped with me. I didn't have time to look for it."

That last sentence made her feel like absolute garbage, stepping over the bodies and trying so hard to keep the smell of decay out of her mind, she gingerly said, "Come, let's search then."

Leon kept up as Vera pressed a button, making a small dot on the walkie-talkie in her hand start flashing red. The reflection of the other walkie-talkie's own light painted the brown stacks across them, and Leon ended up finding it stuck underneath, easily reaching down to get it.

He held it up like a trophy, smiling bashfully, it squeezed something inside her chest. And as he jogged to her, she said, "I'm glad you're okay by the way, didn't mean to be a bitch about it. I was..."

"Scared, I know. You don't need to explain anything." Leon walked backwards to the lounge door, facing her, the understanding of an angel had to be gifted to him at birth. "Let's get the medallion."

Vera nodded absentmindedly, a fuzzy feeling swirling inside her head, and followed Leon like she was bound to him by strings.

Once in the lounge, standing before the gigantic bronze unicorn statue, Vera brought the notebook closer to her face, trying to discern Elliot's doodles, on the verge of getting a headache over the tiny drawing. "Is this supposed to be Gemini or Pisces?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Leon stepped closer, also wanting to take a look. Vera turned the notebook a bit so he could see.

"Yeah, this. Do you think it's Gemini or Pisces?"

Leon went through the puzzle to find the correct symbol. "It's just fish to me."

"They are supposed to represent zodiac signs, though!"

"Okay," he said, a fond, supporting smile on his face despite the 'I don't really care' undertones of his tone.

Vera, invested, put her pointer finger on the next doodle. "You see this is clearly Scorpio. But Pisces has fish representing it, and Gemini is often associated with twins. There are twin fishes in there, so what? I don't get it."

Leon also put the scorpion in. "I don't know, you're really trying too hard to fish an answer out of me."

Vera snorted, and when Leon looked over, surprised at the sound, she covered her lips with one hand, the other still holding the notebook open. "Didn't know girls could make such a sound."

"Shut up," she said, neck heating up. "The next one's Aquarius."

Leon was utterly lost. "What is an Aquarius?" He scooted closer to which Vera gave him space, and looked down to see the symbol. "Water jug." His gaze switched to Vera. "Could have just said that to me."

"Not my fault you don't know general knowledge."

"It's girl stuff," Leon said, working to find Aquarius on the puzzle.

"It's general knowledge." Vera could smack him on the shoulder with the notebook if they were closer friends. "Let's see you try to ask around when it comes up on a crossword puzzle."

Pulling the medallion out from its socket, Leon smirked at her for the first time, cerulean eyes twinkling, the mischievousness was a first sight for Vera. "How would they even ask the question? There are two fishes, is it Pisces or Gemini?"

Smartass. He was lucky to be this cute. "Listen—-"

"Both of you, come back here now ," Marvin's voice buzzed from Leon's radio hanging on his hip. "I've got something important you might want to see."

tagging: @ocs-supporting-ocs @ocappreciationtag

#leon kennedy x oc #leon s kennedy x oc #leon s. kennedy x oc #resident evil oc #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s. kennedy #oc: vera kaplan #story: gravedigger #era: no time to die #resident evil fanfiction #ocappreciation #shai's writings #one chapter dedicated to getting the unicorn medallion

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angelojamal · 2 years

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For anyone who attempts to research myself. Please, understand that some folks can speak on things and even joke on serious things, in an attempt to remove the negative effects of such a thing. The purpose is to construct a framework of thought, where anyone can easily consume the message. If you don’t know much about my family, I think everyone’s family have this, or that, type of person in close proximity to “family members.” I am not equipped to judge them, or the life choices they was entered into or the life they, themselves chose. The fact that I choose to be the man that I am that love his kids and his woman, I personally was never in need to ask for anything more. Sometimes, one would say you “out yo brain” which was a slang term for being mentally unstable. I have a brother that is schizo-effect. I saw this man lose his mind when I was just 16 years old. A day that I was set on my personal journey to fight for the right to be a man, was when my brother was having a mental episode. That moment, I calmly reacted and was able to talk him “off a ledge” (and off the ledge don’t mean I’m bout to drive my car off the ledge, so some are crafty with words when they feel compelled to twist my words, I stand on anything I’ve said. It’s really very hilarious to me) so to speak, and at that moment I recall looking into his eyes, and I saw no life behind his eyes, I saw no soul in him. Everyone that know me well enough, knows that affected me, yet I am glad that I was able to keep him safe from the world and get him into a facility that could help him best. Anything I speak with boldness, it’s because I know how dark the world is and I don’t tempt evil. Plus, God has protected my mind, my flesh, my spirit. So the evil ones attack are not new to me. I understand it to be apart of life. One thing I love about God’s word is the preciseness and clarity while still having a form of discernible ambiguity. The scriptures say “I would not have you ignorant,” but some are very well consorted for such an ambivalence. In that, I can only pray, and hope they get some true understanding. Words or internet activity will never make me jump off a ledge or get outside myself. I wish everyone finds peace within themselves though. Just as I, as the youngest of my immediate family, stepped up and supported my older siblings and my mother when they were in need. So I’m qualified, more qualified than most, to talk about what I speak on, and even to joke to use humor to convey a difficult topic. In short, you can’t “wish death” on me to death, I doubt that dying works that way, in real life. And eve-il spirits will be rebuked and debunked.

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭4‬:‭13‬-‭18‬ ‭KJV‬‬

“But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. For this we say unto you by the word of the Lord, that we which are alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord shall not prevent them which are asleep. For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words.”

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pastxlscorp · 3 years

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Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.3)

Chapter III: Abidance

✿ Word Count: 3.2k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Hakkai POV, Y/N POV, Mitsuya POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, minor manga spoilers, slight angst

Awakening from his slumber, he found that the woman was no longer taking up space in his bed. He heaved a sigh of relief, only to, unfortunately, see a message from an unknown number on his phone saying “Text me when you’re free ;)” Ignoring the text, he found he had a message from Hakkai and remembered that he had abandoned him to sleep with that damn woman. However, Hakkai didn’t confront him about it, but instead acted as if nothing happened.

🗨️ Hakkai: Is the party still on for today? (Sent 2:00am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: Yeah, sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling my best, I should have let you know. (Sent 10:00am)

🗨️ Hakkai: No hard feelings. Ya feeling better now Taka-chan? (Sent 10:01am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: Not really, but it’ll pass. What’d you end up doing yesterday after I left? (Sent 10:02am)

Picking up on the subtle curiosity of Mitsuya’s text, it became clear to Hakkai that he did see him with you. As much as he admired Mitsuya, the anger building inside of him got the best of him. Therefore, in response, he chose a reply that he knew would get Mitsuya boiling.

🗨️ Hakkai: Caught Y/N outside of your class, had a wonderful lunch with her! She’s so nice, Taka-chan! Why are ya so mean to her? (Sent 10:04am)

Vigorous fingers typed in reply.

🗨️ Mitsuya: Why the fuck were you hanging around that slut? She’s just gonna try and get in your pants. What did she say to you? (Sent 10:04am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: Hakkai? Hello? (Sent 10:05am)

🗨️ Hakkai: Sorry Taka-chan, I’m back. She didn’t say nuthin bad, actually she was so sweet. She saw I was alone and we both had some tea together back at her place. Ended up sleeping over, I’m still here actually! (Sent 10:05am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: BACK AT HER PLACE? I told you, she’s just trying to get in your pants and you let her win! I can’t believe you let a whore like her win you over, Hakkai! Where the fuck is your brain? She probably was enjoying every minute of your sorry ass. (Sent 10:05am)

🗨️ Hakkai: Who said we slept together, Taka? (Sent 10:05am)

Silence enveloped the room.

🗨️ Mitsuya: Sorry… I just assumed that’s what you meant by sleeping over. (Sent 10:07am)

🗨️ Hakkai: Awh, it’s okie Taka, I know you were only looking out for me. (Sent 10:07am)

Absolutely, looking out for Hakkai. That’s what this was, that’s what he was doing. There couldn’t have been any other reason why he was so upset at the thought of you sleeping together. He was just being a good friend.

-----

┃ “Y/N!” the hoarse voice spoke to you, feeling the smooth cloth of his jacket pressed against your face as you bumped into him.

You looked up only to recognize Hakkai, kind thoughts flooding your mind, diminishing your anger stemming from your interaction with Mitsuya moments before. He grinned at you giddily, eyes relaxing any sort of tension left in your body. You slowly began to forget why you were mad and allowed yourself to indulge in his presence.

┃ “Good afternoon Hakkai! Waiting for Mitsuya?”

┃ “Mhm, you takin’ Designer 101 too, right?”

┃ “Yup! How come you aren’t taking it? You’re very fashionable, y’know?”

┃ “You’re too kind,” He giggled, his grin beginning to somehow grow wider on his cheeks as he raised his hand to pat your head.

┃ “I’m serious! Why don’t you join the class? It’s not too late, the second semester is about to start!” You eagerly pushed on, rejoicing in the positive energy he emitted.

┃ “ ‘m not really into making clothes, just showing them off...” He let out a hefty chuckle before getting cut off by you.

┃ “You don’t have to be good at making them! Some students choose to learn how to stylize different clothing and patterns, it’s all about the latest trends.”

┃ “Really?” He went silent for a few moments, smile morphing into a straight line as he contemplated your words carefully. Not to fret, as his smile quickly returned as he said: “Well then, might have to ask Taka-chan to help me sign up!”

You both shared a laugh and began to discuss the enrollment process in order for Hakkai to join the class-- if he were to drop another class, what class would he drop, or would he simply add it to his current schedule? While your conversation was nothing more than an innocent developing friendship, unbeknownst to you, Mitsuya had witnessed it all and declared it once more another betrayal. You were such a slut, flirting with anyone and everyone. Irrationality began to consume him-- instead of seeing your interaction with Hakkai for what it truly was, a genuine developing friendship, his brain refused to comprehend your behavior with other men. He never got to the level of comfortability you had with Takemichi, and he had lost the sense of ease you had with him to Hakkai and god, god did it piss him off. Unfortunately for that kohai, she was just another doll for him to play with just until he could get your attention again. Even a single drop of your attention, your attachment, it was enough to drive him for weeks just to be able to be near you again. Your kind words squeezing his heart tighter and tighter the more you spoke, your laughter ringing in his ears at a corny joke he told you during club meetings, it enveloped him into infatuation which later developed into a larger feeling. Such a large feeling over the progressing months that when he began bullying you, when your lack of presence and absences during meetings began to grow, an emptiness began to root in his heart, waiting for you to touch it once more and let it grow.

He could go on and on listing things about you-- the way he loved your sense of fashion, the way he loved your sense of humor, your compassion to helping others, your intellect that allowed you to read everyone like a book, everyone except him. Why couldn’t you see that he didn’t hate you? Oh, but that jealousy, the first time he’d admit that it was jealousy, it gripped him so tightly around his neck that it felt suffocating. Every shove, every clasp of your hand, your wrist, your chain, your chain, it made his heart shutter seeing that dead watery look in your eye, but your attention was like a drug that he just had to keep getting more of. It would never be enough to satisfy him, not until he could call you his and you would call him yours. He pitied using them, he really did, but he needed someone to satiate his needs. He was a womanizer, after all-- if one left he would just charm another into his bed. They all had high respect for Mitsuya, his intellect, his charm, his skill, and his kindness. Yet no matter how hard he tried, all those women, they were never you and they could never try and be you. He found that he no longer sought sex for his own pleasure anymore, but for your own, pretending so desperately that the one trembling out of pleasure beneath him was you. Imagining, no, fantasizing that he was making you happy and leaving you satisfied.

Upon seeing your interaction, he quickly left with his kohai for their own exchange, leaving Hakkai unfortunately confused as he waved you goodbye, patiently waiting for his friend to meet him. You were still on campus because you had taken additional extracurricular activities to build up your transcript to make up for your absences in Mitsuya’s Home-economics club. At first, you attempted to make it through the club meetings but he made every single one as unbearable as possible. The second semester, could it come any sooner? Hakkai, too focused on organizing his schedule with you previously, had failed to notice Mitsuya leaving with a woman. He waited, he waited, and he waited, coming to a good hour until he realized Mitsuya wouldn’t have left him waiting for this long without a heads up. He looked at his phone, expecting some sort of contact-- a phone call, a message, anything. All that awaited him was several unread messages from group chats and friends, none of them from Taka-chan. He sighed, placing his phone away just as he noticed your presence once more, planting a fake smile on his face to disguise his obvious disappointment. Unfortunately for him, his smile only instantly alerted you something was wrong.

┃ “Hakkai? Why are you still here, weren’t you supposed to be meeting Mitsuya?”

┃ His phony smile stood in place as tears began to fill his eyes. He croaked: “T-taka-chan left me. Do you think he’s mad at me for sumthin’, Y/N? I don’t ‘member doin’ anything.”

You instantly rushed over to comfort him, witnessing what appeared to be an intimidating giant become undone into a fragile teddy bear at the thought he had upset his best friend. Your disdain only kept growing for Mitsuya, first it was his lack of maturity during class, and now he had abandoned his best friend for whatever reason it was. Hakkai was a sweetheart, you couldn’t imagine what he may have done to upset someone. Therefore, you came to the conclusion Mitsuya had thrown a tantrum of sorts and took it out on him. It irked you, however, Mitsuya always remained respectful and loving to his best friend in addition to Yasuda-san, so you couldn’t help but raise your brow wondering what got him so upset for him to entirely ditch his friend. Pushing those thoughts aside, you placed all of your focus on bringing a smile back to Hakkai’s face, gently rubbing his back and placing your forehead against his temple as he crouched over in defeat. You desperately attempted to think of anything to cheer him up.

┃ “Ah, how about some tea?”

┃ “...Tea?”

┃ “Listen, I have absolutely no idea what you like and I want to calm you down so-”

┃ “Tea sounds good.” He said softly, a small smile returning to his face.

