#hate is what burns when the last drop of oil hits the ground | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crumbledcastle28 · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: a tug

Warnings: PTSD, sadness, depression, panic attack, mentions of violence

Author’s note: this is part one of my series called “Burning Red.” This is kind of boring because it is a set up for the main storyline, but I hope you enjoy it! Any constructive criticism and support is greatly appreciated. And if I missed a warning, please let me know!!

After everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everyone you’ve hurt, it felt good to just lay low.

A mechanic on tatooine was not what you imagined, but it did the trick.

No one saw you for who you truly were, and that made you happy.

Well, except for Peli.

You came to her sick and angry and alone, and she nursed you back to health. You would be rotting in the desert if it wasn’t for her, and you felt you owed her a little something.

So, you used your “uncommon” set of abilities to help her with her mechanics in any way she needed.

This included: cooking, cleaning, repairing, negotiating, and most importantly, defending.

Peli was no dummy. She knew you had more experience in that field than she did. So she recruited you, and paid you back with whatever she had laying around. A new outfit once and a while, a warm bed, a hot dinner, and a couple of credits so you could go shopping and get out of her hair.

You couldn’t blame her. You were a hell of a lot of trouble to be around.

Constant nightmares, paranoia, and regret surrounded your aura like a fog. Any normal person wouldn’t notice, but someone like Peli could. And it pissed her off a good majority of the time.

“Stop moping and help me clean this oil off my droid,” and sentences like this one, were said pretty frequently around your place.

Was it even your place? All you did was survive. Is that enough to say you lived there instead of just survived there?

You really liked Peli. She gave you a base. A “home” of sorts, and for that you were forever indebted.

But something in you always called you back to your real home, and that scared you more than Peli’s tough love. More than you could even describe.

~~*~~

It was a pretty normal day on Tatooine. The wind howled, the sand covered everything in its wake, and the heat. You would never get used to it.

You were eating your breakfast when a ship landed on the landing pad, and you could already tell it was a doosey just by the way the left engine was sputtering.

If this ship explodes, we better get a damn good pay, you think to yourself.

The ramp starts to open and you take that as your queue to start the walk to your makeshift room. It was really a storage room, but you didn’t mind.

When you get there, you squat down to the ground behind your door and grab your apron and set of tools. You knew Peli would need some help with this ship.

You hear the ship’s ramp hit he ground and you feel it.

A tug.

Not even a tug, a lurch. It felt like a rope had been tied to your soul and pulled you back into your old self.

This was a tug you hadn’t felt in so long. So long, it almost knocks you off your feet.

I closed myself off from this, you think. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t want to feel this.

You already feel a headache coming on from the shock and ache in your bones, so you start walking back to the landing pad to tell Peli you aren’t feeling too well.

If I get recognized, we are both dead.

You’d rather get a scolding from Peli than a scolding hot gun wound in your chest.

“Hey,” you hear Peli shout at the client, and you pick up your pace. Your heart is hammering in your chest and you feel the panic ooz through your body.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this, but you hate how it makes you feel alive.

You finally make it to Peli and you see her speaking very loudly (she doesn’t like to use the word “yelling”) at what seems to be your client.

But this is no ordinary client. This is a Mandalorian.

A very broad Mandalorian who, no offense to Peli, could knock her out in his sleep.

You had heard legends of their kind. But worst of all, you had fought them. And damn were they good.

You hadn’t seen any since the purge. You had heard rumors of them hiding under ground, but they had always been peaceful people. You hated how they got dragged into a war.

“You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it,” Peli says, and you really wish she would use a more peaceful tone.

The last thing you want to do right now is fight a very impressive looking Mandalorian covered entirely in beskar while your entire body is tingling.

Is he the one who is force sensitive?

“Just keep them away from my ship” he says, and you are surprised at how well he is taking Peli’s annoyance.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea?” Peli responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm and you take this as your moment to try to sneak away.

This however, was unsuccessful.

“Come on y/n. Let’s take a look at his ship,” she says and the Mandalorian turns his helmet towards you.

You probably look like an absolute mess. Your chest is heaving, you are sweating, and you are not at all prepared to do any sort of repairs. You are basically in your pajamas. The Mandalorian’s gaze has you nervous enough, but this familiar feeling in your stomach has you dizzy and nauseous.

Just hold on......

You start to follow Peli to the ship while still looking at the Mandalorian. You learned very early on in your life to never take your eyes off a predator. He follows your form and you try your best to mask his incredibly strong force connection gripping your chest.

This man isn’t even trying to hide it? It’s almost as if he is reaching for me?

You make it to Peli where you finally take your eyes off of him. You can see why Peli was so mad now.

“Oof! Look at that,” she says as she scans the ship with her eyes. “You’ve got a lot of cabron scoring up top. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in a shoot out.”

Oh my God, he was in a shoot out.

This is really not good. This man could have been followed and you could be surrounded at this very moment. You were a skilled fighter, but those kinds of odds were almost unbeatable. Especially when you were still trying to hide your identity.

You are so tense you feel like you could snap. You still feel his eyes on you, and you are praying to whatever is out there that you can just stay alive. That’s the only thing you’re good at.

“Name’s Peli Motto. That’s y/n,” she says as she points to you with her wrench.

She did not just tell him your NAME.

“This is my operation. You’re not gonna find a better mechanic on the planet,” she says as she leaned in closer to the engine.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to rotate that. You’ve got a fuel leak. Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?”

All you wanted to do was scream.

He is a MANDALORIAN who was just in a SHOOT OUT. He is probably being FOLLOWED and we could be dead because of ME.

“That’s gonna set you back,” she says.

She is concerned about MONEY right now?

Peli is a smart woman, but she was walking you into a trap. You didn’t want her blood on your hands. You didn’t need any more of that.

All of this is happening while you are still on the verge of a panic attack.

This Mandalorian is strong with the force. It is squeezing your lungs and your feet and your hands and your brain. All rational thinking is out the window. You had to get out of here before he manages to suffocate you.

God you hate this feeling. A few years ago you lived with this constantly. It became a part of you. Something you enjoyed. But now...

“I’ve got five hundred imperial credits,” the Mandalorian says.

Imperial credits. Great. How did he get his hands on those?

“That’s all you got? Well..” she says and looks back at you.

“What do you think,” she asks in a teasing tone.

You try to plead to her with your eyes. You are sweating beyond belief and your brain is about to explode.

She tightens her brows in confusion at your state, but continues to bargain.

“That should at least cover the hanger,” she says and you feel your jaw almost drop to the floor.

How can she not see it?

“I’ll get you your money,” the Mandalorian mumbles and you try to take a deep breath. Passing out in front of one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy who may be here to kill you would rip off the last bit of pride you had left. If you are going down, you are going down with a fight.

“I’ve heard that before,” Peli responds and looks at you in a joking way. Like she was trying to coax you into laughing with her.

You try to chuckle back, but it just comes out in a low breath.

You sound insane.

“Just remember—,” the Mandalorian starts

“No droids. I heard ya,” Peli finishes.

“Why do you think I keep this girl around,” she says chuckling with a pat on your back.

You muster up the strength to smile and feel holes burning in your head from the Mandalorian’s gaze.

He really knows how to stare.

The Mandalorian leaves the hanger, and it takes everything in you not to pass out right there.

You thought with him leaving it would die down, but it’s only getting worse.

“Are you ok,” Peli asks and helps you lower yourself to the ground.

You are breathing frantically now and your hands are clutched to your chest.

“He has it,” you say and you know Peli knows what you mean.

She looks at you with wide eyes and you see the realization on her face.

“Oh my god.... he was in a shootout,” she says.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out. The desperate force connection is starting to fade and you feel your lungs fill up with air once more.

“He could have been followed! Or he could be here to—“

“Kill us,” you say. Peli hates when you finish her sentences, but there was no point in caring right now.

“Ok. Get inside. If I need you I will call for you,” she says and you nod, slowly getting to your feet.

You start to walk back to your room, with Peli’s arms guiding you, while taking deep breaths, but you freeze when you sense something else coming out of the ship and you snap your head to the ramp.

“What,” Peli says as she follows your gaze.

Your heart flutters. The force is slowly starting to ease its nasty grip on you.

If you didn’t sense the creature, you would miss it.

A little green baby, wrapped in what looked like a potato sack, was strolling down the ramp, looking directly at you.

“It’s him,” you say.

“He has it.”

#din djarin #mando #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #star wars #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction

406 notes · View notes

kikis-writing-world · 4 years ago

Text

Love is Blind

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (her hair is described in that it is long enough to braid, and it is brushed by another character. Sorry if that alienates anyone)

Word Count: 8.4k

Rating/Warnings: Mentions of dead bodies and glossing over of canon-typical violence, injury leading to temporary blindness, talks of medical procedures (vague descriptions cause idk what I’m doing,) mentions of pregnancy (Whiskey talks about his dead wife) If I missed anything please let me know. It’s a long one and I tried to mark down anything that might need warning.

Summary: The mission was going perfectly until you were caught by a stupid trap, spraying some kind of toxin in your face. Now you’re (temporarily?) blinded and have to find out what that means for your future with Statesman.

The dust settled over the room as the chaos gave way to silence. You waited a beat, taking a deep breath before speaking out.

“Clear.” You spoke softly, knowing the message would be transmitted to your partner. Despite your confidence that you’d taken out the men on your side of the room, you kept your pistol firmly in your grasp.

“Clear.” The response came through your ear piece, the voice tinny in your ear. The bass tones were missing, but it was unmistakably Agent Whiskey’s southern drawl. You stood from your cover behind a large, leather sofa and surveyed the mess. Whiskey was standing behind the bar in the corner of the room doing the same.

“Nice work.” You nodded at him, noticing several bodies elegantly cleaved in half from his lasso.

“Same to you, ‘Rhett.” Whiskey returned the compliment, stepping around the bar. You glared at him for shortening your name - he knew you hated that - but you were stopped from responding as a third voice joined the conversation through your earpieces. “Intel puts the plates in a safe behind the painting. The landscape behind the desk” Ginger’s voice instructed from HQ, watching the scene through the micro-cameras you were both wearing: Whiskey’s in his bolo tie and yours on a broach on your vest.

You and Whiskey both turned to look at the large painting on the far side of the room. It, and the desk it sat behind, were riddled with bullet holes and other damage from the fray. It was still hanging askew on the wall. You crossed the room easily, stepping over the various bodies on the way. Whiskey let you take the lead, keeping a watch while you turned your back to the room.

The painting fell with a nudge from the barrel of your gun, revealing the safe tucked into the wall. A 10 digit keypad with a small screen kept it locked. You leaned in, making sure your broach was pointed at it. “Ginger?”

“Got it Amaretto. Analyzing.” You could picture the woman typing away, executing different commands as she analyzed the image you broadcast back to her computer. You knew she was using possible heat signatures, wear on the numbers, oil deposits, not to mention the tech you didn’t understand to crack the code. You could hear Whiskey shifting around the room behind you as you waited.

“7298,” Ginger instructed. You entered the code and the lock clicked, the door swinging ajar.

“Thanks, Ging.” You acknowledged before addressing Whiskey. “We’re in.”

“And?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at you, but keeping himself angled out into the room in case of trouble.

You pushed the safe’s door the rest of the way open seeing a large, black briefcase inside. If the intel was right, inside it would be counterfeiting plates. A small time counterfeiting ring had somehow paired up with a large terrorist ring, laundering the fake money into real profit to fund their plans. Taking down this ring would be a big, although likely temporary, hit to the terrorists.

You pulled the briefcase out of the safe, setting it onto the desk. There were no locks on the briefcase, just the latches keeping it closed. While that should have been suspicious, your excitement of completing the mission had you pushing forward. You unlatched and opened the lid.

Before you could see what was inside, something shot out of the case. You were sprayed in the face and neck with a cool, goopy liquid. You yelped in surprise, wiping frantically at your face to get it off. You stumbled backwards into the wall, falling onto your ass.

You heard Whiskey call for you the same time Ginger did through the earpiece. Whiskey was beside you quickly, pulling your hands away from your face by the wrists. “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know.” You stuttered, feeling him wiping at your face and hands with some fabric. “I opened the case and it shot out at me.”

“Ginger?” Whiskey called out.

“I’m checking the footage now, running it through our databases.” The tech responded, voice level as always. “Keep a sample, but find some water to get it off her. I’m sure it’s some kind of safety measure.”

“Stay here.” Whiskey ordered before he left your side.

You nodded, trying to remain calm as the substance started to sting your eyes. You relayed that information back to Ginger.

“What else can you tell me about it, Amaretto?” She asked.

“It’s viscous. Like syrup.” You told her, feeling the slimy coating it still left on your skin after Whiskey had tried to wipe it away. “Cool to the touch. Smells like… flowers? Definitely floral.”

“Okay. That’s good. That’s helpful. Anything else, let me know. It will help us identify it quicker.”

Whiskey returned as Ginger spoke. You jumped at his sudden presence beside you.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “Got the water and a cloth.” He narrated as to not spook you when the wet rag touched your skin.

“Flush out her eyes and get out of there.” Ginger instructed as your partner wiped your face clean. The cloth disappeared and Whiskey’s large hand was on the back of your head, leading you to lean over.

“I’ve got you. We just gotta wash out your eyes.” He kept talking, although you couldn’t quite tell if it was to keep you or himself calm. “Open.” He instructed.

You listened, opening your eyes and whimpering at how much it hurt to do so. The room seemed so much brighter than it had been before. You only had a moment to think on this before Whiskey was pouring the water into your eyes. You reached out for him, steadying yourself with your hands against his chest.

When the flow of water stopped, you told Ginger. “Light sensitivity. Add that to the list of symptoms.”

“Got it.” She responded. “Whiskey, grab that case and get to the jet.”

Your partner’s hands were on your arms, helping you to stand. He left you momentarily and you heard the briefcase snap closed. His arm wrapped around your waist as he led you away from the wall. You stumbled a few times over the bodies on the floor, but Whiskey did a good job of leading you. Any misstep you took or slight fumble, he never let you fall. You were lucky the two of you had dispatched everyone in the house before making it to the office. There was no one left alive to stop you as you left.

“It’s really starting to burn.” You told them, feeling tears falling from your eyes. The burning was also translating into a headache as the pain spread. It was getting harder to focus on Whiskey as he navigated the two of you out of the house.

“Stick with me, pick up your feet. I got ya.” Whiskey continued to instruct as you moved.

You knew you’d made it outside the second the sunlight hit your face. Even through closed eyelids, the light was too much to bear. You cried out in pain, shielding your eyes with your hands. You would have fallen to your knees if not for Whiskey’s firm grip on you.

“I can’t.” You cried, holding your head in your hands. “It’s too much.”

Whiskey cursed under his breath before you felt something slip atop your head and you were lifted off the ground. “Keep your head down,” Whiskey ordered, the vibrations of his voice moving through his chest against you. You could feel the bouncing of his footsteps as he ran. You removed your hands from your eyes to hold onto him, and you assumed you were wearing his hat by the way it kept the sun off your face. You buried your head into his neck to shield your eyes even more from the light.

“We’re almost there.” He promised as you trembled in his arms.

When Whiskey had landed the jet earlier, it hadn’t seemed too far from the cabin - far enough to not alert them to your presence of course, but the trek there hadn’t seemed far. Now, it felt like he might as well be carrying you to Canada as the pain grew worse. You could hear Whiskey and Ginger talk, but it grew harder to hear them over your own groans of pain and the blood rushing through your ears. You were crying in earnest into Whiskey’s shoulder, fighting the urge to claw at your eyes.

You felt his gait change as he ascended the stairs into the jet. You could hear his voice but the words were lost on you as he set you down into a sitting position. Without him to grip onto, your hands flew to your eyes. Your arms were quickly restrained, making you yell and thrash. It was too bright. It hurt too much. The stinging was unbearable now.

You felt a single hand wrap around both wrists as you pleaded for him to let you go. You needed to do something to stop the pain.

You barely felt the pinprick to your neck. As it got harder to fight him, you realized he must have given you a sedative. He dropped your arms as your muscles grew sluggish and you felt him buckling you safely into the seat. You tried to mumble a thank you to him, but you couldn’t be sure if the words made it out of your brain as you lost consciousness.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Your surroundings came to you slowly. The feel of the stiff cot under you, covered with scratchy linens. A few quiet beeps from different machines. The sensors attached to your chest and your arms - you must be in the medical wing back at Statesman HQ. It took you a moment to remember what had landed you in medical but once you did you were pleasantly surprised to not feel any pain.

You couldn’t remember anything after stepping outside the cabin. The last vivid memory you had was the sun hitting your face and excruciating pain shooting through your head. Whiskey must have gotten the two of you back safely.

Your eyes fluttered open meeting a dark room. You were thankful for that, remembering how severe the light sensitivity had gotten. Introducing you to light slowly was a good idea.

“You’re awake.” The voice made you jump, even though you quickly recognized it to be Ginger. You didn’t expect her to be waiting in the dark for you. “How do you feel?”

You heard the heart rate sensor beep a little quicker as you clutched your chest from the scare, laughing softly. “You scared me. I feel okay, actually. No pain.”

“That’s great.” You could hear the relief in her voice. “And your vision?”

The question gave you pause, wondering how you were supposed to test your vision in the dark. “Turn the light on and I’ll tell you.”

“What?” Ginger’s voice was clipped, fallen from the relief it held moments ago. You weren’t sure exactly what the tone was but you knew you didn’t like it.

“Turn the lights on, Ging.”

“The lights are on.” She explained. You could hear the clicking of her footsteps and the rustling of her clothes as she moved closer. A hand on your right arm made you flinch.

“That’s not funny.” You scoffed.

“I’m not joking.” She replied seriously. She was silent for a moment, the faint rustling of fabric moving again before she asked “you don’t see that at all?”

“See what?”

“I’m shining a flashlight into your eyes.”

“No you’re not.”

“Ginger!” You heard Whiskey’s drawl, echoing like it was in a different room. Footsteps, heavier than the ones you had just heard, accompanied his voice as you figured he must be entering approaching your room. “She awake yet?”

“Whiskey, tell Ginger to stop joking around.” You begged, starting to freak out. The increased beeping beside you accompanied the anxiety you were feeling spread through your body.

“What’s going on?” The cowboy asked, worry coating his voice as it moved closer.

“She can’t see anything.” Ginger admitted, her hand leaving your arm. You heard Whiskey exhale to your left, a loud breath that sounded like he’d been punched in the solar plexus.

“Why not?” He demanded.

“I don’t know.” Ginger admitted. “We’re still analyzing the substance. So far all we know is it seems to be made from orange blossoms and some kind of berry-”

“It won’t be permanent, right?” You asked, cutting Ginger off. Your voice sounded so small compared to the other two in the room. There wasn’t an answer right away, footsteps approaching from the left before a large, warm hand covered yours.

“We’ll figure this out, sugar.” Whiskey told you as he laced his fingers with yours.

“We will.” Ginger confirmed. She sounded confident, and you knew she was nothing if not capable, but you still felt tears roll down your cheeks as the fear crashed over you.

You heard Whiskey tut beside you before he was brushing your tears away, his large palms cupping your cheeks as his thumbs brushed your skin.

“I’ll get to the lab. See if we’ve got anything new.” Ginger excused herself and you could hear her footsteps fade as she left the room.

As the two of you were left alone, you felt the cot shift underneath you as Whiskey sat down. He pulled you into a hug, letting you cry into his shoulder. She rocked you gently back and forth, telling you it was going to be okay. He let you cry until you felt numb, like there were no tears left. He didn’t move away until you lifted your head.

“I’d offer you my handkerchief, but it’s in the lab too.” Whiskey told you, voice light like he was trying to make you smile. He shifted away for a brief second, leaning back as you felt him press a scratchy fabric into your hand, which you quickly identified as a tissue. You used it to blot at your cheeks and nose.

You thanked him, your voice hoarse from crying. “Not just for this,” you waved the tissue in the air. “For getting us out of there.”

“It’s part of the gig, sugar.” It sounded like he was grinning when he spoke. You hoped he was. Even more, you hoped you’d see the grin for yourself again soon.

The next several days revolved around tests. Scans of your head and eyes, tests being done on the limited amount of the substance the lab had collected from Whiskey’s handkerchief and the briefcase. You didn’t even realize there were that many different tests they could perform, but everyday they brought you new results. Unfortunately, none of the results so far had led to any answers about why you’d lost your sight. As the lab identified more ingredients of the goo that had sprayed you, they tried different medicines and remedies but nothing had changed. They also told you how the substance had left you with a light rash on the skin of your face and hands where you’d been exposed. You were hardly worried about the rash. They said it was fading naturally. You wished your sight would return naturally too.

Between tests, you were hardly ever along. Whiskey visited you more often than not. Ginger spent a lot of time with you during tests as well as socially for meals. The team of doctors and junior agents working with her to help heal you all came and went. Tequila, Champ and other Statesman agents came by to check in on you when they could.

It was getting easier to identify who was coming as you started to hear differences in their footsteps. Whiskey had a long, slow gait, his boots slapping the floor with a dull thud. Tequila’s steps were quicker, and his boots snapped a little lighter against the floor. Champ’s steps were slower, like Whiskey’s, but there was an irregularity to the pattern. His left hip making him have the slightest limp that you had never noticed by sight alone. Ginger was easiest, being one of the few women who came to see you. Her steps clacked as her heels hit the floor.

You were also surprised to start noticing the different scents everyone held. Tequila, bless that boy, smelt obnoxiously like axe spray deodorant, reminding you of a high school boy’s gym class. Champ smelt of vanilla, cloves and the cigar smoke that clung to his clothes. Ginger smelt like clean linens, a hint of tropics in her detergent but seemed to be content staying largely scent-free, no perfumes that you could pick up on.

Whiskey’s smell was more complex, but maybe that was because he was the one who would sit next to you on the bed, giving you a chance to really breathe it in. Hints of spiced citrus hung to his clothes, along with the smell of leather and smoke - not smoke like Champ, but the kind from a freshly fired gun. When he got close enough, his musk had you remembering being cradled in his arms as he carried you away from the cabin, his hat atop your head.

You were thankful for the ways you were picking up to identify people. Your years as an agent had you trained to survey your surroundings, to avoid being caught off guard. It was unsettling to have your primary sense for that taken away from you. Most people were learning to announce themselves as they approached your room, giving you a heads up someone was nearing. Not everyone did. Tequila was particularly bad at it, and you suspected he enjoyed watching you jump.

You expressed your worries to Champ when he came to visit, on the fourth day of no progress. He chuckled and patted your back in a fatherly way.

“Let’s give them some time to figure this out, Amaretto. We don’t need to start plannin’ a retirement party just yet.”

You supposed he was trying to help you worry less, but it didn’t help. Would you have to retire if your vision wasn’t restored? You could hardly imagine a position at Statesman that you could easily navigate without sight. If you ever learned braille, and how to type, maybe some kind of administration or archival job, but who knew how long it would take you to master those skills. It was hard enough to accept what this meant for your career, let alone the rest of your life.

The agents that came to visit tried to help take your mind off of it, but it was hard when there was no true reprieve.

“Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged.

“You know, I’m startin’ to remember why I wasn’t so fond of this book in school.” Whiskey interrupted his recitation. “How Mr. Twain managed to turn the absolute boredom of paintin’ a fence into the written word with such lucidity is an artform in itself.”

“Oh stop,” you laughed, reaching beside you to swat at him. It was an easy thing to aim for, feeling the warmth of him on the bed next to you, his arm pressed to yours.

“I’m just sayin’ that I’ve had better adventures before breakfast than these so called adventures of Tom Sawyer.” He complained.

“Tom Sawyer wasn’t a senior agent of a secret spy organization.”

“And good thing too. He’d have burnt this place to the ground by now with his behaviour.” He harrumphed, making you laugh.

“Just keep reading.”

He sighed, a long, annoyed sigh.

“Please.” You sang, smiling up at him as you leaned into his arm. These were the moments you could really smell the spice and leather on him.

He was silent for a beat. Although the two of you were joking, you almost worried he wouldn’t keep reading. It was much harder to read people’s moods without seeing their facial expressions. No smile or eye roll to go by had you guessing by voice tone alone. Silences had you absolutely puzzled.

“Can’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an’ git dis water an’ not stop foolin’ roun’ wid anybody. She say she spec’ Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an’ so she tole me go ’long an’ ’tend to my own business—she ’lowed she’d ’tend to de whitewashin’.”

“Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That’s the way she always talks. Gimme the bucket—I won’t be gone only a a minute. She won’t ever know.”

“Oh, I dasn’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis she’d take an’ tar de head-

“I’d be able to follow a lot easier if you did different voices for the different characters.” You interrupted.

“Don’t push your luck.” He grumbled, but you were pretty sure you could hear that grin in his voice again as he kept reading.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Keep your eyes closed.” You were instructed by Tonic, a junior agent who worked under Ginger. You felt the dampened towel being lifted from your eyes. You’d just spent 40 minutes laying back, letting the medicinal solution on the towel soak in. You had done the same thing the day before, and would likely be doing it again tomorrow.

“Just dimming the lights. Hold on.” Tonic explained as you heard his shuffling footsteps through the room. It was a good thing he had a knack for medicine because he’d be an awful field agent with the way he never picked up his feet.

“Okay, open.”

You did as instructed, blinking as your eyes adjusted to being open again. Just like the day before, you only saw the familiar inky blackness.

“Nothing.” You shook your head.

“That’s okay.” You could hear the forced optimism in his voice. “Ginger said it could take up to five treatments for this to work. We’ll do it again tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” You gave the poor kid the best smile you could muster, but you were definitely losing hope. It had been nearly a week now with no progress. It was getting time to face facts.

“Don’t worry, Agent Amaretto. We’ll figure it out.” The boy told you, a soft pat on your shoulder accompanying his attempt at comfort.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen Tonic around Statesman. You might have walked by in passing, but you were never introduced. It was weird to be spending this much time with someone and having no idea what they looked like. You were almost tempted to ask, but kept it to yourself. You'd have to get used to not knowing what new people looked like.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You shuffled out of the bathroom with your hand on the doorframe to help guide you. You had showered - your first true shower on your own, not just a quick wash-up in the sink or a sponge bath - and it made you feel slightly more human again. The robe was soft and plush against your skin, wearing only a tank top and underwear under it. The towel you had half-heartedly wrapped your hair in was falling out of the twist - you hadn’t quite mastered that skill without seeing yet.

You opened your mouth to dismiss the junior agent who had been tasked with waiting for you - sitting outside the washroom in case you needed to call for help - but you were interrupted.

“I sent her on her way, sugar.” You immediately recognized Whiskey’s twang. He was the best so far at announcing his presence, and you truly appreciated it. You still jumped slightly, not expecting him to be here. “Sorry.” He chuckled.

“I’ll get used to it eventually.” You waved off his apology, not actually knowing if you would ever get used to it.

“C’mon, none of that.” Whiskey tutted. Your uncertainty must have shown on your face. “Want a hand?”

“Yes, please.’ You confirmed, holding your arm out towards his voice. You heard him approach, footsteps and fabric, before he looped his arm around yours.

“Where to?” They had set up a table and chairs for you in the room, trying to make you feel more at home than in a hospital room. All it did was reaffirm that you weren’t any closer to finding a solution and that your stay was going to last even longer.

“The bed, please.”

He led you to the bed easily, not taking his arm away until you were sitting comfortably. You felt the towel fall even further off your head as you sat.

“Can you pass me the brush?” You asked him, holding your hand out.

You waited, hearing Whiskey move around, but instead you felt him pull your hair free from the towel. With your wet hair falling down your back, you felt him run the brush through it.

“What are you doing?” You chuckled.

“You just relax, sugar.” He ordered. He started at the ends of your hair, brushing the tangles out before moving closer to your scalp.

“I can brush my own hair.” You argued even though you were grinning.

“Just let me take care of you, Rhett.” He huffed, smacking you on the shoulder with the flat side of the brush.

“Fine, Whisk.” You huffed playfully in response, leaving him to brush your hair.

He was surprisingly gentle, only once did your hair pull painfully at your scalp to which he mumbled a quick apology. You hadn’t had someone brush your hair for you in a long time. Outside of a hairdresser, it probably hadn’t happened since you were a child. As much as you were trying to maintain your independence with your new loss of sight, it was very relaxing.

You hadn’t expected it when you felt him part your hair into sections and start weaving them together.

“Are you… braiding my hair?” You asked curiously.

“Yes, ma’am.” He hummed, clearly concentrated on his task.

“Okay, the brushing I could let go, but are you going to tell me how you know how to braid?” You laughed.

“I’ve made my own whips before, sugar.” He explained, his drawl even more pronounced as he spoke slowly, keeping his focus on the hair. “Part of that is just fancy bradin’.”

“You make your own whips?” That surprised you.

Whiskey chuckled, his fingers brushing lower and lower on your back as the braid progressed. “Not the ones I use on missions, but I have some at home I made. I’m not too up on the electricity part, but a good ol’ fashioned bullwhip? I can throw one of those together in a few days if I have the time.”

“So which came first? Using the whip or making them?”

“Been usin’ them since I was a boy, on the family farm. Started makin’ em ‘round the same time, maybe a few years between. Although those first ones were nothin’ to celebrate. I got better at it. Decent hobby to have, if you’ve got scraps of leather hanging around.”

You felt him end the braid as he spoke, tying an elastic around the end. You lifted your hand to your hair so you could feel the braid. It was surprisingly sturdy and didn’t feel like there were any messes of bumps.

“Thank you.” You turned, smiling in his direction.

He was silent as he pushed the braid over one shoulder, his fingertips grazing your neck as he did. The sensation left goosebumps on your still-damp skin.

“I also used to braid my wife’s hair.” He admitted quietly. “Especially when she wasn’t feelin’ well. Braided it up to keep it out of her face.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You knew a bit about Whiskey’s past, about his high school sweetheart and that she’d died, but it was hardly ever discussed between the two of you. Before you came up with something to say, he continued.