You escorted Hakkai comfortably back to your dorm, located on the east wing of the campus. Women and men could go to each other’s dorms, they just had gender-separated wings because it was just easier to contain the chaos if everyone was allowed to sleep with their girlfriend or boyfriend. The boys had their dormitory on the west side, thus you noticeably got some glances as you strolled with Hakkai. Mitsuya was always surrounded by Hakkai and Yasuda-san, so obviously most of your classmates were shocked to see you hanging out with his right-hand man. Were you both sleeping together? Ooh what a scandal (not). Although you didn’t mind the glanes too much, Hakkai on the other hand made sure to shoot down them all with a nasty side glare, quickly causing them to turn their cheek. It was a cute sight after all, seeing how you subconsciously had reached for his hand and began to rub gentle circles on it in order to ease him, which succeeded in doing so. Once you arrived at your dorm, you opened the door and gave him a show of jazz hands as you toured him around your dorm. Your dorm wasn’t the largest compared to his and Mitsuya’s dorm, which made him realize the privilege of not having a financially aided dorm. Your queen bed comfortably rested on the right side of the room, covered with a curtain and fairy lights on the wall behind it. Your desk was not too far away, maybe a good 15 feet across your bed, not too messy but not too neat. It was obvious you were working on something, as there were papers still out and scattered but the rest of the desk had the pens, pencils, and stapled papers sorted in a clean pile. Your pinboard was half-covered with your calendar, cluttered with small sticker reminders while the other half was your schedule, nicely decorated with washi tape sticking it to the board. Next to your bed was a wooden closet and you led him into the cramped kitchen that made him gasp, seeing how you make such a tight space so comfortable and presentable. You had a small glass coffee table in the middle, a small fridge cramped in the kitchen underneath a cupboard and next to a cabinet holding the sink on top. Next to that was a stove with a microwave on top, both color-coordinated black, contrasting the white of the room. You guided him over to the table and motioned for him to sit and he obediently did. Walking over to the countertop holding an old-school kettle, you used it to strain and brew the tea. Gleefully, you dropped a few ice cubes in his glass and carefully poured his tea and then your own, sitting across from him at the table. He took a sip of the tea you had placed in front of him, smiling not at the delightful taste but the awaiting face you had fixated, putting your hands under your chin waiting for a response.

┃ “This tea is delightful, thank you Y/N.” He said warmly and you basked in his praise.

┃ “Ah, sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the staring. I don’t… really get visitors. It’s nice to have someone over.” You replied, your face beginning to glow a light pink as your lips formed into a slight frown, embarrassed to admit how you had no friends.

┃ “Mm, I should be the one thankin’ you,” The softness in his voice made your crouched posture fix itself as you looked up to him. “You made me sum tea, opened me to your home, all ‘cuz I was sad and overthinkin’. You ain’t hafta do that, but you did anyway. I appreciate ya!” His iconic grin was now back where it belonged as his eyes glazed over you in pure adoration. You smiled in return, both returning to take a sip of your tea.

Hours passed and he was still at your house, you both gossiping and talking like old friends. You discussed your classmates, praising them and disapproving of the behavior of others. He began to confide in you about what he witnessed during his time as the second-division’s vice captain. You eagerly listened to him as he described to you his tales with his brother and his amazing sister Yuzuha, anything and everything was up for debate. At least, almost everything. Despite being the main reason he was so upset, you and Hakkai had not discussed Mitsuya’s treatment of you. He was mentioned in a few gang stories, but it seemed as if Hakkai was opting out of speaking about him out of respect for you. However, his head began to slump, implying he was tired. You grabbed your phone, which had been placed upside down on the coffee table, and looked at the time and saw it was well past midnight. You leaned over to rub Hakkai’s shoulder and you gasped when his head turned back upright, alert as if he just remembered something. Drunk on drowsiness, he began to speak:

┃ “Mmh, y’know Mitsuya used to talk about you a lot. Always went on about this pretty girl who was awfully sweet, really smart…” He trailed off, fighting off the sleep that clung desperately to his eyelids. “He never gave me a name but after club meetings when I woulds wait for him, he would tell me about his conversations. I always saw him looking at ya. What did ya do to make him so pissed off?” Although he had no malicious-intent in his questioning, it was enough to cause goosebumps all over your body.

┃ “I didn’t do anything, ‘kai. Really, nothing different happened that day. All of the sudden, the next day during his club he humiliated me in front of everyone and then made me stay after hours to yell at me even more.” You went silent for a moment, before your curiosity got the best of you and you questioned: “He used to talk about me? Are you sure?”

┃ Ignoring your question, he replied to your initial response. “You didn’t do anythin’ different at all that day?”

┃ You contemplated his question carefully, before realizing the one event that was an outlier to the rest. “I was waiting for my friend outside campus gates that day. He offered to wait with me but I insisted he didn’t, mainly because my friend had said Mitsuya wasn’t very fond of him so it was better if he didn’t see him.”

┃ “Who’s the friend?”

┃ “Hanagaki Takemichi.”

┃ The tired man in front of you took a full minute to process your sentence before bursting out and crying of laughter a few moments later. You looked at him, pure confusion coating your body as he continued to sob. Finally, after a few minutes, he wiped his eyes and sat back up, gleaming at you. “Well that’s your problem, Mitsuya fucking hates Takemichy. Probably spied on ya because he was worried, saw Takemichy, and boom-- he got jealous AHAHA!” He went back to crying of laughter, leaving you a few moments to yourself to process his words.

It was embarrassing to admit how Hakkai was half-asleep in front of you and somehow managed to put together your puzzle of confusion together months after said incident had happened, in under 20 minutes. However, you couldn’t find yourself disagreeing with his theory. Suddenly, Hakkai stopped laughing and looked up at you, all serious.

┃ “Now wait… that’s not funny! He’s been pushing ya around all the time just cuz he’s jealous of you being with other guys?! That’s fucked up! ‘M gonna beat his ass, Y/N! Just for you!”

You now began laughing, taking Hakkai’s hand in yours over the glass countertop and tapping it gently.

┃ “That won’t be necessary, ‘kai. How about we come up with a solution?”

┃ “My solution is beating his a-”

┃ “A non-physical solution.”

┃ He went silent for a few moments, looking away from you to the window to think. You could tell he thought of something when a smirk began to plaster itself on his face. “How about we test our theory?”

┃ “Elaborate.”

┃ “If that pain in my ass is done with whatever it is he’s doing, there was supposta be a party tomorrow. Not at our dorm, but our friend’s. You might have heard of him, Manjiro Sano?”

You responded with silence.

┃ “Mikey. The Invincible Mikey.”

┃ “Not ringing any bells.”

┃ “Brother of Emma Sano. Brother of Izana.”

┃ “Emma Sano is so nice!”

┃ “Captain of the Tokyo Manji Gang, Y/N.”

┃ “Oh.”

┃ “Point is, he’s having a party tomorrow. We could get some revenge, I bring you as my date~”

┃ “Won’t that make him angri-

┃ “That’s what revenge is.”

┃ “Why don’t I just talk with him?”

┃ “Has he tried talking to you?”

┃ “...no.”

┃ “I rest my case.”

Silence enveloped the room once more. It wasn’t an awkward silence, no, it was quite a comfortable silence actually as he patiently awaited your response and allowed you to process and think.

┃ “When is the party exactly?”

✿ tags: @haiq-trash @blackmysticalsimp @the2ndl @bren-heron @delicatejudgecopcowboy @skiwalkers

✿ a.n. // First of all, thank you so much for 102 followers <3 I appreciate the support being given to me! I would like to address one thing, however, please don't rush me to write! I've gotten very kind messages of support but others have been demanding more of me and it's important to remember that I have classes, chores, a social life, and many other things happening. I love writing but rushing me makes it unenjoyable and it won't be my best work. My goal for this ongoing fanfic is to post weekly. Just a little ted-talk there, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter though! I had such a fun time writing it :)

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oonajaeadira · 3 years

Text

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

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potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

Staying at the Burrow with your boyfriend Fred Weasley...

- Fred loathed his time away from Hogwarts on any break that you weren’t with him

- Since the Christmas of your fourth year, it has become a sort of tradition for you to going your boyfriend and his family for the holidays

- And if you would even suggest a change in plans, Fred would beg you otherwise

- “Y/n pleaseeee, angel? I already told my mum that you’re coming, and she already started knitting! You’ll break her heart!” “Okay fine, I’ll come but only for Molly.”

- It means the absolute world to Fred that you love his family and that his family loves you

- Ginny would await your arrival by the front door, practically buzzing with excitement

- Every time you visit the Burrow, you make sure to bring gifts for his family

- Your favorite person to give presents to is Arthur

- You always bring him some new muggle object that never fail to fascinate him

- “Oh, Molly! Y/n’s here- ooh I wonder what she’s brought for me this time! I hope it’s one of those clicky writers!” “You mean a pen, dear.” “Yes, yes, Molly, a pem!” “Arthur, no-“

- Most breaks Harry would also tag along which meant more players for your quidditch games

- Fred and George were usually team captain

- Fred always picked you first for his team

- Unless George got to pick first

- He would pick you just in spite of Fred, which usually caused petty bickering between the twins

- “Bloody hell, George! You pinky promised me you wouldn’t pick Y/n! You said I could have her-“ “Freddie, you spend almost 24 hours a day with her. She’s just on my team for one game!”

- George would playfully torture you two during the whole break with comments here and there

- “Hey dad, I saw Fred sneak Y/n into our room last night.” “George!” “…let’s just not tell your mother, understood?”

- Doing the dishes with Fred and having a bubble fight

- George wasn’t lying tho

- Fred would sneak you into his room almost every night

- Molly had caught you two a few times but she never brought it up

- Fred was nearly 18 and Molly absolutely adored you

- So she’d smile to herself and pretend she never saw a thing

- Going on walks with Ron and Harry

- A lot of cute little moments with Fred

- Like him giving you his sweater when you get cold at night

- He likes to draw pictures on your back when you’re cuddling as you try to guess what it is

- “Uh… I’m not sure, is it a flower?” “No, angel. It was an owl! Okay now guess this one…”

- George would constantly whisper shout at the two of you when he’s trying to sleep

- “Can you lovesick puppies shut up! Some of us are single and would rather be miserable in peace. I can’t handle all the cute lovey whispers, it’s bloody sickening! I’m ready to share a bed with Percy- that’s how bad it is.”

- This would cause Fred and yourself to erupt with laughter much to George’s displeasure

- Sneaking around the house to have some *cough* private time

- Making out in his backyard

- Fred doesn’t like when you go for walks alone outside the house

- Times are tense and you’re the last person, besides a family member, that he could afford to lose

- He’ll always walk by your side and crack jokes just so he can hear you laugh

- Whether he realizes it or not, whenever you two go walking together Fred will always hold your hand and swing it back and forth

- He loves kissing your knuckles and the back of your hand

- He’s honestly so sweet when he’s not putting 24 hour color changing hair dye in your shampoo

- You’ve spent so many Christmas’ at the Weasley’s that Molly has a stocking for you and a gift ready every time

- Fred purposely places mistletoes around the house for you two to ‘conveniently’ meet under

- “Fred! You know I’m your girlfriend so you can kiss me whenever, right?” “But this is more romantic, darling! You’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed under a mistletoe- and the only, and last girl I want to kiss for my whole life. I’d like to continue that tradition.” “Well how can I say no to that?”

- Fred will literally take any chance offered to kiss you

- George loves to annoy the two of you by squeezing in the middle of your cuddles

- “George! You git, get out of here!” “But I need some love too!” “Yeah, find it with a girl who isn’t my girlfriend!”

- Fred will make you coffee or tea each morning, whichever you prefer

- Making hot chocolate together for the whole family during winters at the Burrow

- Marshmallow mustaches

- You kiss the marshmallows off Fred’s mouth, running your tongue along his upper lips which causes a deep scarlet blush to slap his cheeks

- “How do you like it when the tables are turned, Fred?” “I quite like it actually… that was hot.” “Fred!”

- During winter, you guys will have snowball fights outside with all the Weasley siblings plus Harry, and Hermione

- You and Fred have a competition on who can make the biggest snow man

- Your relationship is built off humor, friendship, and love so there is not a day that passes by where tears aren’t pouring from your eyes out of laughter

- Fred likes to wake you up by jumping on you and attacking your face with little pecks

- “Wake up, angel! I’ve been waiting ten minutes for you to get up but I couldn’t wait any longer now c’mon!”

- Fred loves to watch you get ready for the day

- Oddly enough, his favorite part is your makeup routine (if you wear any)

- It’s such a foreign world to him, he’s amazed by all the different products and how you can tell them all apart

- “Freddie, baby, can you hand me my mascara?” “Uh... sure?”

- Hands you your concealer

- He just wants to help!

- He teaches you how to ice skate out on the pond

- Loves kissing your frozen red cheeks when you two come inside after being in the snow

- Will boop your nose

- You spend a lot of time with Ginny on breaks

- She looks up to you greatly, so she gets so excited when you stay with the Weasley’s

- “Y/n, Y/n, you’re here! Come, put your stuff in my room! We can have a sleepover-“ “Wow, Ginny, hadn’t realized Y/n was your girlfriend and not mine.” “Shut up, Fred.”

- You help Fred and George play pranks on differently family members

- Molly is typically the only one that is immune from these pranks

- All three of you are far too terrified to make her angry

- You will often rummage through Fred’s closet instead of opening your suitcase

- And when he catches you in the act

- Fred will chase you around the house

- “That’s my jumper! Oh you’re in for it, Y/l/n!”

- Some days at the Burrow, Fred and you barely get out of bed

- Especially on rainy days

- The sound of raindrops pounding against the roof of the house was comforting, the warm embrace of Fred had that effect on its own even without the rain

- Maybe once a trip, you guys will take the car into town

- It’s a bit of a drive so the Weasley’s don’t like to make more trips than necessary

- Molly refuses to hand the keys to either of the twins and will only give them to you

- She doesn’t trust the twins not the wreck the car

- Every trip to the Burrow, you find yourself growing closer to your boyfriend

- You spend every day together at school, but being outside of the castle is a little different

- You have more freedom, more choices

- It makes the both of you thrilled about graduating and moving in together

- Fred can’t wait for the day he is able to spend every day with you by his side

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗

I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, “Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”

“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.

Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”

I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”

At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.

“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”

I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.

Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.

Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”

“What?” I ask.

“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”

“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”

“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”

“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”

Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.

“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”

“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.

Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.

Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.

As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”

Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.

I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.

Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.

"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.