“When we found out she was expectin’,” he grunted as you felt the mattress dip. You scooted over to make room for him to sit. “I was braidin’ her hair all the time. For one, the mornin’ sickness that first trimester, hoo-” he chuckled softly, lost in the memory. “It really kicked her ass. Spent most her time huggin’ a bucket or praying to the porcelain gods. But before we found out she was carryin’ a boy, she wanted me to practice. ‘Case we had a little girl.”

You bit your lip, reaching in Whiskey’s direction. You wanted nothing more than to take his hand in yours, but you fumbled in the air clumsily. He brought his hand up to yours, letting you grip it tightly.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“Thank you, sugar.” He answered back. “Was another life. Wasn’t meant for me, I guess.”

You gave his hand another squeeze, really wishing you knew what to say. Something to make the pains of his past a little… less. His hand stayed in yours, but you heard something rustling off to the side.

“What are we readin’ tonight? We’ve still got some of Tom Sawyer’s adventures to go through, or we can start Pride and Prejudice.”

You leaned back, getting comfortable in the bed. “Tom Sawyer. Besides, you can’t tell me you actually want to read Pride and Prejudice.” You grinned, letting him change the subject.

“I could be persuaded, but if the lady requests Tom Sawyer…” He trailed off, likely picking up the book based on what you heard. He got settled in beside you and you heard the pages turning as he found where the two of you had left off. As he read, his hand stayed firmly in yours.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Lean back.” Ginger instructed. You did so, keeping a firm grip on the arms of the chair to keep your equilibrium. They had uncovered a new piece of whatever had attacked you, leading them to coming up with another possible cure. Ginger had explained this to you as she prepared you for the eyedrops. You were glad they were eyedrops this time because last time it had been a gel. Even without your sight, the feeling of gel in your eyes was incredibly unpleasant. That being said, you’d do it everyday for the rest of your life if it meant you could see again.

“Ready?” She asked, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“Mhmm.” You held your eyes open as much as you could, waiting for the liquid to hit them. If you thought eyedrops were bad before, they were worse now that you couldn’t see them coming.

The first drop hit your eye, making you jump despite being ready for it. You felt one more drop in the left eye before she moved to your right.

The cooling effect was almost immediate, the strange tingling making your eyes water. You fought against blinking until Ginger gave you the go ahead. You kept your head tilted until a tissue was pressed into your hand.

You leaned back upwards, wiping the residual drops from your cheeks. There were tears too, your eyes watering from the sensation.

“How does it feel?” Ginger asked as you heard her click a pen.

“Tingly.” You told her. “It feels like minty, maybe? Like chewing mint gum with my eyes. Or menthol.” You tried to explain. You heard her scribble something down as she hummed in response.

“Let me know if anything changes. It could take up to an hour to work.” She explained.

You blinked continuously, having no choice as the reflex tried to deal with the feeling in your eyes. It wasn’t unpleasant or painful, just very foreign.

Ginger ate lunch with you while you waited for something to happen, but nothing did. You swallowed down your thoughts of ‘I told you so,’ instead agreeing with her that maybe the next thing would work.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“We gotta start making plans, Champ.” You told him plainly, hands clasped in your lap. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“‘Course not!” The man agreed with gusto. “Forever is out of the question.”

You sighed, knowing he was deflecting. “Nothing is working yet.”

“Somethin’ will.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“What if it does?”

“Agent Champagne-”

“You sound like my wife.” He snarked.

“Your wife calls you Agent Champagne?” You asked with a smirk. You couldn’t resist taking that bait.

“A gentleman wouldn’t kiss and tell.” He joked, but it did little to lighten your mood. “But what I mean is the tone of voice. That’s the voice she uses when she thinks I’m being as dumb as a bag o’ hammers.”

You wouldn’t have quite put it that way, but you did think Champ was avoiding dealing with the situation at hand.

“So I’m gonna tell you what I tell her when she starts usin’ that particular tone of voice.” He took a pause and you waited for him to continue. “Trust me.”

You sighed, dropping your head. “I trust you, Champ.”

“Then why are we havin’ this conversation? Is it Ginger and her team? Do you not trust Ginger?”

“Of course I do-”

“You don’t trust Statesman or Statesman technology or medicine?”

“That’s not what I’m saying-”

“Then you stop worrying ‘bout what we’re gonna do with you, and focus on gettin’ better.” He instructed, his tone firm. His accent grew thicker as he went on. “I won’t hear anymore about plannin’ nothin’ ‘cause you’re going to get back out there, Agent Amaretto. This piss poor attitude ain’t helpin’ nothin’! If we thought this was a lost cause, we’d tell you. You’d get a gold watch and we’d set you up with a good pension and probably a little desk job at some library somewhere to keep you busy, but that’s not in the cards for you.”

You couldn’t help but tear up as Champ went on. You weren’t even totally sure why. You felt so alone, like no one was hearing your concerns - but at the same time, it sounded like Champ had been thinking about possibilities. A librarian? You didn’t want to end up a librarian. You almost wanted to go back to not talking about the future.

“You, missy, are a Statesman Senior Agent. Now, I’ve already got Tequila climbing up the walls and causin’ trouble, I can’t be worryin’ about herding two cats. Suck up that booboo lip and act like the Agent you are. Understood?”

“Yessir.” You mumbled.

“I didn’t hear you, Agent Amaretto.”

“Yessir.” You repeated, louder this time.

“Good.” You could hear the finality in his voice before the ice in his drink clinked together as he took a sip. “‘Cause if that didn’t work… well, the next tactic I use on the Missus is a little inappropriate to try with you, Agent. No offense.”

Now that did get a laugh out of you.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The podcast played from the speaker beside you, but you were only half listening to it. You were thinking of taking a nap, more out of boredom and lack of anything better to do than tiredness, when you heard familiar heavy footsteps approaching your room. You couldn’t help that it lifted your spirits to know Whiskey was on his way.

“‘Rhett.” He greeted, that signature tone in his voice letting you know he was grinning.

“Whisk.” You responded with a sigh. “You know, if anyone else called me that, I might have to kill them.”

“Not interrupting, am I?” He ignored your warning, stepping into your room.

“No. Wasn’t really listening to this anyway.” You told him. You turned your head in the direction of the speaker and asked it to stop. The room fell into silence as you sat up on the cot.

“That better not have been a book on tape.” He warned.

“Now why would I listen to one of those when I have a real life book on tape at my beck and call.” You smirked.

“Walkin’ talkin’ book on tape, huh? If that’s all I am to you, I think I might just take this present back home with me then.”

“Wait!” You stopped him, hearing his feet retreating back towards the door. “You didn’t say you had a present.”

“Thought that might change your tune.” He chuckled.

You scooted to the side of the cot, patting the mattress beside you. It only took him a second to sit next to you, that familiar spiced citrus and leather scent taking over your senses.

“Hands out.” He instructed. You held your hands in front of you, waiting impatiently for them to be filled. He placed the gift in your hands, but you had no idea what it was yet.

It was circular, but it seemed to vary in width - no, it wasn’t circular, it was just looped. You ran your hand over it, feeling the smooth pattern adorning it.

“What is it?” You asked, finding the end of it - a strong, heavy piece, the texture similar to the rest of it, although the pattern was different. The very end came to a bulbous tip.

“That’s a bonafide, one of a kind, handmade by yours truly, bullwhip.” He explained, taking your hand in his and wrapping it around the handle to hold it properly.

“For real?” You smiled, feeling what you now knew to be leather under your fingers.

“For real.” He chuckled.

You tested the weight of the handle, feeling the drag as the rest of the whip pulled against the sheets. Your fingers ran over the design, following the lines of the handle carefully woven and etched throughout. You regripped the handle and ran your other hand over the tail of the whip, pulling your hands apart to get a feel for how long it was.

“What does it look like?” You asked, leaning into him.

“It’s brown. Medium brown, the colour of gingerbread, maybe. Right along here,” he took your hand holding the handle and guided you in tracing the designs. “It’s stained red, just to make it pop. Not blood red, just tinged red with the stain. Gives it some detail, you know?”

“What else?” You asked, feeling breathless as he helped you to see the details with your hands.

“Well you can probably guess it’s made of leather.” You nodded. “But it’s actually made of kangaroo leather.

“Kangaroo?” You asked in shock. “Where’d a farm boy get kangaroo leather?”

You felt Whiskey’s laugh against your side. “I made this one a year or so ago. Just so turns out that kangaroo hide is one of the strongest in the world and well, when you have a hobby that requires leather, you start gettin’ creative with what kind of leather you’re usin’. Gotta keep it excitin’.”

“You don’t get enough excitement at your day job?” You teased.

“Nah, I’ve got this great partner who always has my back.” His voice made you shiver, despite the fact that his comment had your face heating up. He was leaning heavily against you now, his breath fanning over your cheek.

You swallowed the lump that had appeared in your throat, finding your voice to ask him to tell you more.

“About my partner? She’s a great gal. I’m sure I’d be dead twice over if she wasn’t there to pull my ass outta trouble. She’s a great shot, and there ain’t nothin’ sexier than a woman who can handle a pistol.”

His hand was on your opposite cheek, turning you to face him. The gentle touch made your breath stutter in your throat.

“She’s got this amazing smile that can make a mark fall in love from 40 paces, and it can light up a room from even farther.” He continued, the breath from his voice dancing across your face. His breath smelt like the spiced Whiskey he was named for, and a slight hint of cherries.

“She deserves better than me for her partner, that’s for damn sure. A broken man with a messy past who’s been too scared to tell her how special she is. I thought it was best to keep it professional, but I don’t know if I can anymore.” His nose brushed against yours. You gasped softly at how close he was.

“She’s always in danger, we both are, but once she was in danger I couldn’t help her out of… that made me realize how important she is. If she’ll let me though,” he whispered. You could feel his lips brush against yours as he spoke, his mustache tickling your upper lip.. “I’d like to spend all my time makin’ that up to her.”

“Jack-” Your whisper was cut off as he pressed his lips to yours gently. It was so gentle, almost hesitant. The man was such a loud, boisterous personality and this kiss was so contrary to that.

You dropped the whip, bringing your hand up to rest on his hand on your cheek. You followed his arm past his shoulder and up his neck to tangle in his hair. You felt his breath hitch from the light tug on the strands.

“I’m gonna stick by her side,” he muttered, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “No matter what happens. I’m gonna do everything I can to help you.”

You pulled him into another kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips together. He hummed softly into the kiss, brushing your cheek lightly with his thumb. His other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, like he was scared you would disappear. You nipped his bottom lip, trying to reassure him you weren’t going anywhere.

He hissed softly at the sensation and your tongue darted out to soothe the skin. His own tongue met yours, his moan at the contact matching your sigh.

He pulled back and you chased his lips. You were stopped as his nose brushed against yours, his shaky breath flitting across your face.

“Say it again.” He requested, so quietly you almost didn’t even hear.

“Say what?” You hummed, distracted by his nuzzling and the strong urge to have his lips against yours again.

“My name, sugar.” He was close enough that you could feel his cheek flex with a lopsided grin. “I ain’t ever heard you call me by name before now.”

You smiled in return, biting your lip. It was true. You’d called him Whiskey most of the time. Agent Whiksey when you were being formal. Whisk when he annoyed you. Numerous different names while undercover…

“Kiss me, Jack.”

He growled, low and deep in his chest, before he obliged. Now this was the kiss you expected from Whi- from Jack Daniels. His tongue, pressing past the seam of your lips. It felt like he was marking his territory, all you could do was let him. He swallowed your moans as you matched his hunger. He kissed you with passion, both experienced and unrefined. Unbridled. He kissed you breathless, until you had no choice but to part.

You pulled back, panting softly as you leaned your forehead against his. You wished you could see him. See if he was just as affected by the kiss as you were.

You slid your hand from his hair to his cheek. His skin was warm, you could almost imagine it tinged pink, flushed from being so breathless. You continued exploring, finding his mustache next. The coarse hair felt askew, likely mussed from kissing and not the neat, groomed thing you were used to. You felt the uptick of his lips in that signature grin, and you couldn’t help but feel those too. They were warm and moist. You wondered if they were swollen, like yours felt.

Jack held your hand still, kissing each finger tip one at a time. The tickle of his mustache made you giggle.

“I mean it, sugar.” You could feel his lips move against your fingertips, his voice vibrating through your hand. “I’m here with you. Whether they figure this out or not. We’ll get through it.”

It was the first time someone other than yourself acknowledged that your sight may never return. It didn’t bring about the hollow defeat you’d been feeling anytime you thought of being blind the rest of your life. It finally felt like you had someone in your corner. Of course it would be Jack. He’d had your back for years, working together in the field. You should have known it would be him, in the end.

“Thank you.” You dropped your hand from his face to wrap both arms around him, hugging him as you rested your head against his chest.

You felt him press a kiss against your forehead before he pulled you to lay down. He held you, cradled into his side as you burrowed your face into his neck. You heard something fall, probably the whip that had been forgotten on the sheets.

“Oops.” You winced, not having meant to be so careless with his gift. You moved to sit up, wanting to pick it up, but he held you firm.

“Leave it there,” he instructed. You relished the way his deep voice vibrated against you. “It ain’t gonna fall any further.”

“I don’t want something to happen to it.”

“If it does, I'll make you a hundred more.” He promised.

“Fine.” You ceded, snuggling back into him with a deep inhale. Leather and spice.

The arm that was draped over your waist left your side. You felt his muscles move under his shirt as he stretched out. It only took a minute before the released, relaxing again. You heard the fluttering of paper before he started to read.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The pressure from the device around your head was unpleasant, but not unbearable. The way it pressed down on your eyes made you want to squirm. Instead, you squeezed frantically at the stress ball Ginger had offered you before you’d been strapped in. You knew Whiskey was standing with her as she ran the test, but you wished he could be here. You’d take his hand in yours over the foam smiley face any day.

“Almost done, Amaretto.” Ginger’s voice echoed through the speaker, barely audible over the hum of the awful machine.

“You’ve got this, sugar.”

“Whiskey, don’t tou-”

“-tell me not to-”

“-my lab, my buttons-”

“-OW!”

The bickering coming through the speakers was almost enough to make you laugh. The clicking of the microphone engaging and disengaging had you picturing the two fighting over whatever button turned the feed on. The two had spent hours bickering the past two weeks, Jack becoming increasingly more involved in your treatment as the two of you shifted from partners to... well, there was no set term put on it yet, but you were very fond of kissing him. You couldn’t quite imagine the cowboy in the other room being called a boyfriend. It felt very middle school.

It was another few minutes of the machine humming, pressing awkwardly against you, until Ginger finally announced you were done. You heard the door between you and them open, two sets of footsteps approaching. One set of hands started to release the device from your head, while the other took the stress ball away. It was replaced with a large, warm hand that lifted yours until a kiss was pressed to your knuckles. The mustache prickled against your skin.

“Okay, you can sit up. Go slow, though.” Ginger instructed once you were free. You did, feeling your head swim.

“How’re you feeling?” Jack asked.

“Light headed.” You answered honestly, waiting for the feeling to pass. You leaned into Jack, letting him support you through the dizziness.

“Almost done.” He cooed, petting your braided hair. “We’ll get you back to your room soon.”

You heard Ginger moving around the room before she came to a stop in front of you. There was silence for a beat.

“Any change?” She asked.

You blinked a few times, but there was nothing. “No.”

You sighed, letting your shoulders slump with defeat, but Jack stayed strong next to you.

“That’s okay.” He hummed, not letting on any disappointment he might be feeling. He never tried to dictate how you should feel about your condition, but he stayed strong for you throughout. It was still so hard to deal with that you may never see again, but he made it a little easier. “Let’s get you back to your room. I for one am dyin’ to know what happens to Elizabeth next.”

You scoffed as he helped you to stand. “Sure you are.” His hands held you steady until you found your footing, his arm wrapping around you to guide you out of the lab.

“I am.” He argued. “I’m invested in it now.”

“Oh, well I guess I didn’t need to ask Champ to track down some Louis L’Amour books.”

“To hell with Elizabeth.” Jack declared, making you laugh.

You roused slowly. It took you a moment to realize you had fallen asleep while Jack read. The last thing you remember in the story was the caravan was going to be attacked. You wondered how long Jack had read for before realizing you’d fallen asleep. You were pressed tightly to his side, you could feel his warm body next to you. His head was leaning against yours, his deep breaths tickling your ear. He let out the tiniest snores anytime he exhaled. It made you smile.

“Jack, wake up.” You hummed, pressing a kiss to his neck. He hummed in response but didn’t fully wake. You called his name again, nuzzling into him.

Your name left his lips in a soft moan as he told you to go back to sleep.

“You’re going to have an awful kink in your neck if you keep sleeping like that. Come on.” You argued quietly, poking him lightly in his side as you sat up.

“Alright,” he groaned. You felt his body stretch out beside yours before he too sat up. You felt something hit your leg and you instinctively opened your eyes to see what it was.

You saw the book had fallen off Jack’s lap-

You saw.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @driedgreentomatoes

A/N: The books that are mentioned being read by Whiksey are The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and The Walking Drum by Louis L’Amour

#Agent Whiskey #Agent Whiskey x Reader #Agent Whiskey x f!Reader #Agent Whiskey fanfic #Agent Whiskey imagine #Kingsman The Golden Circle fic #Agent Whiskey fic #agent whiskey reader insert #Pedro Pascal Character fanfiction #WookieTales

322 notes · View notes

snaileer · 4 years ago

Text

Chips & Salsa - Chapter 9

“-remember-?”

Who was that?

“Do you-”

What are they saying?

Why does my head hurt?

Light burst into Lance’s eyes with the pain in his chest.

He jolted forward, stuck, hurt-

Haggar.

He could see her glowing eyes now. Staring at him from just under the darkness of her hood. Even without pupils, he could tell that she was focused solely on him. As if he would tell her anything.

Lance jerked against his restraints. Restraints? “What do you want from me, you hag?!” He shouted, pulling against the metal cuffs again. Though they already felt bruised. His head pulsed with similar aching.

“I said, What..” She creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her voice crawled out of her throat like slime coating his skin.

What do I know? He tried to pull away from her again, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” She was asking about his team, his family… Voltron. “I won't tell you anything. You’ll never get your hands on Voltron!” He struggled for lucidity against another flash of pain in his ever-growing headache.

An odd mix of satisfaction and anger flitted across her face, curving it into a sneer. “We will see about that yet, Paladin.”

He had no idea where the satisfaction came from. The anger, he understood. He’d seen plenty of his math teachers with the same expression; but satisfaction? She had nothing to be satisfied about. Not if she thought she could get anything from him.

“You’re not going to be able to break me, not in this lifetime or the next. I’ll never betray my team!”

A strange hissing growl came from her as she pulled her hand back and turned to the other druids. Other druids? Why hadn’t he seen them? He should have noticed them. Was he really that focused on just Haggar?

“Take him to the cell,” She glanced back at him out of the corner of her eye, “Leave him there for a while. We’ll see how he responds when I come back with further improvements from this information.”

He barely had time to panic before a druid had placed a purple hand on his arm and he felt magic course through him. It wasn’t electricity, thankfully, but it tensed every muscle in his body, paralyzing him in place.

God, the cramps he would get from this. He needed a massage. With coconut oil. And music. Hell, at the very least, a hot bath and copious amounts of bubbles.

When the other druid reinforced the magic to carry him out of the room, he came to the unfortunate realization that he would be getting neither any time soon.

The hallways faded past him in a blur. A tingling feeling niggled at the back of his neck, You should remember this. Pay attention. Listen! It screamed. This has happened before! SOMETHING’S WRONG! It whispered.

It sounded familiar.

Lance tried to pay attention to his surroundings, he really did. He knew it would be important if he wanted to escape. To know where he was going. But every time he tried to focus, the directions and pathways slipped from his mind like sand through a net.

What felt like seconds later, Lance was thrown into the darkness of a cell. And suddenly, feeling rushed back to him in a tsunami. Pain, pins-and-needles, sharpness, bruising, the sting of wounds rubbed raw at his wrists.

The druids moved away, uncaring at the shout he gave in shock when he hit the floor. The door closed behind them unceremoniously.

Lance groaned from his place crumpled on the ground, “Nothing like little torture and paralysis to get ya’ kickin’ in the morning, amiright?” He sighed to himself.

Displeasure sunk into him as the grime crawled its way into his pores.

Reluctantly, Lance pulled his hands and arms under his body, pushing up from the floor. At least he could lean against the wall, presumably less dirty than the ground. God, his head hurt. And his arms. Everything was sore, the thick manacles on his wrists feeling heavier by the second.

With a series of grunts, Lance finally settled himself into a corner of the cell. There was very little light, and most of it seeped in from the space under the door or the half dead purple-lightbulb-in-a-cage right above it.

Still, when he rolled his head to the side in exhaustion, there was enough light to catch on something written- no, carved into the wall next to him.

He raised his shaking fingers up to it, trying to feel what marks he couldn’t see.

D-n--or--g-t

-o--for--

No, there was a space in between there.

Do-t- fo--q-t

He squinted at it, leaning closer. The light caught on the curves of some of the letters. The ones he couldn’t accurately feel. It was an ‘N’, a ‘G’, an ‘R’ and maybe.. an ‘e’?

Oh.

Don't Forget.

Lance dropped his shackled wrists to his lap and huffed a laugh at his efforts. At himself. And then he spoke to the darkness.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

-x-x-x-

Lance sat in the darkness for hours, days, however mind-numbingly long it was that allowed him to actually recite his entire family tree through 4 and a half generations. Extended family included. He even started including hypothetical nieces and nephews based on what he thought his sisters would name their kids.

He absentmindedly wondered if all of them were still hypothetical. How long had he been gone? What had he missed?

What had changed without him there to see it?

Something rumbled in the back of his head. It felt hidden behind his absolute monster of a headache now coming back.

Except… wait. No. He recognized that rumble…

Blue?

Blue! It was the Blue Lion! His Lion!

Something broke free in his mind, a small section of fog lifting.

Her presence and his own pressed against each other in his mind. A piece he hadn’t quite noticed was missing.

How could he ever have forgotten Blue?

Her presence purred, the vibrations automatically soothing him, comfort pushing through his bond. Something still felt… off. The bond felt farther, more strained, even though he could feel Blue on the other side. Feel her desire to come closer, feel the worry tinging the edges. Something still kept a distance between them.

He didn’t know what it was but something in his own mind told him to leave it be. It was important. It had to be like this.

Whatever this was.

Lance wasn’t able to figure it out soon enough, their mental conversation interrupted by the harsh grinding opening his cell door.

“Get up,” a discourteous voice commanded.

He looked at them with hooded eyes and a forced smirk, “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt somebody?” Not that they knew he was having a conversation, but still… point stands.

Their glowing eyes narrowed, “Get up, or suffer, Paladin.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you manners? I didn’t even hear a please. Honestly, people these days have no- AAH!” Lance’s scream cut off his own words as purple lightning struck his body.

The druid barely even moved their hand and pain ran through his muscles. When the lightning stopped, Lance was left heaving for breath on his side.

He felt like the Extra Crispy option on a fried chicken menu. Was God trying to make him go vegetarian through sheer number of shared experiences? Screw that. In fact..

Lance glared back up at them and forced out the words, “Screw. You,” from between clenched teeth and struggling breaths.

He wished he could see the fury he knew was behind those masks.

The druid lifted their hand again and though Lance tried to fight the flinch, he wasn't sure if he succeeded. Instead of lightning, he felt the tight restraints of their magic envelope him and lift him up. He couldn’t even struggle out of it.

“Bite your tongue, child, or Haggar may decide to teach you some manners,” The druid growled and turned around, making their cloak swirl dramatically. Lance wished he could scoff at them, but the paralyzation made that difficult.

“And she will not be as merciful as I was.”

He settled for a particularly scathing, derisive glare. Lance thought they got the message anyways.

He was so focused on trying to burn a hole through their back that he almost missed where they were going. Almost. He hadn’t thought any of the directions stuck through his headache, but now… they were going back to the same room as before.

To Haggar.

He knew he was right when he spotted the Lady Hunchback herself leaning over a table. Seriously, when was the last time that woman stood up straight all the way? When she finished sharing tips and tricks with Satan and Hitler?

“I’d hate to be your chiropractor, lady. I bet it’s costly to find someone even able to tolerate your presence.” He was hoping for at least a twitch as the Druids forced the manacles into place on the table.

Instead, it was his heart that skipped a few paces upon realizing it must have been the same table he’d woken up on.

“I can’t imagine anyone would willingly come near you, despite being paid,” He sneered. It worked as a good enough distraction from what he knew was gonna happen. At least, it worked until she turned around.

“Quite the contrary, little Paladin,” Haggar reached her hands out to his head, clawed fingernails keeping him from leaning away, “I think you and I are going to get very close.”

Lance screamed again as pain shot through his skill. It felt like needles being shoved through his eye, he couldn't even-

It burned. It burned. It burned!

Please! Please Somebody! Help!

I can't-!

“Show me your team, Paladin,” A voice whispered, “SHoW ME Voltron!”

Pain surged again in time with his screams. Idly, some part of him wondered if he could burst his own eardrums.

His thoughts were crushed beneath crashing waves of searing, hot, burning, hot, it’s too hot, it hurts, it hurts it hurts, please please I can't do this I don't want-, somebody please!

Sharp claws cut a path through his mind. These ones didn't hurt.

No.

These claws came from soft padded paws. Metal and yet somehow gentle. Cold and soothing. He walked towards them, down the path they had laid for him, desperate for whatever small relief they could provide. Some distant piece of his soul recognized his bond between lion and paladin. But she was so far away. He could see the doors opened for him, welcoming him home, home to the water. But the path was so long and so dark.

He glanced down.

Dark?

No. It wasn't meant to be dark.

Burning tingled at his fingertips when he looked harder. His lion was blue. A gorgeous sky blue, ocean blue, ice blue. Then why….

Why was there purple leaching its way across it?

He looked behind him.

The heat worsened, pain closer than he remembered it.

His footsteps were clear behind him, each one oozing sickly, purple slime that curled its way around the light. Covering every inch of the gentle blue.

This wasn’t right. Something wasn't-

Sharpness spiked across his skull, snapping his head forward.

“Focus. Focus! Closer. Get closer! You cannot resist me! Not weak like you are!”

Something forced him forward and he stumbled on the path, falling to one knee. He reached to steady himself on the path; and different worlds flowed through his mind.

You’ve done this before, Cub. You can do it again.

They were his words. And they were Blue’s.

But he knew what they meant. He remembered it now. How Haggar was trying to get to his team, to Voltron, to Blue.

What she wanted from them. From him.

no. No. No!

“You cannot have her, Haggar! Not ever!” Lance turned around and moved away from the doors. The bond. Away from Blue.

Fresh agony layered on his skin. Heavier and thicker and stronger with each step.

He could hear Blue behind him now, calling out for him in mewls and cries. She wanted them to do this together. But he couldn’t, they couldn't do it together without endangering her. Endangering everybody. So he kept running. Pushing through what felt like thick slime until he was struggling to keep moving.

The smog pressed itself down his throat, burning, scalding and tearing him up on the inside.

Haggar was shouting out behind him too. She could only go so far, only get so close to her goal with him.

“I will take control, Paladin! You cannot stop me!” Claws grabbed his upper arms and pulled him back. They left deep gashes on his biceps and shoulders, but he pushed against their leverage.

“You don’t think I can stop you Haggar!?” He glanced over his shoulder at her glowing yellow eyes, “Watch Me!”

He turned around and reached into the darkness of her body without form, clutching onto the thickness he felt inside of it. Even as its essence burned like hot acid on his skin.

And then he threw his body backwards, taking her with him.

Away from the doors and through the barrier of Haggar’s magic. Away from Blue and through the pain.

Off of the path.

Almost immediately he felt Haggar get thrown from his mind.

He gathered what little peace he could find. The crashing waves came to a standstill for just one moment. It was enough.

It had to be.

He wanted to cry. Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew this was the best chance he would get to do so, but he couldn't. Not until it was over. Then he could break, could cry, or do whatever the hell it is that is supposed to come after this.

He looked back to stare through the thick, writhing purple of Haggar’s magic. He could see the glimmer of his bond with Blue. Of the ‘path’ they had laid that first day together.

It was dimmed now. Not just by the smoke obscuring his view, but by the purple sludge seeping into its bricks.

She’d gotten farther this time. Closer. More so than Lance had ever wanted Haggar to get. He knew he was struggling, struggling to keep the distance between his bond and her corruption.

It was weird. To be able to look back and remember himself forgetting something. Forgetting how many times they’d had this battle. This push and pull in his own mind.

He still didn't know just how long he’d been fighting back to keep her away. Just that he had. And that he’d keep doing it.

But he was losing.

A traitorous part of his heart told him this couldn’t go on forever. Something had to give, and as it was, Lance was not liking his odds. Something would have to break eventually.

But not yet.

He couldn't let go of her yet. He couldn't. Even if that made him weak, he couldn’t.

Not yet.

He just wanted to stay here a little longer. Stay with her a little longer.

The corrupted magic clearly disagreed with this prospect. Its char-colored surface rippled back to life. Waves were heard in a distance that did not exist.

They were not the bright, colorful waves of his home, nor the cold but fierce waves of his lion, these were riptide waves. Powered by the undertow and ready to pull him under. Drowning and suffocating him, farther, farther down.

He lost sight of the glow at some point, and the darkness snatched him under instantly.

-x-x-x-

The druids stared at the body of their mistress over the Voltron Paladin. So many times before, it had been the same. The same resistance and weakness from him. The same ignorant stubbornness as he protected what their Emperor deserved. He would fall to their magic eventually. As the one before him, and the countless subjects before that. He would fall.

But there were doubts.

They watched as Lady Haggar was flung back from the Paladin as she had been so many times before.

The doubts stood still. Ever wavering, faltering but not falling.

Lady Haggar lifted herself up and neither druid so much as twitched to help her. They knew better.

“He thinks himself strong, thinks himself righteous,” She crowed in that tone that said he so clearly wasn’t, “But his naivety costs him. I grow closer by the day.”

They saw barely a flash of white when Lady Haggar bared her teeth, “But that Lion keeps reminding him, keeps undoing my spells. He needs to be broken; and soon.”