He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"

#thg #hunger games #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #Finnick Odair #mockingjay #bookcomb ♥️🔎

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pascalpanic · 4 years

Text

Mirdal’ika (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Reader takes care of the Razor Crest and the child while Mando is out hunting. When Mando doesn’t return when he’s supposed to, the book-smart reader has to learn some street smarts and help her Mandalorian.

WC: 4.6k

Warnings: violence, cussing, mentions of blood

A/N: Okay, I’m a nerd, a certified nerd as if that wasn’t clear. This is my love letter to the nerds out there, to the ones who had their first kiss a little late, who stayed in and read books rather than partying. I love you, you’re cool. Italics are for emphasis and internal dialogue, but in some places also to show that another language is being spoken. Hopefully that’s clear! Oh, also: mirdal’ika is a word of my own creation. No Mando’a word exists for “nerd” that I could find, so this is my interpretation of the language using my best etymological skills!

mirdala= intelligent, clever -’ika = suffix meaning small or little mirdal’ika = intelligent little one; Mando’a slang meaning nerd.

Growing up, you were the kid who had her nose buried in a book at all times. You rarely interacted with the outside world. While the other children on Tatooine made sandcastles or played games, drawing in the sand, you read encyclopedias and fact books, learning about the other planets in your systems and other cultures. Your fixation at age 12 had been on Mandalorian culture, fascinated by the warriors that were like faraway, mythical knights to your young self. As a child enraptured by fairy tales and stories of intergalactic heroes like Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, you’d somehow always been enchanted by the bad-boy type, the dark and mysterious man who reluctantly saves the day, more along the lines of Han Solo. Naturally, the fact that Mandalorians never showed their face was mysterious, and you’d admit that you dreamed of being swept away by the Mand’alor and having the privilege of being the sole person to see their face, of being a queen and finding true love. You later moved on to research other cultures, even teaching yourself various galactic languages should you ever get the chance to travel. That didn’t seem likely, growing up on a planet where the only claim to fame was Luke Skywalker’s brief residence a few towns over. Your knowledge of Mandalorian culture was part of what made you so special to Mando, your employer-friend-coworker-roommate-co-parent whose name you had yet to learn. You never asked questions of him. Never asked him to take off his helmet, never asked him what was under it, never asked anything too personal, understood that the helmet could only come off in front of members of his clan. You’d cut him off and finish a sentence when he’d explain something of his customs to you, stunning him with your knowledge. He liked it, and by association he liked you. You had bore much of your life story to him, and he gladly would’ve given you some of his. He had come to like you, to trust you even, but you never asked. For fear you wouldn’t want to hear it, he held back. You even spoke Mando’a, though he didn’t know that. It always brought a smirk to your face as he’d turn his back after calling you some sweet words in his native tongue, thinking you’d be oblivious. It shocked you at first; you didn’t expect such a stoic and silent man to be so openly flirtatious, but after a while it most certainly grew on you. You would tease him equally in another tongue, calling him handsome or dashing in Pak Pak or Bothese. It was fun, the way he’d try to guess what you were saying, usually assuming it meant something negative.

With your vast knowledge of languages, you’d both expected that you would be able to interpret the words of Mando’s adopted son, that his babbling would be easily deciphered into some species’ tongue. Eventually you realized that he wasn’t speaking a language yet, simply regurgitating syllables like any child would. He was a baby, after all. You set out to make it your mission to teach the child languages when Mando was away, and he had begun to identify the meaning of words, even if he couldn’t say them himself. He could identify body parts on himself, you by your name, and Mando by his; well, the name you called him, which you knew wasn’t his real name. Mando had taken you on as a crewmate for the Razor Crest a few months ago now, and you still knew next to nothing about the beskar-clad warrior. He was a forward man, so you assumed he would tell you things when he was ready. That’s about all you knew: he was a man, and he was a Mandalorian. He wanted to tell you everything, especially the fact that he had been enchanted by your intelligence and wit since the first time he met you, stopping on Tatooine for a bounty and encountering you when he asked a fellow villager who the most knowledgeable person around was. The tiny green thing he held was a menace, and you cared for him while the Mandalorian man went and hunted his bounty. The child was hesitant to leave you, getting attached after a quick few days of staying in your hut, and the man had decided you could be valuable. Just before he walked through the door, he turned and offered you a job. You were shy when you accepted, and had nursed a crush the whole time you two had traveled together. You couldn’t believe the situation, just like in those trashy novels you’d read when you were interested in his culture. Now that you lived with him and the tiny green thing, you stayed aboard his ship while he hunted and cared for the kid, cleaned, fixed up the piece of junk, and generally ran the almost-household. It was enjoyable; you liked the man, especially once you came to find his sense of humor similar to your own, and you absolutely adored the child in your care. Your little ragtag crew fell into a rhythm after the first month or so: Mando would leave on a hunt for a few days. While he was gone, you’d play with the baby, feed him and care for him. You washed the blood and dirt from the man’s clothing and the child’s bile from the clothing belonging to you and the baby, taught the child new words, and generally… well, raised him. The baby felt like your child when you two were alone, but when the Mandalorian came home, he was the only thing visible in that child’s round black eyes. It was all about him, sitting in his lap, babbling incoherent words to him, playing with him. Luckily for you, the Mandalorian is on a hunt. You and the child sit in the bed compartment; you lie on the mattress and the child rests in his mesh hammock above the entry. At the last port, you picked up as many books as possible to entertain both you and the child. He loved listening to your voice, and so you happily read aloud to him as you rest together. The Mandalorian should be home tonight, you figured, since he told you that this was a rather easy bounty and that it should take him no more than 3 days. It’s now a couple hours after the third day, but you’re sure it’s fine. The child’s eyes droop closed as you read to him, flawlessly translating the book from the Pak Pak it was written in. The Basic words pour from your mouth, and the little thing gives a gentle yawn before curling up with his favorite blanket and silver ball and passing out. Looking up, you laugh at the sight softly and transition to reading in your head. Not long after the kid falls asleep, you follow. It was unintentional, but reading soothes you, and the perfectly cozy bed that smells like Mando draws you in further and further until sleep washes over your body. You hug one pillow to your chest as you sleep, imagining it was the man’s body you cuddled up against. - Mando is 24 hours late. You’ve been pacing in the ship since you realized it’s officially a day later than he said he’d be back. Dammit, you’re going to find that man. You’re not unaccustomed to violence, having been in scuffles as a child and teen, fighting off Jawas or unsavory men in Tatooine cantinas. You need to track him down and find him. First, you go up to the cockpit and look at the comm watch he gave you. It has a two-way tracking device; one for him to find you, and one for you to find him. Mando has the technology to see where you are built into his vambrace. You, however, have nothing. After searching the cockpit, you find and crack open a tracking fob he used in the past. You open the back of the comm watch, finding the bit with the tracker and wire it to the fob. As you connect two wires, the fob suddenly blinks with light. Laughing at the fact that you made it work, you relax a little. Now you can track the Mandalorian man down. After slipping the fob into a pocket of your pants, you scoot back down the ladder and to the cargo hold’s back wall: Mando’s arsenal. You can do this, you tell yourself, and dare to open Mando’s personal armory built into the wall. You strap a holster to your thigh, adding a vibroblade there. A belt with two guns rests on your hips. An ammo belt drapes across your chest, settling between your breasts and pulling your black tank top tight, the back of the leather sash holding Mando’s backup pulse rifle. You take a look in the mirror of the refresher, and you have to admit that you look badass. Weapons and homemade tracker at the ready, you set out to find him. You leave the baby with a trustworthy woman at the hangar, one who has babysat him before for Mando, then enter the bustling city. - Following the blinking and beeping of the fob, you find your way to the opposite end of the city, to a building located near the outskirts. It’s run down and looks abandoned. It makes perfect sense that someone would hide here. As you approach, the beeping of the fob encourages you; the Mandalorian is definitely here. You disable the sound on the fob and slip it in your pocket, grabbing one of the blasters from your hip. As you approach, the building is silent. The roar of the city is quiet but present, and you slip through an open doorway quietly. You scan the rooms, blaster held in front of you and ready to shoot. You take inventory of the first floor and find nothing. The staircase looks terribly old, and you wince as you take your first step onto it and it makes a noise. Now or never, you tell yourself and quickly run up the steps, knowing the noise can’t be avoided, so you’d better make it quick. You reach the top of the steps, pulling out your other blaster, and find a male Twi’lek standing over a pile of silver and black on the floor. Mando. He’s most definitely unconscious, maybe even- no, he can’t be dead, you can see his slow breathing and the way it makes his body rise and fall. “Fuck,” you say out loud, and the Twi’lek turns towards you. The man is large, much larger than you. He’s overweight and dressed in combat clothes, his face battered and bloody. Your heart sinks as you realize this man is the bounty Mando was going for. You need to start thinking on your feet, and quickly. The man starts to move toward you and you hold out both blasters. “Easy there, nerra,” you tell him in Twi’leki, calling him ‘brother’ to attempt to put him at ease. It doesn’t have the effect that you hoped. “Why are you here?” he asks back, also in Twi’leki, reaching for his weapon. “Don’t draw,” you threaten and inch closer. He was a bail jumper, Mando had informed you before he left, but not for a petty charge; he had escaped in order to avoid several charges of murder. He was a former bounty hunter, who Mando had encountered once. The idea strikes you. “I’m here for him,” you say and nod to the lump of beskar behind the man on the ground. “There’s a bounty on his head. I… heard whoever turns him in gets to keep the beskar too,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. “You going for him too?” The Twi’lek man shakes his head. “No. He was coming for me. Thought he could beat me.” You seize this opportunity. “From what you look like, I don’t think anyone could. This one is worth a lot of credits. Enough to run away to a pleasure planet… twice over,” you say, inching closer. Mando makes a soft groan and it breaks your heart as he gains consciousness. He must notice you; he starts to moan out words, but you know he can’t speak or he’ll expose you both. “Silence, Mandalorian,” you say again in Basic, words holding acid. “Twice over… let’s bring him in together. Find some wonderful planet to share that bounty on…” you offer, raising an eyebrow and slowly creeping closer to the man. “What’s your name?” You ask. He tells you his and you tell him yours, then give him a seductive smile. The man’s face falls into a smirk. You put both blasters in your belt once more and his posture relaxes fully. “Sounds wonderful to me, beautiful.” “Wow. For a jaded bounty hunter, you’re more foolish than one could ever believe.” Before the man can process your words, you’ve slung the pulse rifle over your shoulder and pull it into position. You shoot a pulse and it finds its target in his chest. He groans in agony and falls backwards, directly on top of Mando. Wincing for the man beneath the hulking Twi’lek, you grab a blaster, shooting the man in each leg. “Mando, hey, it’s me,” you tell him as you roll the behemoth from on top of him. “I’m here,” you murmur. He starts mumbling back, but it’s in Mando’a. That makes sense, you suppose, that he’s reverting in such a moment of crisis. “How hurt are you?” you ask, beginning to speak Mando’a to him in hopes he’ll understand you better. Mando’s brain works through the fog, hearing your words and recognizing that it’s you. “Real bad,” he groans out, speaking his native tongue. You touch his elbow, unprotected by beskar, and he whines. “No, no,” he whimpers, sounding almost like a child. You sigh. This was going to be harder than you expected. “Fuck, how am I going to get you out of here?” The brain function that the Mandalorian has left is your saving grace. “Speeder bike. Hidden down there. We can get on.” “Yes, but how are we going to get you downstairs?” He doesn’t respond, simply groans in pain. If this was going to work without immense pain on his part, some kind of miracle was going to need to happen. “I’m going to drag you down the stairs as carefully as I can, okay? We’ll let gravity do the work. Do you have a good arm?” “The left one… so clever, so smart, pretty girl,” he breathes out, words rasping. You blush at the words but chuckle. He’s in so much pain there’s no way he can think straight now. “I’ll go get the bike, then we’ll get you down there.” This is the hard part, you think to yourself. First, you run down the steps and search for the speeder bike Mando mentioned. You find it and sigh in relief. It’s a piece of junk, but it should do. You position it at the bottom of the stairs and then run up them again. “Okay, this is going to hurt. Can you roll yourself?” “No, shoulder’s all fucked up,” he mumbles and you groan. “Well, I’ll have to drag you on the good one. Get ready.” Taking his good arm, you begin dragging him towards the steps. He groans and you wince. “I’m so sorry, you’re doing so well,” you tell him as you move him. “Here we go.” Once he’s at the top of the steps, you hold him under his armpits, blushing at how close you are. He’s so strong, even injured, and you smile softly to yourself. You lower the two of you down the stairs with careful movements and manage to hold him long enough to get him seated on the speeder bike. He leans forward onto the handles. “One moment,” you tell him. Running up the stairs once more, you shoot another pulse into the bounty. He gives a dazed nod, clearly not understanding anything through the pain he’s in. You can’t let Mando leave this man behind. You’re sure he’s unconscious, so you repeat the same movements as before but with next to no gentleness. You toss him on the back of the speeder bike, where the gunner would sit, and tie him down with ropes before covering him with a blanket. “Alright, back to the ship as quick as we possibly can,” you inform Mando and get the speeder to a door wide enough to fit it through. Once it works, you hop on between Mando and the handlebar and start it up, moving as quickly as you possibly can. Soon enough, you’re back at the hangar that holds the Razor Crest. You enter the back way, using the speeder bike entrance. You hop off quickly and park it by the Crest. “Stay right there, I’m going to get this asshole into the carbonite,” you tell Mando. His consciousness hasn’t been clear for at least a day. He didn’t even process the fact that you had grabbed the bounty. “What? You got him?” “One of us had to,” you tease, enjoying the fact that the two of you are finally conversing in his native tongue. You’ve always loved Mando’a, the way the words sound rolling off your tongue. You untie the man, still unconscious, and haul him up the ramp of the Crest. You’ve seen Mando work the carbonite freezer once or twice, and you hope you press the right buttons as you force the man onto the slab. “Come on, baby,” you murmur to the machine, hoping it’ll work. With one final button, there’s a hiss and cold air blows from it, freezing him. You sigh in relief. You return to the main hold and pop out a cot for him to lie on. Running back down the ramp, you find the dazed Mandalorian in the exact spot you left him in. “I’m going to carry you into the ship,” you tell him, grunting with effort as you lift his practically deadweight body off of the side and into a standing position. You drag him up and immediately shove him onto the cot. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you cringe as he moans in pain at the contact with the cot. “One more thing and we’ll get some bacta in you.” The owner of the hangar is waiting for you outside the ship, holding the kid, both confused by the commotion. You very quickly and hurriedly explain to her that everything is fine now, thank her and pay her a generous amount of credits, and rush back onto the ship with the baby. “Keep the speeder!” You shout behind you as you close the ramp. - A full day and a half later, the Mandalorian awakens from a deep slumber with a pounding headache. He sits with a jolt, which only makes the headache worse. He looks around to find that he’s in the Razor Crest, the familiar hum indicating that he’s in hyperspace. The events of the past few days begin to manifest in his memory and he groans, lying back down on the cot. You climb down from the cockpit as you hear him stirring and find him on his side. “Good morning,” you say softly as you sit on the edge of his cot, the kid in your arm. You set the child down and he toddles off elsewhere. “You were out for a good day and a half,” you tell him and stroke his side softly. “How do you feel?” “Like shit,” he groans, rolling to his back again. He’s hyper aware of your touch, the way your fingers drag down his- oh shit, he’s shirtless, armorless- skin, avoiding the bruises. “You… thank you,” he says, gravelly voice soft. It sinks in that he’s wearing just a pair of shorts and his helmet. You must’ve undressed him, cleaned and bandaged his wounds. His breath catches in his throat. You nod and stroke his good arm. “Of course. That’s why you brought me on, isn’t it?” you tease. He chuckles, but it’s clear that takes effort. “Really, thank you. And you got the bounty too! Shit, mesh’la, I-” he says as he starts to sit, but you push him back down with a hand to his chest, caressing the side of his beskar helmet. “Nayc, stay down,” you tell him, chuckling softly. “Rest. I’ll bring you some water and go back up to the cockpit so you can take off the helmet,” you say with a soft smile, standing and going to where you keep the food and water bottles. As you move, he mulls over the events that led him here. He got knocked down and beat by the man that was supposed to be his bounty. That never happened. You came to rescue him and- wait. You just told him no, nayc, in Mando’a. In fact, you were speaking Mando’a to him the whole time you rescued him, reassuring him and directing him in his native tongue, which he had no idea you spoke until just now. You return with a nutrient bar and water bottle, setting them next to his side on the cot. “I’ll head back up-” you start to say, but he stops you by grabbing his wrist. “You speak Mando’a,” he says simply, looking up at you with wonder behind his mask. “Yeah,” you chuckle and admit, face flushing with warmth. His is equally heating beneath the beskar. He sits up slightly but instead you come to his level, sitting on the edge of the cot and pushing him down with a firm palm to his chest. He chuckles softly. “So you’ve understood me every time I’ve called you beautiful,” he says, a tinge of shyness in his modulated voice. Nodding, you tuck a stray hair back from your face. “I… yes, I have,” you nod, giving him an awkward smile. “I hear you talk in Mando'a in your sleep too, sometimes.” Even his chest is flushing with warmth now. You look away, at a corner of the ship “You talk about your life. People from your past.” The silence hangs between the two of you, your hand still resting in the center of his chest. You slowly drag it to his good shoulder, and down his arm. He clasps your hand in his when it reaches his fingertips. “Have you heard the name Din?” He asks in his native tongue, and you shake your head softly, truthfully. It never came out. “That’s… my name. Din, Din Djarin,” he admits to you, hand squeezing yours softly. You gasp softly, not expecting that information from him. A smile settles on your face after a moment. “Well then. Hello, Din.” You lean down and press your forehead to where his lies beneath the metal. A keldabe kiss, you know, the most intimate gesture a Mandalorian can do. It truly melts his heart, the organ pumping frantically in his chest. “Hello to you too, gorgeous. Wait,” he stops and pushes your face from his, gently. He returns to speaking Basic with a chuckle. “How many languages do you speak?” You look upwards, mentally counting. “Uh. 8 and a half. I’m still not finished with Ubese,” you say and turn back to face him, a shy smile gracing your face. “Wow. You’re a mirdal’ika,” he tells you, the smile evident in his voice even though you can’t see it through the mask. Separately, the syllables make sense. You understand the direct translation, but it’s odd, and you cock your head to the side as you look down at the Mandalorian- no, Din. “Little clever one?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Yes, well, that’s the direct translation. It’s really more of a slang term.” “For?” “In Basic… I believe the equivalent would be… nerd.” “Din!” You squeal and laugh, smacking his good shoulder lightly with a backhand. “Excuse me, that’s rude,” you chuckle, the smile growing even wider on your face as you look down at him. He doesn’t respond for a moment and you give a soft sigh. “Well, you need to drink that water. I’ll head back up to the cockpit,” you tell him, really meaning to leave this time, the smile falling. Once again, as you stand and try to move, he grabs your arm. “I… I think I’m going to need help with that,” he admits, almost ashamed. “Please. Stay.” You nod, but then realize what it implicates. “No, Din,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t do that to you, you and that helmet, it’s… it’s your everything, I couldn’t possibly-” “Please, cyare,” he asks in his native tongue again, and your heart melts. “I want you to see me. I need you to see me.” Heart pounding, you take a beat before you respond with a nod. You sit down once more, hands slowly tracing up his sides, then his chest and up to the base of his helmet. “You’re sure. Positive,” you ask. “Of course I am.” With a nod, you allow him to bring his hand to the side to unlatch the lock. Once it releases, he lifts his head just above the pillow and you slide off his helmet, catching the back of his head with one hand and easing it back down to the pillow. You make sure the helmet rests on the floor before you finally look at him. He’s gorgeous, truly. His tanned skin, which you saw when cleaning his wounds, is covered with dark stubble and a mustache on the lower half of his face, broken by two plush lips. Your fingertips trace his jawline as you take in his softly hooked nose, his dark eyebrows, his dark and messy hair, but most importantly, his eyes. His eyes are a beautiful chocolate brown, set gently into his face and looking at you like you’re a shimmering supernova, no, something even more beautiful. For a moment, you get caught up staring at him. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Din,” you mumble in Mando’a. He just gives a soft smile and murmurs his thanks. After you finish staring, you shake your head quickly. “Sorry, the water,” you chuckle nervously, turning to grab it from your other side. Din’s hand catches the side of your face. “The water is a secondary need,” he says softly in Mando’a, turning your face back to his. “I took this off for something else.” His eyes hold a question as he looks up at you. You bite your lip for a moment before breaking into a smile and nodding. The Mandalorian pulls your face down to his, and, ever so gently, your lips finally meet, real and warm and absolutely delicious. You sigh softly, putting a hand on the side of his face too. His lips are softer than you’d expected, while yours are just as beautiful as he dreamed about at night. You both continue for a moment, his hand drifting to your neck, completely lost in each other. A moment later, you pull back and giggle. “I have to admit something, Din,” you tell him and lovingly stroke the side of his face. “It better not be that you’re secretly engaged,” he asks teasingly, a soft smile on his face and raising an eyebrow at you. “No,” you laugh and run your hand through his curls, carding your fingers between the surprisingly soft locks. “That…” you gulp and look away before looking back at him. “Was my first kiss,” you admit and bite down on your bottom lip. He laughs softly but there’s love in his eyes. “A girl as beautiful as you never dated when you were younger? Never went out and flirted with her classmates?” You shake your head. “I was generally too busy at home, reading or teaching myself the language of the man who’d eventually be my first kiss.” You both laugh at that and you grin. His hand rests on the side of your face, gently sweeping his thumb across the skin beneath his fingers. “Of course you were. My little mirdal’ika,” he laughs, bringing your face to his to kiss you once more.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #baby yoda #the mandalorian fanfiction #grogu #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #din and grogu #mando x reader #mando