The Druid refrained from mentioning that the spells for the invasion of his mind could only be broken by the strength of ones own quintessence. Reminded of strength, yes; but not given it or shared.

He was a Paladin of Voltron for a reason, though flawed that reason may be.

Lady Haggar finally turned attention to her druids, to fulfill their purpose under her command.

“Rid him of his weaknesses. No weaknesses, and nothing to chance.” She growled as low as a female galra could, “I will get that Lion from him, one way or another.”

As Lady Haggar stepped back, the druids stepped forward, up to the helpless paladin. His face was clear, unburdened and untense. That would change soon. They reached out with their arms and their magic, delving into the surface mind of this Paladin. Only the surface, Lady Haggar would do the rest.

The druids looked to each other, then to their mistress. He was ready, the spell prepared once again.

And from the front of the table, magic shot forward from her fingertips, into the mind, body and quintessence of the Child Paladin.

Their druid magic was nothing to the level of Lady Haggar, the Dark Witch of the Galra; and yet, it was their magic that ripped into his mind and made it possible for her to latch onto his memories.

They laid him bare, and she took what she needed.

The Paladin could do nothing. Would continue to do nothing. Not in the face of the empire’s power.

Then why must we keep repeating this process. The doubts whispered.

The druid ignored the words, focusing instead on the drawing of their power for the spell. When it was finished, the Druids stepped back once more, and Lady Haggar drew forward.

How would the Paladin awake this time?

His face began twitching. Slow, just as the last time.

“What do you remember?”

Nothing.

“Do you remember?”

Why did she ask him this? Their spell would only fail at the interference of the Voltron Lion. It was infallible to tricks of the mind.

The Paladin’s consciousness came closer to the surface. Still too slow. Always slow, this paladin. Magic was infallible and uncompromising, but Lady Haggar was not as patient.

She threw a spark of her magic onto the boy’s chest and instantly, he awoke. He jolted forward against the cuffs, no doubt hitting bruising from the pain of his struggles during Lady Haggar’s procedure.

Recognition flashed across his face. Focus drawn only to their Mistress, just as he was meant to. This was important, his mind still laid open for her to search, she drew her eyes onto his as her magic probed for information. Voltron could not hide forever.

The Paladin jerked forward once again, as if he had not learned the first time, “What do you want, witch?!” He shouted, pulling against his restraints. They would hold, this child was weak. Too weak.

“I said, What..” Lady Haggar creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her magic crawled forward, coating the recesses of his mind as she worked to pull forward his thoughts, his knowledge on Voltron.

His efforts to pull away were futile, though expected, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” Voltron. Voltron. The Other Paladins. Tell us. Tell us of Voltron, the magic chanted.

“You won't get anything from me, I won’t betray Voltron!-” Lady Haggar pushed deeper and pain flashed beneath his eyes, “You won't find my team, not through me!” The trench opened in his mind began to close, Lady Haggar’s magic pulling back.

Accomplishment flitted across her face in pairing with irritation. He was still resisting then… surprising but not irreparable. “We shall see if that is true, Paladin.”

The Paladin seemed confused, but then again, he always did. He was weak and feeble-minded after all, nothing more could be expected.

“I’ll never betray my team and you'll never be able to make me! That will never change!” He shouted. So loud, so foolish.

Lady Haggar pulled back her hand as the last of the Druid’s spell closed, they would have to try again. She looked to the druids, and drew the Paladin’s eyes to them as well. He had not noticed them. Poor awareness, weak yet again. This is why the spell worked so well on young, unguided minds. It led them to purpose. The Empire’s purpose.

“Take him to the cell,” She looked back at him slightly, “Leave him there until I summon for you again. We shall see his results after I have viewed the information gained. Succession is at hand.”

“Vrepit Sa,” Both Druids nodded and turned to the Paladin, their hands coated in magic. A paralytic, they were too close to risk escape with this prisoner.

But you have been ‘close’ for a while now, haven’t you?

The paladin’s eyes widened, his heart jumped pace and his quintessence fluctuated before being frozen by the spell. As if the body could fight it, the spell was instantaneous with contact. Simple and complete.

The Druid’s magic worked in concession to lift the Paladin and disconnect his restraints without removing them. Silently, they began the walk to the cell.

They could see the panic and confusion in the child’s eyes as they turned each corner. It was pitiful that the magic coating his mind would leave him helpless for hours. Still, the effort was commendable. A sign of potential perhaps.

His eyes started to glaze over dim, perhaps not then, if he lost presence that fast. He held little use past his title as Paladin.

It was with this thought that they tossed his unpresence into the cell. Without a fight, this Paladin was nothing more than knowledge to be collected and tested.

The Druids moved away, uncaring at the shout when the Paladin came back to himself as he hit the ground. They closed the door without mind.

Then stepped to the side.

Magic made one weak if you allowed it to. Weakness made one vulnerable and vulnerability was to be exploited. So, they waited; to see if the Paladin had changed in the hours under Lady Haggar’s influence.

His groan echoed quietly through the metal door. After much hesitance, and many pauses, the Paladin began moving. His shuffles were quiet, but his vocalizations of his pain were not.

Lady Haggar had left marks on him this time, his upper arms and shoulders were marked with scratches like a wild Krelshi.

They listened to him rest again, presumably sitting rather than laying now. As he always was when they came back.

The metal of his cuff clinked softly against the cell walls. The druids looked to each other, a wonder if the Paladin would remain the same in his patterns.

Indeed, not a minute passed until they heard the unsure sounds of his untranslated, broken language whisper through the air.

Neither of them understood it. These were not words. They could not be translated. They were just sounds. Gripped by craziness or something else, they were still just sounds.

Then, a small laugh. A chuffing. Even in a place like this for the prisoner. Always the same.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

Always the same, the paladin. Always the same.

-x-x-x-

In some other world, Lance might have wondered why the words carved into the wall were written in English.

He may have even noticed that the handwriting looked scarily similar to his own despite the pitch black darkness.

This was not one of those worlds.

And he did not notice.

First Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/613092735756402688/chips-and-salsa-chp-1

Next Chapter: Not Out Yet! But Soon!

Also double-posted on fanfiction.net and Ao3 under the same name!

59 notes · View notes

teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years ago

Text

in little ways

summary: "a single act of love makes the soul return to life." - saint maximillian kolbe (OR: soft moments in the relationship of patton, remus, and virgil, as a birthday gift for the lovely @bumblebeekitten)

a/n: HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEE!!! i give you intrumoxiety being soft little shits

CW: shedding of skin (akin to a snake), nightmare mention, bones, one (1) innuendo, nonsexual nudity

wordcount: 2.7k

ao3 link

“Babe? What - are you doing?”

Virgil, who is busy trying to plan out the best way to strategically approach a nest of wild sirens in the middle of molt to gather their discarded feathers, opens their mouth to reply, and then the low rumbling baritone of their newest lover hits their ears.

“I . . . you’ll laugh at me if I tell you.”

Virgil’s one-of-my-loves-is-on-some-self-deprecating-bullshit-and-requires-reassurance, which they take pride in having almost as fine-tuned as Patton’s, begins klaxon-blaring in their mind. They mark their page and carefully untangle themselves from the web of work they’ve been doing and head into the other room.

Patton is sitting on the kitchen table, swinging (Virgil narrows his eyes at the colored orb charm hanging around Patton’s neck) her legs back and forth, and Remus is standing in front of her, blushing. She has a small wreath of white things in her hair - are those bones? - with a bright jewel studded over her forehead. Remus is holding more small white things in his hands, claw-tipped fingers curled so delicately to avoid shattering them.

“You - I just -”

“Honey, I promise I’m not gonna laugh at you, no matter what,” Patton says. She reaches forward, assortment of rings glinting and clinking as she touches Remus’s face. He lets out a soft rumbly noise and turns his cheek to press into the touch more, gently rubbing his nose against her palm. “We all do stuff that other people think is weird. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Remus flicks his eyes up to look at Virgil, who slow-blinks at him in the clearest nonverbal communication of I love you, you massive idiot they can give. “I . . . uh . . . it’s a weird dragon thing.”

“Re, we’re not gonna be species-ist towards you, that would be super mean and also stupid, considering that no one in this house is human or cisgender,” Virgil says. Remus smiles, hesitant, and then exhales out a puff of gray-black smoke.

“It’s . . . a claiming thing. When dragons get serious about courtships, they . . . combine hoards a little? They’ll pick out choice pieces from their hoards and exchange them. So, by me putting pieces of my bone hoard on you, it’s like . . . me saying that I’m serious about this, and I want it to last.” Virgil reaches out and takes Remus’s hand, not reacting at all when their skin hisses and steams against his. The benefits of having a partner who’s half ice nymph and half selkie, they suppose.

“Don’t I get any bones?” they tease. Remus waggles his eyebrows at them; they promptly drop his hand and smack his shoulder. “Not like that, dirty dragon.”

“Yeah, it’s not fair for only one of us to get fancy bones!” Patton says. “Although I certainly do appreciate this . . . tiara? I’m gonna go ahead and say it’s a tiara.”

“It was supposed to be,” Remus says, kicking the floor. “I got Ro to help me with pickin’ out the gems and stuff. That’s part of what he hoards, so we went and looked for them together. He told me that one’s a moonstone, and I thought, y’know, werewolf, perfect, right? And - and I’m working on something for you, Virge, I just didn’t wanna find anything that screamed VEE to me on that trip, y’know?”

“Well, I absolutely love it,” Patton coos, leaning forward to kiss Remus. “Thank you for the tiara, sweetie!” She pauses. “You cleaned these, right?”

Remus laughs, deep and echoing, and something inside of Virgil uncoils.

*~*~*~*~*

Their skin itches and burns, and someone in front of them is setting their sealskin on fire, and they can hear Patton screaming high and frantic and Remus roaring deep and feral but they can’t move, they’re screaming, convulsing as they burn up with their sealskin and then then then then then -

“Virgil!”

They sit upright, ice flooding around them, and a dark shape looms in the distance and they fling their hand out to cast a massive shard of ice through the heart of their night terror, but the night terror opens its mouth and green fire rolls out like a current, licking along the ice and dissolving it into water without burning anything else. “Virgil,” the night terrors says, and why does Virgil know that voice?

“Virgil,” the voice repeats, lower, and then again, and every time it repeats their name it drops lower and lower until they aren’t so much hearing their name as they are feeling it reverberate in their heaving chest.

The night terror tips its head back and exhales a jet of flames towards the ceiling. It catches on a saucer of oil, spreading down troughs to ignite other saucers spread around the ceiling, and the night terror looks down with fire licking around its teeth and oh, that’s not a night terror at all, it’s Remus. His leathery wings are awkwardly stuck together behind him like he’d just woken up, his hands are up like he’s warding off an attack.

“R - Rem?”

BELOVED, he rumbles, mouth barely moving. Virgil sways a little under the force, blinking as Remus thumps at his chest a little with one hand. ARE YOU WELL?

“I . . . nightmare,” they manage. “Hunters. Hurt you, hurt Patty, stole my skin . . .”

Remus takes a step forward, then another. MAY I APPROACH? Virgil is pretty sure he’s actually speaking Dracon, which would explain the oddly formal address and grammar. They nod, too out of it to speak more, and Remus carefully climbs onto the ice-covered bed. He opens his arms, and they collapse into his chest, shaking.

“Patty?”

ON A NIGHT HUNT WITH HIS PACK, BELOVED. HE WILL RETURN ON THE MORN.

“Oh . . . did I hurt you?”

NO, BELOVED. HOW ELSE MAY I COMFORT YOU?

“My . . . my skin?”

Remus scoops them up into his arms, easily navigating the iced-over bedroom floor and taking them down into the basement. He exhales a plume of blue-green fire into the magical lock, and Virgil leans forward as the door spins and swirls open. The hoard room is full of perfectly-articulated skeletons, bones in cleaning vats, and the other treasures that Remus collects. He navigates through the piles skillfully until he reaches a dark wooden chest with an intricate sapphire-and-golden inlay on the top.

YOUR KEY, BELOVED?

Virgil traces a sigil across the chest, and it glows under their touch. The array lights up with a brilliant violet aura, and the chest pops open. They reach into the chest hurriedly, panic when they don’t feel fur, and then slide their fingers across to the latch that opens the false bottom. They flip open the false bottom and pull out their sealskin, pressing their face into the softness.

Their sealskin is beautiful. It’s black as pitch, studded with flecks of silver and white. Remus hugs them against his chest as they rub their cheek against the fur and inhale the scent of the sea. Remus rumbles underneath them, gently rubbing his face along their hair and neck to gently scent him.

“Thanks,” Virgil says, nearly twenty minutes later, sealskin draped around them like a blanket. “I . . . sorry I woke you.”

“It’s alright,” Remus says, voice hoarse and growly. “I don’t mind. It’s kinda hot when you go batshit, even though I wish you hadn’t had a nightmare.” Virgil snorts, shoving at his chest.

“I can’t believe you slipped into Dracon.” Remus ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Yeah . . . it . . . lots of dragon moms do it to try and soothe rowdy hatchlings back to sleep. I didn’t realize I was doing it until my larynx dropped, and once it goes that far down it takes a while to relax my muscles enough to release it back to normal.”

“I like it,” Virgil murmurs, leaning up to kiss him. “It’s . . . nice.”

Remus rumbles with pleasure and kisses them back.

*~*~*~*~*

“Patton, what are you doing?”

Patton is staring out the window, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a thin line of displeasure. Virgil pauses, arms full of books and random spell components. “I don’t trust that woman.”

“What? What woman?”

Virgil follows their gaze down to the end of the walkway leading up to their cottage, all the way to the woman at their mailbox. “Patton, what -”

“I don’t trust her,” they mutter, ears pinning back in their fluffy hair.

“Patton, she’s the mailwoman. Debra’s been coming here every day for the past seven years.”

“Suspicious.”

“It is literally the opposite of suspicious, you ridiculous werewolf.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Poor baby,” Patton croons, pulling on thick rubber gloves and tying her hair up out of the way. Remus whines, rolling around the kitchen buck-naked. His body is almost completely covered in thick, glistening scales, with few patches of human skin peeking through.

“Why are you naked?” Virgil asks.

“Shedding season,” Remus moans, swiping irritably at his torso. A thick sheet of scales flakes to the ground, and Virgil picks it up. “You can have whatever scales come off if you help me, it itches so baaaaaad!”

Virgil looks at Patton, who’s carrying a bucket of magic salts and a scrub brush towards the bathroom. “You got a spare brush and gloves, Patty?”

“Under the sink!” Virgil is quick to grab the supplies. When they return, Remus is still rolling around the kitchen floor, and Patton is prodding him with her foot.

“Babe, if you don’t get into the tub, I can’t help you feel better. Your dad sent the special salts that your family uses during sheds from the sea caves near your family home.”

“Papa sent them?” Remus’s eyes are wide and liquid, and he almost looks like a hatchling. Virgil bends down and brushes his sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Yeah, Reem. We asked him for the salts and the lotion so that you’d be more comfortable the next time you shed your scales. We know how much you hate the feeling, and we want you to be comfor - mmph!”