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

Text

Darker Shadows

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Azriel

Rating: PG-11/T-

Original Idea: Nothing in particular. Finished the first 4 books. Dunno if I can stand Nesta long enough to read ACOSF, so I wrote this with no information from ACOSF. Have fun.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Whaaaaa...? I break my ongoing hiatus for this? Yep. I did. I hope a few more one-shots join this one, but I am making no promises. This one just came to me for about an hour so surprise! Happy August.

^^^^^

“Darker Shadows”

Azriel said nothing as he slipped through the door to our apartment, quiet and soft as the shadows surrounding him. I watched from the sitting room adjacent to the foyer. He must have known I was there—the shadows must have informed him—but he didn’t so much as look at me. Just rested his forehead on the door and sighed.

“Long day?” I asked.

He blinked his eyes open and turned. “Incredibly,” he replied.

I patted the sofa next to me, indicating he come sit.

Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow more numerous around him as he crossed to me. I realized why as his leathers thumped to the floor in his wake, leaving him in a light undershirt and undershorts.

No matter how long we lived together, he was always so modest.

Part of me wondered if it was more insecurity than modesty; but I would never invade his privacy that much to ask. He’d tell me when he was comfortable.

He hit the sofa cushion next to me hard. His wings barely missed getting caught behind him. Ever the precise, too. One arm and one wing wrapped over my shoulders. He was warm, even if his underclothes were cold from his sweat. I snuggled into his side. We both stared at the fire for a while.

“Did you eat up at the House?” I asked.

The shadows shrouding him retreated a little, going back to their usual shades. He glanced at me with those sharp hazel eyes before returning his gaze to the fire. “Yes. Rhys and Feyre were hosting a dinner for the Palace governors. A private celebration of rebuilding the city so quickly before the grand, public celebration in three days.”

I snorted. “Bet they loved that,” I said sarcastically. Among the family, it was well-known that Rhys and Feyre both hated formal parties and dinners with a fiery passion.

A glimmer of amusement joined the reflection of the flames in Azriel’s eyes. “Oh, they slipped out an hour in. I heard them in the library… having fun amongst the stacks. I left them to it and didn’t interrupt.”

I couldn’t stop the laughter that burst from my throat, but clamped it down hard to not disturb the neighbors.

Azriel held me tighter. “Would have been more enjoyable if you were there,” he said. His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t actually want to admit it.

Reaching up, I cupped the side of his face. “Sorry I couldn’t go. I’d have liked to have been there.” I gestured to my wrapped leg. “I just don’t think I could handle a party today. If Rhysand had decided to host it three days from now with the rest of the celebrations, I would have been able to make it.” I made a face. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

I reached around his wing to the end table, picking up my glass and handing it to him. He downed the rest and handed it back to me. I chuckled and set the glass on the coffee table instead.

After shuddering at the freezing chill of the water from my glass, Azriel turned to me. “How’s the pain?”

I shrugged. “Better than it was,” I said.

“At least you’re healing quickly.”

“Mmhmm.”

“How did you spend your night?”

I waved a vague hand to the small pile of books on the coffee table. “Just decided to read a little.”

“A little?” Azriel quoted. “You read five novels in four hours.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t finish them all. When I got bored I’d switch between them.”

“None of them holding your attention?”

“Not like they used to. Not since—”

The War with Hybern. Azriel knew. We all broke in some way over the course of it. I hadn’t had the attention span I used to since.

Azriel smiled at me. “Bathe, then bed?”

“Sounds great,” I replied.

He scooped me into his lap and stood up. I yelped at the sensation. My bad leg dangled looser than my good leg. My yelp earned me a twitched smile from my spymaster.

He carried me into the bathing room and sat me on the edge of the tub before turning it on. As it began to warm up and fill, he helped me unwrap my splint and undress. I returned the favor as best I could.

We bathed quickly and then got in our sleep clothes after drying off. After carrying me to bed, Azriel poked the point of my ear. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

I smiled, never able to contain my affection. “Sleep well,” I replied.

He doused the faelights and climbed under the covers.

We snuggled against each other. One of his wings draped over the both of us, keeping us warmer than the covers could. That warmth, his scent… it helped lull me to sleep. I could fall fast asleep on stone if Azriel was beside me.

—

Azriel watched his own scarred hand brush her nightshirt away from the skin of her back, revealing two sharp scars and an elaborate tattoo. Another rare Illyrian/High Fae hybrid, she’d been born with wings. Unlike Rhys, who could summon and desummon his wings at will, hers had been permanent.

Until her High Fae mother ordered her wings removed when she was still a child. Barely more than a toddler.

Azriel hadn’t met her until Rhys disappeared Under the Mountain. She’d been fifty-seven-years-old at the time. He’d seen her in the Rainbow, in one of the pottery studios, on a hot summer day. Her clothing revealed her back. The deep, disgustingly neat scars that made it clear how her wings had been taken from her, and the deep blue-black ink covering most of the exposed skin. She’d told him once she got it to both hide and show off the scars. When he’d asked why, she’d simply replied, “I’m stronger than the people who tried to hurt me.”

She hadn’t told him it was her mother—who’d wanted her to be a normal High Fae—for another decade.

He hadn’t been in love with her at the time. But during those fifty years everyone was stuck in Velaris, they became good friends. Azriel found her company much more peaceful than the other members of the Inner Circle. He loved them all—his family—but there was no harm, or shame, in being around someone who was quiet.

Then, a human girl broke Tamlin’s curse and Amarantha was dead. The High Lords and the members of their courts were released from Under the Mountain. And Rhys came home. And Azriel was both busier and freer than ever to spend time with his new friend.

He’d been so quietly pining for Morrigan for so long that, at first, he hadn’t realized the subject of his affections had changed.

During that final battle, when Prythian’s forces were spread so thin and even every reinforcement that came didn’t seem to make a dent… she’d taken a hit. A bad slash across the lower back.

And Azriel had seen red. His powers had already been mostly used up, his Siphons dim, and his wings badly injured.

But he’d gone to rescue her anyway.

His wings had screamed at him the entire flight back to a healer’s tent and then back to the battle. But during those moments, as she bled in his arms, he knew his feelings had transcended just friendship. “If we get out of this alive,” he’d said, “I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

She’d hummed, her side vibrating against his torso. “Mmm… dinner sounds nice. Afterwards, I can buy dessert.”

“We’ll see,” Azriel had said, smiling.

After they’d both healed and returned to Velaris, they’d done just that.

They’d been together ever since.

Azriel smiled at the memories.

—

“You’re staring,” I said quietly. His staring and touching had woken me.

“You’re incredible,” Azriel replied. “Have I told you that?”

“Today? No. This week? Many times.”

A soft chuckle. “So long as you know it.”

I rolled over so I was facing him. With his wing bent over both of us, I felt like I was in a sheet fort.

His eyes harbored a small glint in the half-light. I stared at him. “What is it?” His question was gentle.

I shrugged, feeling my scars pulling on my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said.

“Charmer,” I teased.

That earned me a chuckle. Though his smile dropped after a moment. “Does it bother you?” He asked.

“What?”

“That you can’t fly?”

My humor disappeared. The phantom wings I still felt sometimes shivered in the back of my mind. “Sort of,” I replied. “I’d only barely taught myself how when Mother forced me to get them removed. It’s hard to miss what I didn’t really know. But I remember the wind over my scalp. My entire body fighting desperately to keep me aloft. I loved it. But now… now I get to fly with you and remember what it felt like. It’s not quite the same, but it’s enough for me.”

Azriel kissed my forehead. “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

“It’s okay. Any extra time I get to spend with you is worth it,” I replied with a smile.

#Azriel Shadowsinger #Azriel #Azriel Imagine #Azriel FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #Darker Shadows

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aceopmari · 3 years

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If the Straw Hats Had a Reality Show Dedicated to Pirates Headcanon! Ft: Law!

With how infamous the pirate crew gotten, it was only natural that they were soon granted the rights to have their own reality show, like other famous pirates in the Grand Line and the New World.

Get ready for Keeping Up with the Straw Hats!

Luffy: Whether it was his strength, or his childlike innocence, Luffy was a fan favorite!

He often ignored the producers suggestions to make the show more interesting.

Luffy didn’t like when the producers told him to punch a random person on the street when they were visiting an island.

Was not getting paid, as he owed the producers over 10,000 berris for punching the camera one time in anger, when the director attempted to take his meat away. The director was only making a suggestion for a much healthier diet for the star of the show.

Luffy also skipped out on a lot of confessional sessions. Mainly because he really didn’t have much to hide to begin with. But if he did go, it was mainly to either show appreciation for his crew or to make public declarations:

“Sanji’s cooking the BEST!”

“Do we get free meat with this show?”

“I’m going to kick Mingo’s ass!”

Zoro: The viewers found Zoro amusing! Whether it be him constantly getting lost, or his heated arguments with Sanji. The producers would rush over to him, cameras and all whenever they caught the two together.

Zoro was surprisingly popular with female viewers. They enjoyed watching him sweat whenever he would work out in the crows nest.

Zoro didn’t care about the show really. Just as long as he gets to work out, drink booze, and sleep, he’s good.

The producers always looked forward to his confessionals after he fights with Sanji:

“That damn shitty cook! Just who the hell does he think he is?!”

“That curly brow dumbass is gonna get himself killed one of these days!”

Sanji: Was angry that Zoro was racking in more views from the female viewers than he was!

Why him?! Why not me?!

He kicked the camera man straight in the chin when he told him that Zoro was naturally more popular than he was.

Sanji desperately tried to win over the female viewers by showing off his fighting skills or his culinary expertise.

He was excited when he finally got some fan mail from the fans!

It turned out to be from the okamas though…

If Sanji went to the confessionals, it was usually to cry about why women weren’t interested in him…or to talk shit about Zoro:

“Just what does he have that I don’t on this show?”

“Why aren’t all the beautiful ladies watching me?”

Little did Sanji know, he caught the eyes of Violet and Pudding.

Nami: An absolute slut for the camera! The producers LOVED her!

One couldn’t tell who was using who more. All that mattered was what would bring them more views and more money.

Whenever it was filming time, Nami would purposely wear a bikini without the jeans to draw in the male viewing audience.

Add the extra seductive act she would put on, and nosebleeds would cover millions of transponder snail television screens.

Loved to give tours of the Sunny and show off her designer clothes.

Would parade around the islands, using Momonosuke as an accessory to manipulate the fans into loving her more.

Nami LOVED to take advantage of the fanbase, often subtly asking for gifts mainly money through the fan mail she receives. Next to Robin, she had the most.

Nami became very vain and strict with the crew on how to present themselves for the camera and had to keep members like Luffy in check to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid to cause the show to be cancelled. But just in case, as a backup, she could always start an Only Fans.

One might say that the fame and fortune was getting to her head, as she would purposely start up drama whenever she was out on an island. Would probably steal from a city mayor if it meant she could get the fans taking for weeks.

Whenever she was in the confessionals, it was mainly to complain about Luffy’s or Zoro’s antics.

Would probably shit talk about Robin, although faking it the whole time, to get some drama started:

“Honestly! I wish Luffy would just use some common sense for once!”

“Robin thinks she’s all that! But everyone knows, I’m the prettiest girl on the show!”

“I’ll let you film me in the bath. It’ll cost you 1 million beri!”

Franky: Loved the camera! One sided on the producers part since they didn’t enjoy Franky’s sense of…ahem…style.

He would dance, be loud, or show off his cool body.

If he was in the confessional room, it was to complain openly to the producers on why they did him dirty.

“Hey! I saw last weeks episode! Why did you cut my scene out, bro?!”

Ussop: Although not nearly as popular as Nami, Ussop was interesting enough to get some viewers watching the show, even unintentionally.

Ussop used the show to make himself seem cooler, mainly through the confessionals.

The lies he told caught the attention of viewers worldwide, though very few could sees past his lies.

The producers didn’t care, so long as there were viewers.

“Yes it was I! The Great Captain Ussop who defeated CP9!”

“Wait wait! Cut that out! Cut that scene out! I meant SniperKing!”

Chopper: The Worlds Favorite Cutie Pie!

Choppers looks alone were enough to win the hearts of viewers! Mostly the female reindeer mink.

Combine that with his child like innocence and he’s instantly a popular household name!

On top of that he already has many sponsorships from multiple sweet brands. (Mainly cotton candy ones.)

Choppers pretty shy on camera and often does his usual dance when he’s nervous. The audience eats it up.

He doesn’t gossip. When it comes to confessionals, he’s usually talking about Zoro’s recklessness when it comes to bandages, or Sanji’s nose bleeding habits.

Jimbei: Not particular interested in TV or fame, but used being on TV to his advantage to spread his word and try stop discrimination against fishmen.

The producers found him boring and didn’t look forward to filming him, especially at confessionals…but at the very least, he was able to bring in views due to his former status as a warlord.

Robin: Had many admirers! She enjoyed being on the show. Often is seen on screen on a lavish shopping trip with Nami.

She does her part to make the show more interesting, whether it is be her dark sense of humor or putting her devil fruit powers to good use.

She once used it on a producer when he asked her to do something suggestive for views. After that, the producers never messed with her again, out of fear for their lives.

Not much for confessionals though, except when she’s expressing how amused she is at Luffy’s antics.

She may appeared to be calm and quiet but you better believe that the rumors she would stir up, would get the people talking!

Piers Morgans was having a field day with the headlines:

“Did Cat Burgler Nami Get Breast Implants?!”

“Roronoa Zoro: Honorable Swordsmen or Man Thot?! Gets Caught Sleeping with Wano’s Most Beautiful Woman!”

“Is Monkey D Luffy, Secretly Seeing His Crewmates Sister From the Germa Kingdom?!”

Brook: Fans loved seeing Soul King on screen. In some episodes he’s either playing music or he’s attempting a panty raid in Nani’s room. Which often results in him getting beat up by her every time.

Anything he says in the confessional‘s ends up with his signature laugh.

Law: Made a special guest appearance since starting hiw alliance with Luffy.

You can imagine his look of surprise, when the crew showed up on Punk Hazard with a camera crew and all.

He wasn’t at all interested in being on TV. His famous “I hate bread” made him an instant fan favorite. And meme along the fanbase.

He didn’t like that…

Law hated being followed around by the camera crew on the Thousand Sunny or when he simply just wanted peace. He frequently scolded the producers to stop or told Luffy to call off the cameras, but neither listened.

He only wanted to discuss the alliance plans in private with the crew and didn’t want the producers to catch any of it for the world to see.

As time went on, and Law was getting sucked into the Straw Hat shenanigans. He found himself wandering into the confessional where he would frequently complain about the crew. Mainly the captain.

“Mugiwara-ya will be the death of me…”

“Rorona-ya has no sense of direction…”

“How has the crew survived this long? They don’t ever strategize when it comes to making a plan!”

Viewer Reactions:

Sabo: Enjoys watching his little brother on screen, and always has a good laugh. Koala would often scold him for abandoning his duties to go watch the show.

Hancock: Would briefly abandon her duties as Pirate Empress for the whole day if it meant, she could watch Luffy on screen.

Took up most of his fan mail, and gifts that had meat.

Hancock would be envious of Nami and Robin on her screen, wishing she was their with Luffy.

Mihawk: Reality shows weren’t his usual choice of television entertainment, but he did watch, soley to watch over Zoro’s progress as a swordsmen. He would lie if Perona asked him if he found what he saw the slightest bit amusing.

Ace: He got a kick out watching his little brother on screen. Often laughing at Luffy’s antics. He saw that Luffy’s crew was slowly riding in more views on the reality show The WhiteBeard Pirates had. Ace wasn’t too worried but he knew he had to step it up.

Shanks: Often shaking his head and smiling in amusement at the sight of Luffy on screen. Would sometimes watch the show with Ace as the two spoke fondly of him.

Big Mom: Was furious that Luffy was racking in more views than her crew combined. Everyone used to love Big Mom’s wedding cake special episodes.

“MUGIWARAAAAA!” *Smashes TV*

Garp: Nearly choked on his crackers at the sight of his crazy grandson invading his screen.

“LUFFY NOOOOOO!”

Smoker: If any marine soldier was caught watching, Keeping Up with the Straw Hats, you better believe that he’ll would be raised at HQ. in secret though, he would watch it. Not for entertainment, but more so to study the Straw Hats moves.

Buggy: Screeching out in jealously seeing Straw Hat Luffy was popular enough to be given his own show and not him.

Kid: Was sitting at a bar one night and spat out his drink in anger at the sight of Straw Hat on his screen.

Nearly popped a blood vessel when he saw Law on screen.

“The hell?! Even Trafalgar?! How come those bastards get their own show?!”

Killer remained silent. He knew the reason why the Kid Pirates never picked up the rights to a pirate reality show was because of how scary Kid was.

Dragon: Used the show as a way to keep up with his son. Although in secret, since he didn’t want his army to notice.

Germa 66: Mixed reactions.

“That’s no son of mine.” Judge would say.

Reiju giggled at the sight of the screen. After a mission, she would look forward to watching the show to see her brother.

Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji expressed annoyance and criticized Sanji. Although would never admit that they were each jealous that Sanji got to be on a reality show instead of the Germa Kingdom itself.

Yamato: Wants to be on the show. Not for the fame, but mainly to spread the word and tell the world what a horrible father, Kaido is and spread Oden’s legacy to the world.

#one piece imagines #one piece headcanons #one piece headcanon #one piece masterlist #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #luffy x reader #one piece scenario #sabo x reader #ace x reader #straw hats #trafalgar law #law x reader #big mom #smoker x reader

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taeyohonic · 4 years

Text

the trophy wife (m)

summary: the proposal doesn’t go as planned (established relationship, idol au, fluff and angst) pairing: min yoongi x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) warnings (containing spoilers): swearing, robbery, pandemic, vomit, description of injuries and blood (very abstract), mentions of depression, insomina and periods, a hella lot ugly crying info: when i tell you that this is a super-duper fluffy piece, i’m not lying! it was 99% sweetness, so i added a little... angst (but like... only 10%) related work: the stalker | baby, what’s wrong? | favoritism (m) | the trophy wife words: 5.7k

“would you still love me if i became your trophy wife?”

yoongi snorts into his iphone, your grimace too adorable to be taken seriously.

“how bad are these papers?”, he asks. jungkook next to him is stealing curious glances at his hyung’s screen. to hear your voice so distressed makes him worry. you’re the best thing that ever happened to his member – your well-being comes right after his need for homemade kimchi.

“how… can they not know which products contain dairy? how yoongs?”, you vent eyeing the ungraded test in front of you.

“i ate… so much yogurt. the whole class did. we tested so much dairy products… like… so much. we drank all of the banana milk… how can they get this wrong?”, you continue. unbeknown to you, the maknae is now furrowing his brows at your words. wait a minute…

“noona, did you steal my banana milk last week?”, jungkook questions and moves closer to yoongi. before you can hide you see his big eyes joining your boyfriend on the screen.

“wow, jungkookie – your undercut looks so good. damn!”, you say. it’s not a total deflection; he does look extremely handsome after his haircut.

“noona, i thought i sleepwalked”, he whines, not caring for your compliment… right now.

“taehyung even made a meme out of it”, he complaints and you have the audacity to coo at him. yoongi tries to hide his smile, but he can see his reflection grinning on the screen.

“it was oppa’s idea!”

and now his smile freezes as jungkook moves his accusing glare to him. you don’t usually call yoongi by this name. and he’d be all too happy to shut you up in your shared bedroom. but now he and the boys are in the outskirts of seoul to film the newest music video, far away from you and your treacherous mouth.

“hyung?”, jungkook asks with the voice of a cheated wife ready to sign the divorce papers.

“it’s for the kids, maknae”, your boyfriend defends himself to which jungkook only huffs in irritation.

“there was a time when i was the kid – what happened? am i not cute enough anymore? noona? am i not the most adorable?”

his deer eyes stare at you – big, brown and full. you can’t help but to take a screenshot of these two – your rapper visibly done with his member and jungkook in the middle of a banana milk breakdown. you’ll have to frame this picture.

“you’re the most adorable thing there is, jungkookie”, you reassure him. yoongi just snorts when he sees the faintest flush on his bandmate’s face.

“that’s enough praise for him, baby. save it for your students.” there is no humor in the smile you send him. after a beat of silence in which you burry all your frustration deep inside the pits of your stomach, you try to change the subject.

“how is nature?” they’ve been in the woods for weeks, completely closed off from all the city drama. you’ve never seen jimin so excited to drive – while namjoon’s sour face reflected how much the latest failed drivers test bothered him.

“jin-hyung nearly died in the water today. it was epic”, your friend instead of your boyfriend answers and you have to shift a giggle at yoongi’s eyeroll.