Remus grabs the front of their shirt and drags them down into a kiss, brief and passionate. Virgil leans back, mussed and flustered, and Patton leans down and drops a kiss into their hair. “Let’s get you into the bath, mister.”

They finally manage to get Remus into the hot bath, and the moan he lets out when Patton tips the salt into the water is positively lewd. Virgil tugs on the thick gloves and picks up their scrub brush. “I’ll take the left, you take the right?” Patton nods, picking up her rough sponge, and they get to work.

Virgil puts their back into the scrubbing, careful around Remus’s newly healed top surgery scars. They create a transport sigil next to them and pass any large sheets of scales that flake off of Remus through it, sending them to their work desk. Remus wriggles around in the hot water, making it difficult to scrub, but finally his skin is clear and red-pink from scrubbing and the heat.

Remus flops gracefully onto the bed, sighing in relief as he rolls around the soft comforter. Patton pulls off her gloves and picks up a tub of thick, pink goop. “Alright, buddy, it’s time for the lotion.”

“You guys don’t have to do all this,” Remus mumbles, sleepy from his bath. “I know it’s kinda gross.”

“We love you, Remus. It’s no trouble,” Patton says, gently stroking his hair.

“Of course it’s not,” Virgil adds. Remus lets out a low, pleased rumble, and Virgil kisses Patton softly.

*~*~*~*~*

“VIRGIL! Virgil, Virgil, Virgil Virgil VirgilVirgil VirgilVirgil VIRGIL!!!!!”

Virgil, whose name is sounding more and more like gibberish, even to their own ears, looks up from the sigil they’re constructing to see Remus bouncing eagerly in front of them. “Learn something new?”

“Yeah! Patton’s at the grocery store, can I infodump to you?”

Virgil looks down at the array they’re working on. “Give me two minutes to make sure this sigil won’t explode if I leave it alone, okay? Then you can talk all you want.” Remus nods, sitting down next to them. He’s practically vibrating with happy energy - flapping his hand, tapping his feet, snapping his fingers, rocking and humming. Virgil quickly changes a few of the components of their array, pulls their power out of it, and writes down where they were so they can pick their work up later. “Okay, Remus. Go ahead.”

Remus jumps to his feet and begins pacing around the living room, telling Virgil all about the new deadly creature he’s discovered, and Virgil watches him fondly, smiling.

*~*~*~*~*

“You know how Pat has his bone tiara?”

“Yeah?”

Remus reaches into the pouch at his waist and offers something to Virgil. “For you!” Virgil takes the token from his hands, gasping when it comes into view. It’s a necklace with a braided leather cord and a dangling pendant. The pendant is painstakingly constructed of dozens of tiny bones, all arranged and articulated to form an ornate snowflake. In the very center is a gleaming piece of icy pale blue-green topaz, carved into a hexagonal facet.

“You . . . you made this?”

“Yep! I - do you not like it?”

Virgil stares at the necklace, running their fingers over the edges of the snowflake and the ice-cold smoothness of the gem. They slip the pendant over their head with trembling fingers before dragging Remus into a kiss. “Bedroom, now.”

“As you wish,” Remus purrs, scooping them into his arms.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil tightens their grip on the strap of their messenger bag as the gates swing open, revealing a tall, imposing figure. Half of his face is covered in glittering golden-green scales, and one eye is a golden brown with a slitted pupil; the other is dark brown, almost black. He wears a long-sleeved golden dress that falls to the floor, intricately embroidered with dragons and flames along the hem, and his wings are fanned loosely around him.

“Papa!” Remus crows, sprinting up and leaping towards the figure. He catches him, managing to make it look elegant as he hugs Remus close and rubs his back with a small smile. Remus and his father press their foreheads together, rumbling softly, before Remus hops down. “Virgey, Patton, this is my papa! Papa, these are my loves!”

Virgil flushes, seeing Patton go pale pink beside them, as Remus’s father comes forward and extends a hand. “You may call me Janus. It is a pleasure to formally meet you. My son speaks quite highly of you.”

Virgil shakes his hand. “The pleasure is all ours, sir. Thank you for letting us use the private beach on your estate.” Janus smiles as he shakes Patton’s hand.

“Anyone so highly beloved of my son is always welcome on our family’s ancestral home.” His eyes linger on the bone tiara and pendant before turning to Remus and asking him a low, rapidfire question in a tongue Virgil doesn’t speak. Remus turns redder than Virgil’s ever seen him and spits back a swift response, and Janus laughs.

“The path to the beach is that way. When you are done, I will have a meal prepared in the house. Take your time. The weather will be favorable today.”

Remus grabs their hands and drags them down towards the sea. “What did your dad say to you?”

“He’s just being embarrassing,” Remus mutters.

“Must have been serious if it embarrassed you,” Patton teases.

“Shut up!”

They crest the cliff and spot the sea, and all of Virgil’s teasing leaves them in one breath. It’s beautiful, and the longer they stare at it and smell the salt water, the stronger the call of the ocean in their bones.

Remus goes flying down the stairs, dropping his bag in the sand and shedding all of his clothes to reveal a lime green speedo. Patton takes a little more care, spreading out the towels and setting up the umbrella, before carefully taking off their tiara and clothes and transforming into a wolf with a fluid, rippling motion. They leap into the water as Virgil descends to the beach. They set down their bag, strip down, and carefully tuck their pendant in a pocket of their bag before reaching in and pulling out their sealskin. They take a moment to watch the way the sun glitters on the ocean’s surface, listening to the crash of the waves and the call of the gulls and the shrieking laughter of Remus and Patton’s joyful barks.

Then, they wrap their sealskin around their shoulders and join their loves in the sea.

#starshinewrites #ts remus #intrumoxiety #wife squad tag!#bee tag!#ts virgil #ts patton

94 notes · View notes

bakugohoex · 4 years ago

Text

chapter four ➺ worthy allies

pairing: pro hero katsuki bakugo x pro hero female reader

cw: language and angry boi, violence

word count: 2400+

a/n: i don’t know why i’m posting this at mid day but enjoy and i’d appreciate any support and views on this series

summary: in which enemies become allies and by the end of the night your past friends become nothing as you prove your worthiness to the paranormal liberation front

chapter three | masterlist | chapter five

↞ back to my hero academia masterlist

“How long do we have to wait?” You leant against the abandoned buildings sooty wall, your dress a mess, Hawks having said he’d bring your hero costumes but you both heard nothing from the flying hero.

“Can you be fucking patient?” Bakugo seethed at you, you played around moving some of the rocks with your fingers back and forth.

You dropped the rocks bored out of your mind, it had been hours and you bot had been waiting for a sign that they had seen your message, you thought it’d be easy for them to find you, using an old base they used years ago. It seemed perfect in theory but waiting with Bakugo was straining.

“Next time, don’t get all creepy with slitting the president up.” You glared at the boy.

“You better pray there isn’t a next time.” You folded your arms, leaning downwards, until you felt the grainy ground attack your thighs and ass. “I thought we did a decent job.”

“You fit being a sadist too well.” He muttered looking out of the window, wanting some sort of sign that this wasn’t all for nothing.

“What can I say? I learnt from you.” You teased, he looked back at you, noticing how your legs were out, you had ripped the end of your dress as soon as you and Bakugo landed. Feeling you so close had made him feel odd, he hated how close you both had, had to get and worst of all, you had been having the time of your life in the air.

“Shut up shitty woman.” He turned back to the sky, you both heard footsteps, instantly both your quirks activated, explosions from Bakugo’s hand and your hands ready to move the wood from the broken chair to stab whoever it was.

“Bakugo, what do we do?” You ask him.

He moved towards you with an even more confused look, “how the fuck should I know?”

The door opens wide and you see a man with a top hat, white boots and a long orange coat. Both you and Bakugo put down your quirks, staring at him, “before I get started with what Shigaraki wants, I have to tell you, you’re performance was absolute divine, especially you miss Y/l/n, who knew stupid pro heroes like you were capable of creating such a villainous scene.”

You remembered from your days at UA exactly who the man was, he was able to compress anything into marbles. Both you and Bakugo were silent, the man moving forwards, “catch.”

He threw a marble, which Bakugo caught, a note being formed out due to his quirk. He leant against the wall, watching the two of you, “you both have grown.”

You ignored his mindless chatter reading the note.

‘We saw your little show,

You didn’t think it would be that easy to join us, did you?

Kill Shoto Todoroki and then we’ll know your worthy.’

Both Bakugo and you looked at each other, you looked at Mr Compress who was waiting for a response. “We’ll kill him.” You both spoke aloud a joyful grimace of your face; anybody would’ve been creeped out at how villainous the two of you had gotten in a week.

“He’s at his residence, I’ll take you there and we’ll be watching.” You both nodded, you needed to somehow tell Hawks what was going on, so they could make Todoroki somehow survive.

You walked outside of the alley, making sure to be unseen, before being pushed inside a car. You noticed the same man on the other side of the street, you recognised him from your first meeting with Hawks. Bakugo noticed as well, before you used your quirk on the man.

‘It’s Y/n, you need to call Hawks now and say they want us to kill Todoroki.’

‘Okay ma’am.’ His thoughts had been a pain to get through, but you knew he had at least got it and would tell Hawks to sort something out.

“Y/n, we know what your quirk is, wear this.” He passes you a ring with a clear diamond on top, “use your quirk.”

‘Boo.’ You shouted into Bakugo’s head, he flinched before watching as the ring turn red before a shock went onto your finger.

“What the fuck, I’m not wear…” Bakugo interrupted you by jabbing your side. “How long do I have to wear it for?”

“Just for this little thing, and then afterwards if you succeed you can take it off.” Mr compress almost gleamed at the idea of such high-tech stuff.

When did they get something that shows when a quirk was in use, “I cant use my psychokinesis then.”

“No use it, if you get shocked then you get shocked.” There was no sympathy in his tone, you huffed, your dress ripped and the strap dangling off your shoulder. You looked like you had had too much to drink which after controlling the amount of people you had, it was obvious that you were a tad bit out of it.

“We’re here.” You saw the residence of Shoto, a nice house, it was probably something Endeavor forced onto the poor boy who would rather stay away from his father. You and Shoto hanged out often even after graduating, you both were in contact, trying out new foods that you had seen on YouTube.

“Hurry up.” Bakugo muttered, he had been a lot quieter than usual, your inability to use your telepathy had made it hard for you two too even have a plan.

Both stepping outside, the frigid air hit your body, it was nearing midnight and you hoped Hawks had got your message. Todoroki hadn’t been at the event, having some other business to take care of, but as you stepped closer and closer to his door, memories flooded through of every time you had been to his house. “Let’s go through the window.” You muttered pointing to around the back.

“Don’t get us killed.” Is all Bakugo said as he followed, you used your quirk to unlock the window, a shock being sent through you. “Y/n.” Bakugo spoke cautiously.

“I’m fine.” You muttered, “come on help me up.” He put his hands down for you to use as a leg up, he tried to not look up your dress, but it was unavoidable, as you stood on the window sill, creeping inside

Bakugo followed you both trying to not make a sound, “where is he?” Bakugo muttered.

You stopped him in his tracks as you saw Shoto sitting in his office, papers in his hands as you could see the tired boy. “What do we do?”

Bakugo didn’t speak instead going full throttle at Todoroki, his quirk out, Todoroki’s eyes widened as he witnessed the two of you. “What the fuck, you two, you two are traitors, what are you…”

Even you didn’t know if Hawks had gotten to him, his confusion was very performative. He noticed your confused look, he saw how you weren’t in his head, reading his thoughts. He gave a small nod to point out he knew, and you signed in relief.

“We have to do this; we have to kill you.” You spoke out.

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, he started to think before he noticed something on the floor. Was it gas, or oil, it was something, and it surrounded the whole house. Hawks had a plan, and yeah it might’ve taken a while to get there, you understood.

“Y/n, Bakugo, why?” Todoroki was eerily good at this performance, “after all these years you both are just throwing it away.”

“Priorities change, being a hero, there’s nothing from it.” You spoke, Bakugo’s explosions were getting bigger and bigger in his hands. He looked down and you noticed his eyeline, a trap door underneath his which you assumed would make him safe.

“You were always evil.” Todoroki finally spoke, Bakugo knew this to be a que to start.

He smirked before looking at you, “to be evil you need to have evil motivations, we just find this fun.”

He spoke a loud, you didn’t expect him to say something like this, he was getting into the character a lot better than you had expected. “You’re going to burn, Y/n suppress his quirk.” You knew you would have to and as you felt a shock run through you, you made sure his quirk was suppressed if you tried to communicate with the boy, the shocks would intensify.

Bakugo threw the explosions at the ground, an explosion about to happen, as the house began to be engulphed in flames. You grabbed the piece of dress that had been around your wrist to help with your movement and left it inside the room. Bakugo grabbed your waist, before he sent an explosion making you both fly out of the window backwards. A large boom was heard from the house as you saw the top explode.

The shocks stopped as you felt dazed and confused, Mr Compress having brought the car up. He made you both side inside, you sat side by side, as he watched intentively driving you to another destination. You took the ring off, throwing it to the side as your finger was red and bruised.

Bakugo grabbed your hand slowly and unnoticeably, ‘They were listening in, I had to say the bullshit’

‘And I thought you were just getting into it’

‘Shut up, where do you think he’s taking us?’

‘I don’t know, I hope Shoto’s okay though?’

‘Icy Hot doesn’t need you worrying’

It was the last thing Bakugo thought before removing his hands off yours, this subtle action was a sign that you wanted to talk using telepathy and it was a lot more convenient than you had thought out.

“And goodbye.” You hadn’t noticed Mr Compress stopping the car, he turned back around facing the two of you. Before he grabbed both of your shoulders, making you turn into blue spherical marbles, grabbing the two marbles, he stepped outside of the car.

Walking towards the Front’s base with you both in his pocket, he smiled hearing the TV on, it was like a show and everything was working out perfectly. He skipped along, before being met with Tomura, Dabi, Toga and Spinner were all watching a TV screen. “You got them.”

Tomura was the one to spoke, as you felt yourself re-awaken from being inside a marble. It was gross and you hated it, Bakugo looked pissed but still you both were put on wooden chairs and watched over. The Tv still blaring the news out, “seems like you two have turned sides.”

“Good, evil, there’s no difference anymore.” You muttered crossing your legs and folding your arms.

“Stoic words for a woman I saw murder countless villains.” You raised an eyebrow at Tomura.

You looked at Bakugo, who stretched his legs out watching the screen, both your faces broadcasted for Japan to see and the burnt Todoroki’s house where a member of the commission had announced him dead. “If you want me to feel sympathy, I just killed someone who was my friend, I’m far from emotional.”

“That’s what we want to hear and you Bakugo, joining us after how many years?” Bakugo looked at them with a shock.

“Five.” He blew a bit of his hair from his eyes, his battered shirt exposing his arms and abdomen, you both looked like a mess.

Tomura stood up walking towards you, you knew how easily his quirk worked and you had a fear that if all five fingers touched you, you were doomed. One of his frail fingers glided up and down your cheek. “We’re keeping her.” He mutters turning to Bakugo.