“be gone, maknae”

rudely blunt – just how you liked your partner. jungkook just winks at you in a silent goodbye and gets up. he’s nearly out of the picture before his upper body shoves against the rapper. his nose is way too close to the screen and you’d be worried about his eyes – if you didn’t know how often the singer spends his nights in front of his computer.

“noona, you’ll replace the milk, right?”

“jungkook”, yoongi growls in responds. the boy is not acknowledging his colleague, so you give in and nod.

“of course, kookie. it’s already waiting in the fridge for you to come back”, you tell him. as soon as these words leave your mouth, the maknae is satisfied and gone.

“you don’t have to baby him that much, ____”, yoongi says while moving the phone closer to his face. you can see the dark circles under his eyes better now.

“what’s keeping you up at night, yoongs?”, you ask instead of answering his complaint. the rapper smiles faintly at the screen.

“you, baby, always you” yu snort and let yourself lie down on the couch – the papers can wait another day, or a lifetime.

“i wish”, you say truthfully. you’d sell one of your kidneys to relax with the boys far away from the pandemic madness. after having yoongi to yourself for two weeks non-stop, you are way too spoiled. even though your legs are deeply grateful for this recovery time, you miss the constant calm radiating off of your boyfriend.

“i’ll be back soon, baby”, he reassures you and draws lines across the screen. your cheeks look colorless and it worries him just as much as his lack of sleep bothers you.

“make it sooner”, you mutter and close your eyes when you hear his chuckle in responds.

“have you had dinner yet?”, yoongi asks but you don’t want to open your eyes, not ready to face his criticism.

“nah, i’ll wait till sungho gets here.” you don’t need your eyesight to feel his disapproval.

“that’s not very socially distance of you, ____.” yeah, no baby anymore. still, you remain shut off.

“he’s just a friend. one friend. one work friend. one work friend that needs help with the new school cloud. the online grading program is a pain in the ass.”

“and why do you have to do that at six on a friday night in our home?”, yoongi notices the tiniest of smiles on your lips as he mentions your shared home. he, too, loves your little flat with a pandora of memories.

“because i am a loner and don’t have anything better planed for the weekend and my boyfriend is camping in the woods and oh – there is a global pandemic”, you snort and open your eyes to watch your boyfriend’s tensed expression.

“if you’re a loner – what am i then? a stone?”, yoongi asks sarcastically.

“maybe a boulder”, you shoot back with a soft smile that melts his jealousy away… nearly.

“just… don’t let him touch my stuff”, yoongi orders. he’d trade his own maknae to be the one at the other side of your door when he hears a distant knocking sound.

“that’ll be him, yoongs”, you say and move off the couch with as much dignity as one can muster after a whole work week and no motivation left in the bones.

“promise to call me back when you’re in bed?”, your boyfriend pleads, reluctant to let you go. with him going on world tours this phone conversation isn’t your first and it won’t be the last. still, his small request fills you with yearning.

“of course”, you promise, eyes still on him as you open the door without a second thought.

a fist connects with your skull while your eyes widen at the sight of two ski-masked men. the pain is instantly blinding your senses and you start to scream with tears clouding your vision. you fall to the floor before they push their way inside your home. one of them, muscle clad with wide shoulders kicks you in the stomach just to move you out of their way. the other, smaller in statue, crushes your phone with his shoe, the cracked screen frozen with your boyfriend starring at you in horror.

namjoon will never forget the bone chilling scream waking him this evening from his nap. he’s never heard yoongi’s voice filled to the brim with pain. not even registering his movements, he tumbles into the living room where is friend is still yelling your name, his face a mask of panic.

“hyung, what’s wrong?”, namjoon asks as footsteps behind him signal the arrival of his bandmates.

yoongi’s hands shake as his eyes stay fixed on the screen of his form. the leader moves first, not able to watch his friend losing himself. when joon steps behind yoongi’s figure to calm him down, a cold shower travels through his body. the screen shows you lying on the floor with red dripping from your mouth. your eyes are closed, but namjoon notices the uneven rise and fall of your chest – you’re breathing.

“jin, call the police”, the leader orders without turning around. his hands try to pry the phone out of yoongi’s fingers, but they are white with pressure and unforgiving. his lungs are still screaming and namjoon’s heart breaks at the scene.

“hyung, - just… calm down”, he says, not quite believing in his own words. he wouldn’t calm down either in yoongi’s position.

“what am i reporting?”, seokjin asks, close enough that the question answers itself as soon as he peaks over yoongi’s shoulder.

“i’d like to report a break-in – there is a person, hurt. the address is-“

yoongi can’t hear his oldest colleague, the voice drowned by his worry for you. at first, he doesn’t register namjoon’s chest pressing behind his back, but then his body shudders when the fellow rapper hugs him from behind.

“hyung, we – sh – it’s gonna be okay. it’ll be okay, she’s okay… we… you have to calm down, yoongi”, namjoon sooths his friend of ten years and rocks them both from side to side.

“taehyung, call the building manager – there should be security in the foyer”, seokjin commands the young man who watches the scene in front of him passively. as soon as he hears his name though, the singer moves to grab his iphone with shaky fingers.

“look, hyung, she’s awake”, joon points out and yoongi shakes his head to move these stupid tears out of his vision. indeed, your eyes are open as you try to even your breathing. it looks like you are crying as well and yoongi has never felt this kind of searing pain before. to see the love of his life in tears and burglars destroying your home while he is in the middle of fucking nowhere, makes him sick. when he sees you trying to get up, only to drop back onto the floor, his stomach turns. yoongi vomits onto his lap and namjoon has to hold his friend upright as he loses consciousness.

you’ve never been this glad for the heavy painkillers your boyfriend has tugged away in the bathroom due to his immense shoulder problems. the icepack pressed to your forehead cools for body down; still, you are shaking with adrenaline as you watch the security guard pace in front of you.

“yes, sir, yes – no, of course sir, negative sir”, he looks at your shaking form and grimaces before answering. “minor injuries”, the guard holds his phone further away when his caller answers a few decibels too loud.

“the paramedics are on their way”, he responds, not daring to look you directly in the eye. after another game of “yes and no”, the security ends his call.

“how are you, ma’am?”, the man in uniform asks, but remains standing a few feet away. when he first got here after receiving a hectic message from his boss, you were crying on the floor – alone. his colleague is already checking the floors, while another is combing through the surveillance footage. it’s been five minutes and you still look like a ghost.

his instructions were crystal clear – don’t touch the subject. but his heart clenches when he sees your trembling form trying to calm yourself down.

before you can answer him, two paramedics arrive through the door. they zero in on the blood drying across your forehead. their hands press gently against your skin and ask you questions you try to answer. soon, they move you to a standing position, with your head wound dressed and your vitals checked.

“we’ll take you to the hospital, ma’am”, the older woman explains. with a few steps you are at the door – there, right on the threshold where your nightmare began half an hour ago, stands sungho, chinese take-out and laptop in hand. your fellow teacher looks at you with widened eyes.

“_____ - what the hell?”, he curses and nearly drops his food when you smile at him – your teeth unbeknown to you still tinted red.

“are you her partner?”, the paramedic asks.

“just a friend”, he answers, not letting you out of his sight.

“we have to get her to the hospital – will you accompany us?”, the medic questions and sungho nods. your little crowd moves to the elevator and the security guard closes your door with a soft click. the police will be here soon, he thinks as he watches your beaten figure step onto the elevator.

“this cannot be the way to do this, ___”, sungho exclaims while you are staring at the iv-drip connected to your arm in distress. you hate needles.

the hospital’s v.i.p room is normally reserved for celebrities, but they made an exception for you, the girlfriend of min yoongi. sejin’s hunched form outside the room might have played a role in that. bangtan’s manager arrived half an hour ago, worried and disheveled. his posture calmed when the doctors reassured him, you’d be okay. now, he’s waiting for seven idols in various stages of panic to arrive.

“it’s the way this works – just… do as i say, okay?”, you huff. there is a part of you not willing to let the last hours crash into you; not without your partner here. so, you’ve spent the last sixty minutes showing him how to use your new school cloud – the easy way, not the right one.

“but the course still doesn’t show in my settings”, he whines, and you roll your eyes while pushing cold pad thai in your mouth. the rich flavor appeases your hungry stomach and you swallow the take-out down in one breathe. songho is a godsend for bringing the ordered food with him to the hospital. it’s a much-needed distraction from the horror of your cracked rib and light concussion.

“you have to set the course to ‘official’ – it’s still private”, you explain with another mouthful of oily noodles slurring your speech.

sungho’s brows furrow in concentration when you hear heavy footsteps in the hall. the boys are there – and they are not slowing down.

before sejin can even try to greet the idols, yoongi pushes through the door – all six of them only a breath behind.

the second you see him, the tears start without your consent. yoongi looks crazy – his eyes gleam with insanity – as he sucks in the hospital air through his mask.

you’re here. you’re alive. you’re safe. you’re here. he’s here. you are both here. his thoughts are running in circles – not ready to slow down, not ready to expand.

your boyfriend resembles a statue; just standing in front of the hospital bed. his face screams for help and it breaks you as the first cry leaves your throat. in a flash yoongi is moving to you, bumping into a shocked sungho. his finger brush against your wet cheeks like you’d break under his touch, while your body collapses.

“baby”, he whispers – the first word his members have heard since he regained consciousness.

“yoongs”, you answer and throw your arms around his neck. the smell of vomit and sweat makes your nose crunch up, but your boyfriend hugs it all away. his forearms rest on each side of your head – supporting his weight – as he lets you hold on to him, the boyfriend who was playing idol life in the woods instead of being at home with his girlfriend. even through his mask he can breathe in your unique smell, clouded by disinfectant.

“noona”, the youngest whimpers from the doorway. jungkook is silently crying, his mask discolored from the tears. every member looks at you with sorrow, the younger ones visibly not as professional at keeping their emotions together. namjoon looks like he’s aged a decade, but there is a small smile pressing his eyes together behind his mask. you try to reciprocate his smile, but yoongi’s head his pressing against your cheeks with vigor.

“why don’t we give them some space?”, sejin says to which your coworker nods instantly. he’s your friend for sure – but this is a level of intimacy he’s not willing to share with you.

the members need more convincing as hoseok tries to gently pull jungkook back. the maknae vehemently shakes his head, not ready to leave you and yoongi alone.

“we’ll wait right outside, kookie”, seokjin coax him out of the room. he’s still reluctant so go, but jimin’s small body pushes against his back. soon, namjoon closes the door, leaving you alone.

your tears won’t stop and you try to move closer to your boyfriend – you want to feel him all around you. without words yoongi understands your need and presses his body down on yours. there is a sharp pain when his stomach meets your fractured rib.

“ah”, you breathe, hurting. yoongi extracts himself from you in a flash; every fiber of his being furious at your injury.

“baby”, he calls out as his fingers ghost across your ribcage.

“it’ll… it’ll heal soon”, you say timidly.

“how could this happen, baby?”, he asks, still more interested in your upper body than your eyes.

“i-i i should-d have che-checked the door before, ah before answering”, you whimper, ready to face the blame.

with yoongi’s lifestyle comes a certain level of danger. you’ve been trained to be more cautious with everyday things like grocery shopping, inviting new friends over, answering the door without checking the cam.

“no, no, no, no – baby – no…”, he hushes you. “they should have never been able to pass the foyer, nor should they have been able to move to the penthouse level.”

“i-i was so scared”, you admit, linking your fingers with his and pressing them close to your still beating heart.

“i know, baby, me too”, yoongi soothes you and flexes his fingertips against your warm skin.

“i’ve never felt this worthless… you got hurt… right in front of me… and i … i couldn’t do anything.” his voice shakes with emotions and slowly his stare moves to your bruised face. the madness has nearly died in his eyes – but there is still so much pain hidden behind his brown iris.

“i- i could have lost you”, he whispers darkly, speaking a truth into reality he is not ready to face. your crying has stopped now that the both of you are calmer and connected.

“nah, never, remember?”, you say with some form of humor behind your words. “i’m your trophy wife. trophy wives don’t die. first, they’d kill their rich husband”, you remind your boyfriend of your conversation half a lifetime ago.

“it’d be an honor getting murdered by you, baby.” his mask is gone in a flash and then you feel the warmth of his lips against your temple. “just let me finish my third mixtape first.”

“don’t move, noona”, jungkook pleads as the warm sunlight irritates your skin. the fresh air is caressing your body while the youngest tries to finish his painting. trees surround the both of you, resting on a soft picnic blanket. it’s the first time since your release from the hospital that yoongi has left you out of his sight. granted, you’re still not totally alone with the strongest bangtan member watching over you like a hawk. but it’s definitely a much-needed break from yoongi’s fretting.

after nearly throwing a tantrum in front of his manager und some staff members who wanted to continue the filming of their new “in the soop” show, all the members knew they’d have to handle their rapper with care. leaving you alone wasn’t an option, so taehyung and seokjin packed your suitcase with essentials and after your doctors determined you ready to rest at home, all eight of you moved back to the chill vacation home in the middle of nowhere.

the last few days have been difficult – the filming staff getting more and more irritated because the members flocked around you 24/7. sejin had to come up with a different schedule allowing every bandmate time to reconnect with you as well as time to do their work. only yoongi was allowed to not leave your side most of the day – him working on the new music being the cover for his absence.

but after days of your boyfriend breathing down your neck, you’ve had enough. so, now yoongi is out on the water with seokjin fishing, while you’re spending time with jungkook.

“when did the police say they are coming?”, you ask the painter. his nose is crunched in concentration as he tries to outline your hipbone.

“they should be here before lunch – if your boyfriend even manages to catch some lunch”, he answers. you snort, messing up his grasp of your proportions.

“i do have faith in seokjin’s ability.” jungkook chuckles but keeps his eyes on your drawing. you look so delicate, so soft, he can’t believe they nearly lost you.

“i got robbed – i didn’t die, kookie”, you read his mind as his eyes darken.

“you got hurt”, he responds through clenched teeth.

“and they’ll pay for that”, you vow. the police had called this morning with the news of your robbers being captured during another crime. you’re still not sure how the officers can be so sure they’re the same criminals, but you’re eager to close this chapter with your statement later that day.

your painting session gets interrupted by namjoon. “the detectives are already here, ____.”

jungkook is by your side in a flash and together with the leader the both of them help you up. the rib is healing and harsh movements still hurt. yoongi had a near meltdown when you tried to ride him yesterday morning only to topple over in pain.

“yoongi and jin don’t have a signal out in the water – but they won’t be long”, namjoon explains and guides you indoors to meet the two officers.

“ms. ______, a pleasure to meet you”, the older policeman says in greeting. the younger one only shifts uncomfortable when he sees you flanked by two famous idols.

“thanks for coming all this way”, you respond and bow slowly, not to put extra pressure on your rib.

“is there somewhere we could talk – uhm- privately?”, the old man asks and you show them to one of the office rooms in the back. jungkook reluctantly leaves your side and joon only squeezes your hand in passing.

“just holler when you need us, _____”, he says before ordering the maknae to clean the art supplies.

with both officers sitting across from you, you nervously fiddle in your chair.

“the two intruders were caught this morning while pawning off their haul”, the younger policeman states and shows you a surveillance picture of two familiar men. their figures alone invoke iced fear in your heart, and you push the picture out of your sight. after a moment of silence, you collect yourself enough to absorb the information.

“what did they steal? i – i didn’t report anything missing, sir”, you question. sure, they trashed the painting yoongi brought for you during your last vacation in italy. and some cloths were thrown across the bedroom – but there was nothing stolen. you even signed your statement last week before leaving for the woods.

the officers look at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“miss, you reported the item missing days ago. there is even a harsh voicemail left with your fiancé demanding a swift investigation.” you shake your head at their words – no, you didn’t.

“which item?”, you ask the men with narrowed eyes. you’d been off the pain meds for days now. but to call yoongi your fiancé? clearly, they’d switched up cases. the older officer opens his briefcase to retrieve a plastic bag with a… ring in it.

“in my days, my wife would have never forgotten about her engagement ring”, the man snickers as you watch the cold metal in front of you. it’s beautiful – it’s so yoongi, you wouldn’t be surprised if he himself crafted the asymmetric diamond set on roughened silver.

you’d dreamed of this moment for over a year – to lay eyes on the ring cementing your future in stone – or diamonds.

never would you have imagined it to be this tainted with two officers starring you down and the jewelry wrapped carelessly in plastic – a piece of evidence – while your boyfriend is fishing with kim seokjin.

“uhm”, you hesitate as emotions swirl around your brain. he was going to propose? to you?

“i had half a panic attack carrying it around with me the whole day – that thing could pay off all my debt, as well as my kid’s college fees”, the officer jokes, still not recognizing your surprise as genuine.

“uhm”, you try again to form words.

“we’ve all the papers here for you to sign; after that we’ll be ready to get out of your hair… for now”, the youngest states and moves different documents across the table. they lie next to yoongi’s engagement ring – your engagement ring.

“uhm”

giving up on forming a coherent sentence, you move along and sign your name on the different protocols. the paper from your insurance company makes your heart still – reading all the zeros on the price of your ring.

this… is by far the worst engagement set up you’ve ever heard of. your hands shack and your signature looks just terrible, but it’s enough for the two detectives. they still don’t seem to find your reaction odd as they collect their stuff and bid you fare well. like a zombie you get up and follow them to the front door, your ring clutched between your fingertips.

jungkook and jimin are waiting for you next to the foyer and jump at the sight of your pale face.

“everything alright?”, jimin asks and places a protective hand on your back. your slow nod does not convince them and their eyes sour at the policemen.

while the younger officer takes a step back, the oldest just chuckles at your idol friends.

“all is well, kids”, he sooths them. then both bow to you and you can only muster an awkward smile, the jewelry heavy in your hand.

“happy wedding planning, ms. ____”, he winks at you before they leave. the soft click of the closing door is the only sound in the hallway. you’re not even sure you’re breathing.

after a beat of silence you flinch at the sound of jimin’s high-pitched squeal.

“weeeedding”, he asks, way too loud and way too joyful. the mochi-cheeked idol excitedly jumps up and down, not really caring that you remain silent.

jungkook on the other hand looks … really upset. “you told the police but not me?”, he whispers betrayed.

you could cry as you feel the headache from your concussion clouding your mind. this is… too much.

“uhm”, you’ve decided to stick with your running-gag answer and push both idols out of your way.

your feet carry you out of the house, through the terrace door and before you know it, you’re running across the green gras. the smell of the lake invades your nose while you search for you boyfriend. yoongi’s boat is still on the water and you spot both men resting against each other with their rods, ready to catch your lunch. sunshine shimmers on the lake’s surface as you run onto the dock. your bare feet press against the wood while your hair rushes around you – the wind breezing through the unkempt strands.

“is… is that _____, yoongi?”, seokjin asks his fishing buddy who’s more focused watching the water for prey than his surroundings.

“huh?”, he hums, not really listening to his friend.

“i- i think your girlfriend wants to talk to you, yoongi”, the old singer says hesitantly as he sees you jumping up and down on the wooden dock. this can’t be good for your health.

swiftly, the rapper turns to the spot seokjin is pointing at. and there you stand – beautiful and barefoot, dressed in his t-shirt and some old leggings. your hair is a mess and the sun dances across your skin like the tiniest firework.

“MIN YOONGI”, you shout at the top of your lungs. your boyfriend flinches hearing your loud voice across the water.

“she sounds angry”, seokjin whispers.

“YOU FOOL”, you continue to yell and see seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“oh, i hope the crew gets this on tape”, he says with glee while yoongi really, truly tries to find a reason for your anger. he’s left you alone today, at your request. maybe you didn’t really want him to go? was it a test to see how much he wanted to stay with you? did he fail?

“I GOT YOUR RING!”, you shout and flash the evidence bag high in the air.

immediately, the rapper shoots up from his sitting position, rocking the boat dangerously form side to side.

“yah, yoongi, what the hell?”, seokjin swears but your boyfriend’s eyes rest on you, holding your engagement ring in a plastic bag. there is no air in his lungs – he’s been thinking about this moment for the last two years. he dreamed of your joyful tears, how soft your hands would feel while pushing the silver banner on your finger.

and now… he’s an ocean away from you holding on to the jewelry that got you hurt weeks ago.

“DO YOU WANT TO ASK ME SOMETHING, MIN YOONGI?”, you scream and your boyfriend’s eyes widen when they see the smile on your lips; do you – do you find this funny?

without thinking, he takes a step forward.

You can only watch seokjin’s helpless grimace as yoongi brings the boat out of balance. both idols topple over and splash into the cold sea.

the icy water doesn’t bother the rapper as he pushes to the surface. the sun shines high up while he speeds to the dock. you’ve never seen your boyfriend this determent – his laps forceful and quick, leaving a still shocked seokjin behind.

your fingers shake as you watch him come closer and closer to you. in mere moments he’s close enough for you to hear his heavy breathing.

yoongi heaves himself out of the cold, his shoulder screaming in pain, and then he is dripping in front of you. your boyfriend looks like a wet dog, the black hair plastered to his forehead as he steps forward. you can smell the sea salt across his drenched clothes.

the engagement ring screams from the bag to be acknowledged and yoongi is just… staring at you deeply.

“i had it all planned”, he whispers wringing his sweater. the gush of water drops on the deck, but the idol only looks at you. “weeks ago.” his fingers wrap around your writs, a silent plea to give the ring to its rightful owner – for now.

“i wanted to take you to the restaurant where we had our first date”, he admits and opens the bag. your first date had been a disaster – you’re still vividly remembering the food poisoning.

“then all the restaurants closed down; we were both so stressed… and… life went on”, yoongi continues as the ring dances between his fingertips. it looks like art without the plastic cheapening its presence.

“i... wanted it to be perfect.” his whispered words fall to the floor as he kneels in front of you. warmth is coloring your face, seeing your idol submitting to you.

“baby… you know how much i love you… how much you inspire me every day to become the best version of myself”, yoongi’s voice cracks against his words and you can’t help the softest coo from leaving your lips.

“i promise i’ll make you the best trophy wife of south korea.”

you snort as you hear boyish snicker from behind you at yoongi’s joke.

“will you spend the rest of my life with this ring on your hand?”, he asks and without waiting for an answer, he pushes the silver band on your finger. it fits perfectly.

“am i not supposed to agree first?”, you respond as your eyes stay on your future husband.

“oh baby, you agreed the moment you ate my burned pasta.” yoongi gets up and pushes a lose strand of hair behind your ears.

“you agreed the moment you moved in with me, a struggling insomniac.” his hands cradle your face, framing the expression of love between his palms.

“you agreed the moment you let me change your tampon because you were too drunk to move.” he gives you airy butterfly kisses.

“you agreed the moment you didn’t kill me for stealing your favorite ice cream from the freezer.”

“that actually was a close call”, you chime in, only to hear his soft chuckle.

“you agreed all those nights staying with holly in our shared bed while i traveled across the globe.”

a kiss is planted on the fresh scar across your temple. “you agreed all these moments where my depression was too much, where i was trapped in my own misery.”

a line of kisses travels to your mouth. mere millimeters from your lips he stills. “you do, right?”

under all the layers of love, confidence and familiarity, there is still a shy boy unsure of his worth. your smile is infused with giddiness as you close the gap, pressing your lips together in the softest kiss.

“i do”, you whisper in his mouth, only to meet his tongue with your own in a joyful dance. the boys around you are cheering, while the soft waves of the lake clash against the dock. you’re in pure bliss, kissing your wet fiancé fiercely.

and then you hear a loud thud, a wet slash on the wood. surprised, you both jump away a step – only to see a heaving seokjin lying flat on the deck, chest rising at a fast pace.

“i near- i nearly died for th-this engagement, ____. if – if i’m am not the be-best man, i’ll… will cast a spell on all- all yo-ur children.”

____

ah, this fic is crazy and totally not what i imagined it to become. i hope you enjoyed the read! there is only one chapter left (the stalker) – who’s excited for it? i hope you are doing well! to you, your family and/or loved ones i wish only the most festive time this week! love, dana

#btswriterscollective #bangtanuniversity #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts established relationship #yoongi idol au #bts idol au #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #min yoongi

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unnie-lili · 3 years

Text

Can We Talk? (1/9)

Requested : yes

15. “Fun fact : I haven't listened to a single thing you just told me.”

14. “Are you blushing?”

from my Prompts list

Requests are : OPEN

pairing : Wonwoo x Mingyu, other Seventeen members make an appearance, fem!OC (Mina) x Mingyu

genre : Enemies to lovers!AU, College!AU, a bit of angst, Wonwoo and Mingyu are the same age to simplify the story

word count : 12.5k

warnings : cursing, mentions of violence (not graphic), a small fight (a few pushes, nothing more), alcohol consumption

A/N : I got carried away with this request. Hope you all enjoy 💜

Mingyu never knew how or when it happened, but all he knew was that Jeon Wonwoo hated him. They were best friends in middle school, and then one day in high school, Wonwoo despised him. He stopped responding to Mingyu's texts, stopped showing up to their weekly gaming nights and altogether stopped even looking at Mingyu.

Or, when he did, he would shoot him the deadliest glare Mingyu ever received. Mingyu preferred being ignored.

Having no closure on their past friendship hurt Mingyu's feelings deeply, so he did the only thing he could : hate Wonwoo back.

The two men hadn't spoke in years. Mingyu didn't mind, at least that's what he told himself. Even though he had stayed up nights at time wondering where he did wrong, he always reached the same conclusion : he simply did nothing wrong. One day, Wonwoo was his confident, his anchor, his closest friend, the next, he was but a memory, a shadow of his past.

Mingyu missed his laugh, his dark humor, his love for stupid poetry books and the way he'd so confidently correct him on anything he'd say. He missed drawn out sleepovers eating too many sweets and playing Pokémon under the covers of his bed, crying (or, in Wonwoo's case, heavily sniffling) to sappy romance movies or exploring the woods outside Wonwoo's house in search of magic kingdoms. He missed his best friend every day, but the Jeon Wonwoo that was standing there wasn't his best friend, he was a complete stranger.

Mingyu hoped college would bring a wave of change in his life : he had his new friends coming to the same campus as him, his life goals shining brighter than ever, and he even had a lovely girlfriend, Mina. Moving town and making sure to never see Wonwoo was the last step in saying goodbye to his old life of anguish and welcoming his newfound adulthood.

That was until he found out that, much to his despair, he had been paired with Jeon Wonwoo as roommates.

“Well,” Mingyu breathed. “Time to jump off a fucking building.”

“Rest in peace, my guy,” Jeonghan patted his back sympathetically. “You will be missed.”

Mingyu slumped on the desk of the receptionist in front of him, who was awkwardly still holding Mingyu's room key in her hand. Joshua grabbed the key, apologizing for his friend.

“Let's move out of the way first,” Joshua softly pushed Mingyu to the side, making him sit on a bench.

The younger man dropped his head in his hands, feeling sick.

“He's gonna kill me in my sleep,” he whined out.

Mina sat beside him, stroking his back.

“You can always sleep at my dorm, Gyu,” she offered. “I won't be able to sleep at night knowing there's a guy who wants you dead living in the same room as you.”

“He doesn't really want him dead, Mina,” Joshua sighed, massaging his temple.

School had started 15 minutes ago and the impending headache was already showing up.

“You don't know that, Joshua,” Jeonghan retorted, caressing Mingyu's hair. “Wouldn't you feel bad if one day we woke up with Mingyu stabbed on the floor because you didn't take the situation seriously enough?”

“Yeah, wouldn't you feel very bad?” Mingyu repeated, pouting.

Joshua took a deep breath.

“Jeonghan, don't encourage him, please,” he turned to Mingyu, ignoring Jeonghan's innocent smile. “We won't let anything happen to you, Mingyu, and I would indeed feel very bad if you were hurt. You can always sleep over at our dorm.”

“Hey, I never said that-” Jeonghan tried to protest, but Mingyu cut him off.

“Thank you guys!” he smiled softly, kissing Mina's cheek. “I'm just so shocked... What were the odds? Did any of you know he was coming to the same college as us?”

His friends shook their heads.

“Guys, guys!”

They all looked at the direction of the shout, immediately recognizing Chan. He was running up to them, breathing heavily as he pulled to a stop.

“Guys,” he panted. “Guess what? You won't guess who I just saw right now on campus.”

“Jeon Wonwoo?” Mingyu, Joshua and Jeonghan replied at the same time.

“Yeah,” Chan frowned. “How'd you know?”