“You, we need to work on you.” Tomura points a finger at Bakugo before walking away. “We need to see if you’re worthy allies” He shouted as he walked towards the bar.

‘We have just received from the commission who have found a piece of Y/n Y/l/n’s dress inside the Todoroki house, we can assume that her and Katsuki Bakugo were the ones who murdered pro hero Shoto Todoroki, son of number one pro hero Endeavor’

“What? Sad to see your brother dead?” You spoke hesitantly breaking the sound of the news reporter to Dabi.

“Who do you think proposed the idea to make you kill him?” A laugh came from him as both you and Bakugo looked at each other.

“You both still need to prove your loyalties, but we have these.” Toga finally spoke happily, she showed you two bags that were on the floor. “They’re your clothes and hero costumes.”

“You went to our apartments.” Bakugo was almost seething knowing someone was at his place.

“Of course we had to get your stuff before the mean commission people took your stuff, Y/n, wear your costume for us.” She smiled grabbing your hand and taking the bag, “we’re going to be best of friends.”

“Umm, okay.” You got dragged along with her as Bakugo was left with the rest of the front in silence.

‘Don’t be yourself.’ You spoke inside his head.

He didn’t reply, as they had all turned to their own thing before he noticed Mr Compress looking at him. “What?”

“You have to tell me how you both pulled off that amazing performance.” The man was eager at the showmanship, he knew you’d be pissed if he didn’t try and gain their trust and he went into the long-winded story of how you both thought of the plan. It was long but Mr Compress seemed to be loving it and by the end (minus the façade part) he seemed to be in love with Bakugo and his way of thinking.

“And you thought of it all.” Mr Compress praising Bakugo was something you didn’t need to hear as you were in your hero costume glad you felt something familiarly.

“Y/n, take the sleeves off, Dabi will burn them off for you.”

“W…what?” You spoke hesitantly.

Dabi gave a what the fuck look, not wanting to burn stupid sleeves off. “It’s a sign you’re one of us, if you do it.”

“Okay.” Instead of getting Dabi to do it, you used your powers and grabbed the knife that had been behind the bar Tomura was sitting on. Slicing it through the material quickly. You now had a sleeveless hero costume minus the gloves because Toga called them ugly.

Bakugo stared at how exposed you looked, he never expected to see you like this. So impulsive without the consequences, but it was all a façade to gain their trust, that’s all you were both doing. Making friends to gain their trust and then finally destroy them from the inside.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @susceptible-but-siriusexual @missmultifangirl

54 notes · View notes

cavalierious-whim · 4 years ago

Text

The Keen, Cutting Edge (FE3H)

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | Post-Canon | Explicit

The scruff's got to go because Felix's kink is a cleanly shaved face.

---

A/N: Comedy Smut. Have fun. Read here on AO3 for better formatting, and follow me here on Twitter!

---

The scruff has got to go.

Felix likes to think that he’s a man of compromise. Nearly everything aggravates the ever-loving shit out of him, but he puts up with it all with an only mildly acerbic complaint. And even with his complaints, he never does much about it in the end. The effort is a little too much and Felix is lazy about things that aren’t training. Even if war is long gone, and peace has long since settled across the horizon.

Still, there’s only so much that he can take and he’s hit his limit.

Felix is sharpening a blade when Sylvain walks into their parlor. It’s a cold morning, the fireplace ablaze. Felix sits at the edge of a settee, carefully oiling up the knife before scraping it along the sharpening block.

Sylvain’s eyes narrow slightly at the sight. “Felix, the sun is barely up and you’re already working.”

“This isn’t work,” says Felix. Finally, he looks up and his eyes sweep across Sylvain’s face. Across the utter eyesore that is his beard, thin and patchy in places because it’s still growing in. It’s not that Felix is against facial hair-- there was a time during the war where Sylvain forgot entirely about shaving and sported a beard for nearly a year-- but he’s never grown it easily.

Felix is impatient and the scruff is only irritating him.

Sylvain blinks and says, “So, if not work, then for what?”

“You,” says Felix simply. He pauses to brandish the knife, showing off an antique shaving blade.

“Oh, no,” says Sylvain, a hand immediately going to his chin. “Felix, don’t--”

“There are only two options,” cuts in Felix, moving to sharpen the blade once more. “Keep the beard, or keep me.”

Sylvain frowns. “Of all the ridiculous things, this is where you draw the line? My facial hair?”

“It’s itchy. It’s scratchy. It leaves behind rashes.”

“Leaves behind rashes--” Sylvain falls quiet when he realizes exactly what Felix is implying, face pinking the slightest bit. Then, he massages at his cheeks, thinking.

“So, it’s the beard or me in your bed.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” says Sylvain, even though they both know that Felix won’t leave him over something so trivial. They’ve been through too much and overcame everything to get to this point. Sylvain’s been couched for less, though.

Felix pauses and looks at Sylvain once more. Then, he motions to a chair set before the fireplace. “Sit.”

“Are you planning on giving me a shave?”

“An easy remedy.”

And that’s how Felix found Sylvain pressed into the chair before him, entirely vulnerable underneath his touch and the blade in his hand. Sylvain doesn’t trust anyone, but he’ll always let Felix close. Even if it’s with a weapon.

“Wait,” says Sylvain, and Felix stops. Sylvain reaches out and pulls at him, and Felix falls to straddle his lap. “You truly hate it so much?”

“I don’t,” says Felix honestly. Sylvain wears it well, even when it’s sparse and patchy. He just has preferences like seeing Sylvain’s handsome jawline and reducing beard burn as much as possible.

“And yet, you want to remove it?”

“I distinctly remember you complaining about the lack of shared intimacy as of late.”

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” says Sylvain. “I was thinking things like midnight walks and picnics with a nice wine.” He spreads his hands wide across Felix’s hips, trying to slot their legs together into a more favorable position. As much as Felix wants to fight it, he’s so easily goaded along.

“You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the intention,” says Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t like the knowing smirk that spreads across Sylvain’s face, so utterly attuned to him in every way. It’s from years of watching and years of practice, and it always irritates Felix who tries to keep a tight hold on himself. Sylvain’s infuriating on even his best of days, and not because Felix dislikes their dynamic, it’s because he craves it.

There isn’t a word to describe the feeling of someone else knowing you better than you know yourself, but Felix can’t deny that it’s one of the things that’s saved him. Sylvain, too.

“It won’t stop me,” warns Felix.

“No? Then you should get one last good look.”

Felix blinks back at him, blade held aloft between them. “A good look at the scruff that I want to remove from your face?”

“I think you’re more fond of it than you’d care to admit.” Sylvain is, as always, on the nose, but Felix refuses to give him the satisfaction of being right. With a deft twirl between his fingers, the straight blade finds itself nestled against the hollow of his throat, tipped at the perfect angle to shear the beard off.

Sylvain doesn’t even flinch, entirely at ease. “Go on, then,” he says.

Felix sighs, letting up and pulling his hand back. His fingers return, lathered up, smearing cold soap across the underside of Sylvain’s jawline. A few flicks of the blade and Sylvain’s skin is smooth, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Felix wipes the blade on a small towel sitting in his lap.

“Much better,” says Felix, smoothing his hand across the soft skin of his neck. “Preferable to that pitiful thing you call a beard.”

“Rude,” says Sylvain, but he falls quiet when Felix resumes his task. He sits in Sylvain’s lap, blade scraping across Sylvain’s face with practiced accuracy. Lather-up, shave, and then rinse. Wiping the blade on the small cloth, only to repeat everything over again. One half of the face followed closely by the other.

Sylvain doesn’t complain; he only watches Felix with a searing gaze. Felix does his best to ignore it and the heat that burns right through him. Sylvain’s fingers still hold him by the hipbone, thumbing first at Felix’s linen shirt, but then slipping underneath to circle across the smooth skin there, and sharp jut of his hips.

“Done?” asks Sylvain when Felix swipes a second towel across his face. Felix takes him by the chin, turning his face from side to side, surveying his work. “Pleased?”

More than so, Felix thinks, moving his hand to slide down Sylvain’s neck and across his collarbone. “It’ll do,” says Felix. And then Felix’s hand finds the open collar of Sylvain’s shirt, just barely slipping in, fingers scratching through his chest hair.

“No, that’s where I draw the line,” says Sylvain, but it’s with humor.

“I would never,” says Felix, quietly.

“Just my face, then,” says Sylvain.

“I do prefer to see it.” Felix sets the blade and towels aside. But he doesn’t move away from him now that his task is done.

Sylvain hesitates, head cocking to the side. “Prefer to see it,” repeats Sylvain. “I would have thought otherwise--”

“I can’t see your face when it’s all covered up.”

There’s a beat, a soft half-moment of silence that stretches between them before Sylvain smiles wide with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, so like my face, do you?”

Felix hates being teased, despises it, even when it comes from Sylvain. Probably most of all, when it comes from Sylvain. “You aren’t unhandsome,” says Felix, curtly. They both know exactly how he feels about Sylvain’s looks, but he can’t help but make a jab right back.

“You seem rather obsessed,” says Sylvain when Felix slides his hand back up his neck, petting the soft skin at the juncture of his jaw.

“I have my predilections,” says Felix, entirely unashamed. “I prefer it when you don’t look like an animal has made its home on your face.”

Sylvain frowns. “Felix, it wasn’t that bad--”

“Wrong,” cuts in Felix, “it was far worse.” He thumbs the line of Sylvain’s face before leaning closer, pressing his nose into his neck. “Nearly as bad as depriving me of this.”

“Of this?” Sylvain asks, his voice suddenly breathy. Felix pulls back again, regarding him through a narrowed gaze. “Oh right, of this,” says Sylvain, dropping the coy act. Felix doesn’t often voice his opinions so overtly, so Sylvain makes the correct choice in just indulging.

“A crime,” says Felix, “to hide such a sharp jaw.”

“Are you saying that I’m perfect?”

“No, you’re an idiot, but one that I quite like to look at.”

Sylvain smiles then, leaning back slightly in the chair, fingers grasping Felix’s hips tighter to pull him closer. Felix doesn’t fight it, pressing against Sylvain’s incredibly apparent need. It only stokes that slow-burning fire in Felix’s core.

“Rare, for you to be like this,” says Sylvain.

“If that’s a complaint, I can easily stop.” It won’t be easy, but Felix will absolutely have the last word if necessary.

“No,” says Sylvain with such absurd immediacy that Felix shares a rare, genuine smile.

“Then let me do as I want,” says Felix.

“Absolutely. Yes. Please.”

Felix pauses at that, regarding Sylvain’s already slightly wrecked expression. “Incredible,” he says, “how little it takes for you to become like this.”

Sylvain lets out a laugh that dissolves into a moan because Felix chooses the perfect moment to change the angle of their hips and grind against his lap. Felix leans forward again, pressing his nose against the skin of Sylvain’s neck. He smells like the sandalwood soap he hoards like a Wyvern, and Felix drinks it up, sinking deep into it.

It’s easy, to lose himself in Sylvain, he thinks. Not because Sylvain’s handsome or preferenced, but because of the way that he’s so easily undone with such a soft touch. Felix doesn’t have to do much to have his way with him; Sylvain’s eager to respond, always at the ready.

And not because he’s a rake, but because he’s so utterly, irrevocably tied to Felix. And it’d be a lie to say that it isn’t the same for Felix. He might wear his affection differently; it might show through a more subdued lens, but it’s there and it’s real.

Felix moves to kiss Sylvain properly, one hand cradling the back of his neck while the other slips back to the open collar of his shirt. Fingers press against Sylvain’s skin there, grounding himself. The kiss isn’t gentle, but it isn’t fire either. Sylvain responds eagerly, tipping his head back for better access, but keeps the touch frustratingly chaste.

When Felix pulls back, he grabs Sylvain’s chin, thumb sweeping across his lip in a possessive manner. Watching and waiting. Then, Felix dips back down, kissing Sylvain again, coaxing his mouth open and licking into him with wild abandon.

Sylvain’s hands move from his hips, smoothing over his ass, squeezing and pulling Felix forward, and this time, it’s his turn to let out a groan against Sylvain’s mouth.

“Insatiable,” bites Felix, as if he’s not the one who’s grinding against Sylvain’s lap, seeking out that delicious friction. Sylvain tries to slow Felix down, tries to hold him still above him and stay the pace, but Felix is far too impatient to give in.

Far too impatient for anything, really, other than the feeling of Sylvain tightly coiled underneath him, losing a little more of himself with every kiss. It’s a sight that Felix would happily die for, not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

Felix stops and pulls off Sylvain’s lap, shucking his pants off with little ceremony. Sylvain watches quietly with eyes bright and swallows thickly, cheeks already flushed with want. It’s moments like this that Felix feels a little bit of pride.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, when Felix settles over his lap again. “Felix, I didn’t get to--” A hiss cuts off his words as Felix’s hand drops between them, caressing over Sylvain’s tented pants. “Unfair,” whines Sylvain, bucking his hips slightly.

“Unfair?” asks Felix, as he pulls his hand away.

“No, shit, Felix, that isn’t what I meant--”

Felix is in a teasing mood, so he raises an eyebrow as he smooths a hand along Sylvain’s shirt. “Then what did you mean?”

“Let me get my pants off,” pleads Sylvain. And then, for good measure, he adds, “Please.”

Felix pretends to think about it before rejecting the idea. “Not yet,” he says rather cruelly, leaning forward again. “I prefer this at the moment.”

“Prefer this--”

Felix swallows his words with another kiss, tongue snaking out to lick across his lips before dipping into his mouth. Sylvain responds readily, lifting a hand to Felix’s head, fingers curling into his hair and pulling at it. Not hard enough to hurt, but just the perfect amount to tug at his hairline, and Felix returns the favor, nails biting into the back of Sylvain’s neck as he grips tighter.

He moves then, pressing his mouth against the side of Sylvain’s jaw, pressing featherlight kisses along the length of it, tongue dipping out and trailing behind. Savoring the taste of Sylvain’s soft skin and devouring the sounds that come as a result.

Sylvain’s an easy man to please when it comes down to things, and Felix absorbs his eager response like it’s his lifeblood.

Then, Felix’s hand is between them again, fingers curling around the delicious hardness that’s hidden by Sylvain’s trousers. Sylvain’s head falls back and he groans, trying to get as much friction as possible.

Felix’s lips find his neck this time, worrying the skin there as he laps at it, marking him up with a deep-seated sort of possessiveness. He knows that Sylvain isn’t going anywhere, he knows that there isn’t anyone else-- that there wasn’t really ever-- but old habits die hard, and Felix wants to claim him as his own.

“Another thing that a beard hides,” says Felix, pulling back to look at the pink marks blooming across Sylvain’s neck and collarbone.

“I can’t always be wearing high collars,” says Sylvain.

“Then don’t,” says Felix.

It’s a clear challenge, one that lights up Sylvain’s face with desperate hunger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he says, one hand sliding down the rough linen of Felix’s shirt before finding the bare skin of his hip and backside. Then, his hand dips lower, between Felix’s cheeks, a finger ghosting his entrance.

If Felix weren’t so annoyed from the get-go, he’d burn red with embarrassment. Instead, he says, “Everyone already knows it, so why not make it apparent. The rake of a Margrave, bending a knee to the Duke.”