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT : PART TWO

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lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader) - Ch. 3

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / smut / oral sex / f receiving

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

The hypnotic bass and Zemo's enthusiastic dance moves almost got you carried away. But over the bouncing crowd, you saw Sharon, Bucky, and Sam on the stairs, looking for you.

“Shit,” you mumbled, breaking the trance. “We gotta go.”

Zemo followed your line of sight and turned to lead you back to the group in silence. You try to hide the disappointment on your face.

“We found him,” Sharon yelled over the music upon your approach.

The five of you went over the plan for tomorrow back in Sharon’s suite. You doubted that even with your experience, you could’ve found Dr. Nagel without Sharon's help. In the states, it was easy to pick a needle out of a haystack, because you always knew what you were looking for. But here, everyone was a criminal. Uncharted territory where you had to find the sharpest needle amongst thousands.

“You good?”

Sam’s voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up and noticed the dissipating group. Sharon showed Bucky to his room, and Zemo sat with his eyes glued to a book on the couch. Only Sam remained standing in front of you, looking like he was about to pass out.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Go get some sleep. You look terrible.”

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “We gotta get the hell out of here. Madripoor has aged me at least ten years.”

“Me too. I miss places where being a criminal makes you the odd one out, not the other way around.”

“Goody two-shoes,” he teased before turning to find his room.

Sharon waved him on from down the hall and they got back into it about her pardon and what she’d missed in the states.

Your attention shifted to the only other person in the room. Zemo’s eyes wasted no time abandoning his book and landing on you as soon as you were alone.

“The Odyssey,” you asked, pointing to his book. “I didn’t take you for someone who enjoys fiction.”

He smiled at the attention and made room for you on the couch.

“I often find that there are elements of truth in every fantasy. The human spirit is sometimes better examined by poets than by professors. This, for instance, is a brilliant study on heroes.”

“Hmm, studying heroes? An attempt to know thy enemy?”

He laughed and turned to you with his elbow up on the back of the couch, bringing him less than a foot away from your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the lights down the hall go out. There were no interruptions, or easy outs, now. All that was left was you, and the only man who’d ever made you truly nervous.

“Y/N, if you were in Odysseus’s place, content and immortal, would you give it up to go back home?”

“You’re asking me if I’d abandon my legacy and family to shack up on an island with some mistress?”

He chuckled and nodded in approval. “Very wise. But what does he gain by leaving? Struggle? Hardship? Mortality?”

You tilted your head to match his. “Are you telling me that you’d stay on the island?”

His expression shifted for the first time since you’d stepped foot in Madripoor. The overconfident, smirking Baron dissolved into a man.

A man who hid the sense of riotousness that he carried with dramatic flair. A man whose charm and wit seemed fabricated.

This man now, fighting off sleepy eyes and grappling with the moral quandary posed, seemed burdened. You wondered if his quest for justice would ever get to be too much. After all the destruction he’d caused, could he still see himself as the exactor of fairness? Were the Avengers still his enemy? Were you?

“No,” he confessed looking down at the copy in his hands.

Your lips twitched but you didn’t smile. “You’d make the hard choice — the hero’s choice if it came down to it.”

He looked almost somber at your words and nodded.

“In another life…perhaps.”

His voice wavered, almost as if he regretted saying it out loud. The briefing that Sam and Bucky had given you about him flashed in your mind.

A hero's choice was the right thing to do; the hard thing to do. You knew that he was a soldier before everything happened. Just like you.

Was that not a hero’s choice?

He tore the Avengers apart in an attempt to stitch up his own heart. An eye for an eye. Avenging his country because its destruction had been glossed over by the world. His loss fueled his anger but he was more capable than most. A man without armor, or mystical abilities was able to wreak havoc on those who had wronged him.

Was that heroism?

If losing those you love didn’t permit revenge, you weren't sure what did.

He broke the silence by tapping his knuckle on the book.

“It is the perfect testament to the valiance of heroes,” he continued. "But, I must say that the wisest thing Odysseus did was marry his wife.”

You laughed and nodded, remembering how she saved the day. Without her, Odysseus’s homecoming would’ve been much more perilous for him.

“I often find that behind every great man is an even better woman.”

He smirked and didn’t miss a beat. “Like you with…your Avengers.”

“I stand beside them,” you corrected.

He raised an eyebrow and waved a hand. “Semantics."

You gave him an eye roll in return.

He smiled then, wider than you had ever seen. It almost made him seem shy. Perhaps it was because he was making a genuine point, masked in humor.

You were well aware of your importance to this mission and yet burdened by the fact that it didn’t make you a member of their special club. When this was all over, you wouldn’t be an Avenger, or anywhere close. You’d go back to S.W.O.R.D to wait until called upon again. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but there was a pang of sadness there where the thought rested. It’d be a mistake to let Zemo know but it seemed to be too late.

“You’re making fun of me.”

His hand brushed yours. “No. I am merely expressing my concerns about your allegiances.”

Still aware of the small amount of alcohol left in your system, you looked away from his quirked moving lips.

“Enlighten me, Baron. What wrong decisions do you think I’m making?”

Frozen in place, you let him brush his fingers along your wrist to your arm. He took his time, tracing patterns on your skin and inspecting his work with an unwavering gaze. Only when his thumb caressed your cheek, and his hand landed on your neck did he look you in the eyes again. The air in your lungs was gone and your body betrayed you with a furious eruption of butterflies.

“Living a hero’s life,” he said somber-eyed and serious.

Your heart rate quickened. As if you’d learned nothing in S.W.O.R.D about manipulation, you were back to watching his lips. They parted slightly, as if he had something else to say but thought better of it.

A hero.

You didn't feel like one.

A sidekick, maybe. But even then, no one knew your name. No one sang your praises at home or breathed a sigh of relief knowing you were out there in the world fighting evil. It seemed that the only one who thought of you as more than an assistant was Zemo.

Your heart felt heavy then. The two of you were impossible. An inconceivable pair brought together by chance.

But that didn’t make his dark eyes any less enticing or his words any less intoxicating.

That didn’t make you any further from his lips.

He was a breath away, but so was your own destruction.

In another life, the island might tempt you.

“Look,” you said glancing past him to find something to change the subject. “It’s a full moon.”

Without sparing him another glance, you crossed the floor in four quick steps to the large windows. Never one to give up easily, you heard him follow close behind.

He beat you there and pushed open the glass door before gesturing towards the balcony in silence.

You looked down at your feet until the skyline drew your eyes. The plan to diffuse the tension had not worked in the slightest. The moonlit balcony overlooking the beautiful city had only made it worse.

You heard him stop a few feet from you and then settle on the lone armchair. The reality of the situation hit you like a train. Away from the windows, you had privacy. This high up no one would see you and everyone else was in bed. You'd meant to creep out of the lion's den but instead, you'd locked yourself in.

“The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to,” Zemo mused from behind you.

“Carl Sanburg,” you confirmed, so he knew you didn't think he'd made it up.

Both of you were silent then. Swaying in the tension you'd built. Sanity pulling you back inside, inexplicable hope keeping you planted in place.

“Are you lonely, Baron?”

The words fell from your lips more delicate and intimate than you had meant them to. You let slip that you cared about his answer. That you might even care to cure him of the ailment.

“Me? No.”

You turned and scoffed.

“Liar. You were in a cell for years and you hardly talk to anyone now that you’re out.”

He leaned back in the chair, arms on either rest and a leg crossed with the ankle of his right knee. His demeanor was harmless in the same way that a predator poised to pounce was. Elegant, still, and ready for the kill.

“Not true,” he corrected. “I talk to you.”

“One person isn’t enough,” you said, taking a step closer.

Were you walking into disaster? Or being pulled? You couldn't tell the difference between his seduction and your own reckless desires any longer.

“The right person though…can be,” he half-whispered. “And you, Y/N, are more than I deserve.”

He gazed up at you from the chair. Kings throughout history, in war-won golden thrones and elegant capes, paled in comparisons to how regal he looked. Anointed with a crown of moonlight, ruling over whomever he pleased.

Your eyes widened with the admission. “Baron — ”

“Helmut, please.” He stood then and met you near the railing, his hand grazing your hip. “Only if for tonight.”

You shook your head, knowing this was a bad idea. His hand made its way to your waist regardless. He pulled you against his chest before searching your eyes for any signal that you were going to run. You knew he’d find nothing. You knew you mirrored his look of lust with blown pupils and flushed cheeks.

“Have I gone too far,” he whispered, bringing his other hand to brush loose hair behind your ear.

“No,” you sighed, letting him pull you closer and brush his lips to your cheek and jaw.

“Tell me if I do,” he whispered again before finally capturing your lips with his.

You uttered no complaints as his tentative kiss turned bruising and possessive. His arms wound around your waist, crushing you into him. But you needed to feel closer. He grunted as you sprung to action, flinging your arms around his neck, deepening the desperate kiss. He tasted like whiskey and something sweet. A cool breeze brushed against the exposed parts of your body. You let your hands wander beneath his coat, chasing warmth and proximity. He let you do as you please, only insisting that his lips stayed on yours.

You let out a whimper as his hand explored the front of your dress. He stopped to press his warm hand against your breast, before holding your face.

It was then that he pulled away, steadying your searching lips with a grip on your chin.

“Ich esse nicht,” he sighed, kissing a pattern to your ear. “Ich schlafe nicht, ich tue nichts anderes, als an dich zu denken.”

His teeth grazed your pulse point, leaving you gasping for air.

“I don’t speak German,” you managed to stutter out.

A hand slid up the back of your dress, gripping the zipper before undoing it in one swift motion and the fabric fell to the floor. The cool air seized your naked torso for only a moment before Zemo pressed himself against you again. The coat you’d complained about before, now provided warmth and security. You tipped your head back, almost over the edge of the balcony as he continued worshipping your neck and chest.

“I don’t eat, I don’t sleep,” he said between wet open-mouthed kisses on your breasts. His hot mouth left purple spots that cooled instantly in the chilly night air.

“I do nothing but think of you,” he finished before toying with your hardened nipple between his teeth.

You moaned then, louder than you should’ve, and let your eyes flutter open. The world was upside-down but you made no motion to move. You were making Madripoor proud by being pressed up against a balcony by an international criminal.

Utterly pleased with himself, Zemo raised his face back towards yours, leaning you both over the edge.

“Shhh liebling,” he cooed.

He pulled you back over, kissing your shoulder before removing his jacket and draping it over you. Each brush of his lips feeling more improper than the last.

“We would not want your friends to see you like this.”

In the next second, he swept you off of your feet and hoisted you into his strong arms. You watched the world sway around you and then settle when he placed you on the lounge chair, letting you get some warmth back from the coat and cushions.

He draped one of your legs over an armrest, exposing you to him except for a thin pair of underwear.

“Not with you spread open for me,” he growled. He towered over you for only a moment before kneeling between your legs. The man whose stature made him the tallest amongst giants; the most important in any room he chose, knelt before you.

“What would they say,” he mumbled in a trace. His hands gripped both of your thighs, causing an eruption of goosebumps across your whole body. “If they saw you like this, with me?”

He looked up at you then, raising an eyebrow, and tracing the inside of your thigh with his thumb.

You answered him breathlessly. “They’d tell you to stop.”

“And what would you say to that?”

His voice sent shockwaves through your system. Dark and sultry, with a hint of danger. You threw your head back again, barely able to keep a single thought straight. Your body shuddered but you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the need for his touch. When you looked back to him, he was surveying your body with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Would you want me to stop?” His voice was gentle and sweet then, asking in earnest.

“Meine Liebe," he taunted you for consent as he flashed a smirk and pulled something from his pocket.

Cold metal grazed your thigh. A moan escaped your throat as he unsheathed a serrated knife and caressed your skin with the dull side.

“I wouldn’t want you to stop,” you gasped, almost vibrating with anticipation. “I don’t want you to stop — Helmut — please don’t stop.”

He chucked again, before focusing his attention on the area between your legs. You bucked slightly as the icy knife slid underneath the fabric. He made one strong slash upwards and you felt the fabric fall away from your wet core. One of his hands gripped your ass, but only for a second before he tore the rest of the fabric from your body.

“How could I ever withhold something from you, liebling?” His nose grazed your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to where you needed him most. It was only a moment before you felt his breath between your legs.

“How cruel it would be,” he growled. You moaned and slapped a hand over your mouth as he kissed your sensitive bundle of nerves. “To not give you everything.”

His tongue swirled against you in a tantalizing pattern, stroking you deliciously. He licked you methodically like he was reading the blueprint of your body right then and there. He held each thigh in a punishing grip, pressing you deeper into the cushions as he made a meal of you. The stars above your head blurred and the universe shifted.

If this was your destruction then it was illustrious. You'd do it over and over again until you landed in a cell right next to him.

“Helmut,” you whined with a heaving chest.

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbled between flicks of his tongue. “And it is yours.”

You would’ve begged him to let you cum but he beat you to it, making your back arch and mouth fall open in ecstasy. You trembled beneath him, over and over, but he didn’t let up. Your legs strained from being extended by his unflinching hands. You tried to stutter something out to him but no sound came except for content sighs and haphazard gasps. But his eyes remained closed regardless of the noise.

Without his mouth on you, he would’ve been mistakable for a good Christian, deep in prayer. Brow's furrowed in focus and devotion; lips moving in silent divine appeals. Only he could make you feel worthy of an alter. You couldn't picture anyone ever worshipping you in the same way again. It was his, you thought. I am his.

Lost in pleasure and shock, you reached up to run your nails against his scalp. Only then did he release you, and raise to meet your waiting lips as they trembled.

“You,” was all you could manage to whisper. “Only you.”

He pulled you from the seat, to wrap your legs around him. You brought your forehead to his and let him pepper you with chaste kisses.

“When I have you,” he said, before pulling the coat around you again. “It will be in a proper bed.”

You stared at him, confused and overwhelmed. The space between your legs ached with a longing to be filled but he let your legs fall away, and stood up.

“We can’t…I mean not now — they’ll hear.”

Zemo smiled and nodded while looking for something on the ground. After a moment of searching, he picked up the torn pieces of the red underwear you had been wearing. Before you could retrieve it, he pocketed the shorn fabric and stared you straight in the eyes.

“Worry not, Y/N,” he purred, reaching a hand out to help you up. “We have all the time in the world.”

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