“To my husband,” says Sylvain instead.

“There hasn’t been a ceremony yet,” says Felix, testily. These things take time, Dimitri said about three years back, and still, little has come of it.

“The papers are signed,” says Sylvain, matter-of-factly. “Ceremony be damned.”

Ceremony be damned indeed, Felix thinks, when Sylvain’s hand dips against his backside again, this time having been slicked during his distraction.

“That better not be my blade oil.”

“I’ve heard rumor that it works well,” says Sylvain, cheekily.

Felix knows from years of shared experience that Sylvain’s correct. “On with it, then,” he says, pressing back against Sylvain’s hand.

“Impatient,” Sylvain chides.

“Efficient,” replies Felix, letting out a sigh when Sylvain finally slips a finger in with practiced ease. And then one finger becomes two, the sort of well-ordered and stinging pace that Felix craves. Sylvain knows him inside and out, has memorized everything that Felix wants and needs, and it isn’t long until a distraction is needed.

Felix unbuttons Sylvain’s pants and slips a hand in, palming at his hot length. They work in tandem, Sylvain’s fingers stretching and pulling slightly at his rim, trying to prep him with the speed that Felix wants.

“Felix--”

“Soon enough,” says Felix, pulling Sylvain’s cock out from his trousers properly, pressing it against his own, wrapping his hand around the both of them tightly. Sylvain bites out a curse, his fingers pausing, prompting Felix to let out an aggravated sigh. He presses back his hand, craving that burn and friction, and the pull of Sylvain’s touch.

Then, Sylvain’s hand bats away Felix’s. He makes a tight fist around the both of them, precome slicking the motion and making the slide of his fingers easier. His grip tightens around them both and Felix ruts into his fist, their cocks sliding against each other with a delightful rasp.

Felix eventually hits a point where he just can’t anymore, pulling away and surprising Sylvain. He slicks his hand with the oil, raises his hips, and reaches behind him, grasping at Sylvain’s cock to line him up where he wants him most.

And, because Felix is efficient in his lovemaking like he is with anything else, he sinks down onto Sylvain with little ceremony, muscles relaxing as he just goes and goes and goes. Sylvain holds Felix’s hips tight, white-knuckled and bruising, face red with heady lust.

This is what he loves most, Felix thinks as he settles, his ass against Sylvain’s thighs as he’s fully seated onto him. Sylvain looking so terribly debauched underneath him, responding to his touch almost instinctually. They know what the other wants before it happens, anticipating their needs and adjusting accordingly.

Felix already feels so full and satisfied, as he gently grinds against Sylvain. He reaches out, slipping his hand back into the collar of Sylvain’s shirt, nails scratching lightly against the skin there.

“Felix,” says Sylvain, “this is definitely not going to last long.”

“I wasn’t planning on dragging it out,” says Felix, raising his hips only a fraction before dropping them back down. It’s not a full and fluid motion, more like a frenzied rolling of the hips. He pulls Sylvain closer, an arm around his neck and chests flush against each other.

“Your shirt is still on,” breathes Sylvain, rucking the fabric up to nuzzle at Felix’s breastbone. He tugs at the linen impatiently.

Felix halts his movements and pulls back. “Is that a complaint?”

Sylvain halts as well, wide-eyed and slightly incredulous. “What? No--”

“It sounded like one,” says Felix, dragging his hips up slowly.

“Felix,” sighs Sylvain, “Please.”

Felix yanks at his collar slightly, his other hand curling around to grab at Sylvain’s neck. He holds on tightly, pulling at the fine baby hairs there, scratching along the bottom of Sylvain’s scalp.

Sylvain’s always been loud in bed, be it breathy sighs or loud moans. He’s quieter today, trying to hold on and keep from tipping over that edge too quickly. Felix understands; it’s been a while, a little bit too long. They’ve been too busy with work and post-war reconstruction to reliably have any time to themselves.

Felix told himself to be better about it, to be better to Sylvain, so this is the least that he can do. He sets a hurried pace, sliding along Sylvain with precise movements, circling his hips ever so slightly on the downstroke.

“Fuck,” breathes Sylvain, still gripping at his hips, helping to ease the motion. Lifting Felix before letting him fall. He’s taut underneath him, wound tight like a bowstring, doing his best.

Always doing his best for Felix, be it here in moments like this, or anywhere else. Felix presses their foreheads together as he moves, eyes slipping closed as he just thinks and feels and loves. He loves this man and everything that he is.

And right now, he’s perfect, filling him so utterly full, matching his movements with practiced grace. “Perfect,” says Felix, dropping those carefully erected walls in the haze of pleasure.

Sylvain shifts slightly underneath him, jerking his hips upwards, meeting Felix with frenzied thrusts. Felix wants to lean back and take him the best he can, rolling against him with a sinful grind, to savor this for as long as possible, but he doesn’t want to pull away from their shared closeness.

A hand from his hip moves to press against Felix’s lower back, holding him there, helping him slide along Sylvain’s cock. “Made for me,” says Felix aloud, prompting Sylvain to let loose a groan in response. “So perfect, so deep, so--”

“No,” says Sylvain, wincing from the pleasure. “I mean, yes, but no, I’m so close--”

“I haven’t got all day,” says Felix, remembering that he’s supposed to be teasing Sylvain, that this entire thing had started with lighthearted banter and that damned, hideously attractive beard. Felix’s hand finds his cock, jerking himself with long and languid strokes, palm curling around the crown when his motions come full circle.

Surprisingly, it’s Felix who falls first, tipping over into that well-sought fire as he chases his own pleasure. He moans as he clenches tight around Sylvain, hips stuttering against the jerky thrusting from below and he comes into his hand.

Sylvain thrusts once, twice, a third time, and topples over with him, watching as Felix heaves and twitches above him, overly sensitive and coming down from that high. Sylvain presses deep, holding Felix there, hands splayed wide across his waist with a warm touch.

The room is quiet, save for their heavy breaths. It’s unbearably hot near the fire, but Felix is suddenly too tired to do much other than sit there above Sylvain, holding him close. Unwilling to let go.

Eventually, he has to, clean-up inevitable.

“A bath, then,” is the first thing that Sylvain says. It’s nearly comical, the way that he regards Felix with a soft and warm smile, dazed by the afterglow of their lovemaking.

Felix hates that he loves it. “I thought it was a picnic that you wanted,” he says, remembering what Sylvain had complained about earlier.

“A bath and then a picnic,” says Sylvain. “Either way is a win.”

Felix considers this for a moment, fingers sweeping across Sylvain’s face once more. “I don’t hate the beard,” he says instead.

“You’ve said that.”

“I just prefer to see you instead.”

“It’s still me,” says Sylvain with a soft little sigh.

Felix hums at that before pulling off of him. The loss of Sylvain’s cock is immediate and distracting. “A bath then,” he says, wiping at himself with a towel.

“And then a picnic?” Sylvain’s cute at the worst of times, but it’s endearing.

“I suppose it’s inevitable,” says Felix.

Then, Sylvain smirks. “The beard is too, you know. Give it a few years.”

Felix is waiting for him by the door of the bedroom, resting against the frame. He lets out a sigh at the thought. “Better you than me, I suppose.”

“You’d look dashing with one,” says Sylvain, sidling up next to him. Then, he pinches at Felix’s ass. “Terribly handsome.”

“I’d look like my father,” says Felix, pushing Sylvain away. Then, there’s a pause. “That isn’t a good look.”

Sylvain laughs the entire way to their bath.

#fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #felix hugo fraldarius #felix x sylvain #sylvain/felix #sylvain jose gautier #sylvix

16 notes · View notes

infaethable · 5 years ago

Text

so because of a one-off mention from a friend that riz has a notarized will, i got in in my head that like. riz writes letters to all the bad kids in the event of him dying. and then i made it fabriz because i have a one-track mind baby! here are some barely coherent discord messages that i cannot in good conscience call writing. trigger warning for PERCEIVED major character death ;)

sklonda leaves fabian's letter for last. the rest of the group is already opening theirs, and she hesitates on fabian's and says, "i'm a really good detective, and if what's in there, is what i think is in there... you might want to read that alone"

fabian is just stone cold and he hasn't shown a single expression on his face since the news really settled in, and he stalls for a second before running his thumb under the seam of the letter, gets a paper cut he can’t even really feel, and reads the last words riz will ever say to him.

and it takes all of a minute for it to break him.

fabian doesn’t that know he's in love with riz until he sees the words "i think that telling you i'm in love with you after i'm gone would be the most cowardly and cruel thing i would ever do, and for that sake, i hope you never see this." written in riz's neat but blocky handwriting.

and then it all comes crashing over him.

all the stolen glances, all the midnight calls that riz picked up on the first ring, the electric few inches between their hands at the lunch table, the necklace tucked under his tank top, he should have known.

fabian’s crying so hard that it’s hard to breathe, and then he actually stops being able to breathe. he feels his heart pounding in his chest and a phantom weight atop it, and adaine kneels in front of him, grabs his hands, says something but he can’t hear it over the beat of his own eardrums.

fabian thinks he might be having a panic attack.

adaine, who spent the last three days sobbing in bed till she thought she had no more tears left, has tears running down her face again now as she’s trying to guide fabian through it, in for four, hold, out for four, again-

and she’s looking at the look on fabian’s face, and she knows.

she's never been particularly good at reading people before. but she's seen what riz looks- looked. like when fabian did something that broke his heart just a little bit, and fabian is drowning in it.

adaine doesn't even know what riz wrote in the letter. but riz told her once that he'd rather die than tell fabian, and he was wrong. he is- was, fuck, her brother, in all but law and blood, but she's looking at fabian, fabian who's on his fucking knees in grief like she's never seen him before, even when he plunged his birthright sword through his father's chest, this is different, that was fabian grieving and this is fabian broken and her brother god rest his fucking soul was wrong.

adaine abernant knows a thousand things about riz gukgak. she knows he secretly hates unsweetened coffee, she knows his favorite record, she knows his tells when he's trying to cheat at blackjack, she knows he loves his friends like a holy vow, like a vengeance left of violent, she knows the password to his phone and his blood type and what he looks like when he's mad, and if she knows anything she knows that he loved fabian with every drop of blood he's ever spilled and every corner of his heart and whatever soul left after his body's gone cold, and if he won't tell him, then she will.

and so when fabian's heart rate is on the right side of resting, and he's crying into her shoulder she says, quiet, near his ear, so that he’s the only one who hears,

"he loved you back, i should have told him to tell you, i should have pushed harder-" and fabian burrows more into her shoulder and cries like she’s never seen him cry before.

gorgug and fig and kristen are all watching, and fabian wants to break things, he wants to scream till his voice blows out, he wants to burn the world to the fucking ground, and most of all he wants to see riz one last time. he wants to put his hands on riz's waist and tell him he loves him till he believes it.

and fabian balls his fists on adaine's back and says, "i should have known, i should've fucking known-" and gorgug falls to his knees beside fabian and wraps him in a hug, and fig and kristen do the same, and the fact that fabian aramais seacaster is in love with riz gukgak went from a secret no one, not even fabian himself, knew, to an open fact in under five minutes.

and fabian, for all his bravado, has never been a man with a large amount of rage. this isn’t to say he’s never been angry, but there's a special kind of rage, one tracker whispers in the dark at sleepovers about like a ghost story, one that's laced into his father's conquests. the kind of rage that makes you want to claw at anything you can get your dirty hands on and damn the consequences. one that curls in fabian's gut now, not at riz, never at riz, but at whatever god that allowed this to happen.

there are a lot of gods, he knows. gods of rage and bloodshed, gods of nature, and storms, and the sea.

there are gods of love. he hates them most of all.

and his birthright sword, leaning on the wall behind him, starting from the golden basket hilt turning red hot, seems to burn to the beat of his heart.

and against all senses, he reaches, and the design of the hilt brands his palm with lines, crisscrossing across his palms. he barely feels it.

(somewhere far away, he knows riz had scars like that. light green lines from his time in the palimpsest, where glass had shattered and imbedded itself. had stayed there too long without a magical heal to fade.)

and the brands fade from red hot and sizzling to oil black. it enters his bloodstream, spreads up his veins, and fabian can feel when it envelops his senses because he can smell fire and brimstone and salt and gunpowder-

and fig, in an instant, widens her eyes and tries to knock the sword out of his hands, but fabian holds tight, fabian’s vision unfocuses and refocuses on a liminal black void, looks up and sees fire rolling across the sky, hears a familiar voice in the back of his mind,

"darling boy, what could possibly have you so broken up that i felt your rage nine hells down?"

and fabian feels a connection in his mind just left of the hangman, and says, not out loud,

"if you'll forgive me for the tone, only realizing you're in love with someone after they've died would perhaps have that effect papa."

distantly, adaine is trying to shake his shoulders out of whatever state he's in. distantly, fig is pleading with him not to do it, that if he really wants it she can work a deal out with her dad. distantly, kristen is gearing up to cast a dispel evil and good, and distantly, gorgug is asking adaine if he should hit fabian in the head with his ax, but right now his papa just takes a sharp intake of breath through the modified message and says,

"oh my darling boy. i'm so sorry. would you like some powers about it?"

and fabian's gut curls, that rage, they didn't even have a fucking body to bury-

riz's letter is still clutched in his hands as he says, "yes."

#this takes place in between freshman and sophomore year #maybe around november? i did write it in dms #also i promise there is more but it is. five in the morning #because if this is barely coherent the original was like. not even readable #and i will edit the second part tomorrow #also do not read this tag until AFTER you've read the whole thing but #Warlock Fabian Cool In This Instance #fabriz #it is ONLY going in the fabriz tag and none of the other ones #my writing #is a tag i will probably not use again unless i post another poem #i am not in fact a fiction writer. i do poems

153 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Me Till It’s Over (I)

Part 1: Where Are You?

Okay, this got completely out of hand, so I had to split this fic into two parts, or it would have been way too long.

I have no idea where all this is coming from, sorry… it just… happened…

WARNINGS!! For depiction of war and violence, and for angst. The first part is very angsty, it'll get better at the end, but for now, it's angst time!!!

I hope you like this fic! I'll post the next part in a few hours!

Gif not mine (I can’t find it back where I saved it, sorry)

Word Count: 3106

Where are you?

It’s dark, and the night is filled with silhouettes moving around him, shadow against shadow. The only light is given by the distant stars above and the flashes of the blasters firing all around him. There are flames burning in the distance as well, bright and tall and terrible, as he crosses the ruins your town has become. His blue blade sheds a soft glow before him, but it's barely enough for him to see his feet. The shrieks of the shots of blasters and the soft buzz of the lightsaber in his hand get shushed by the detonations of the exploding droids before him and the shouts of the men around him. Clones and volunteers amongst the people of this planet who are willing to fight to be free. You are one of them. And no matter where he looks, behind him or around him or before him, you are nowhere to be seen. He curses under his breath as he deflects another blast. He told you to stay close to him…

He reaches the shelter of a broken wall, and takes a few seconds to catch his breath. His forehead glimmers softly with sweat under the blue hues of his lightsaber, his hair a mess falls before his eyes, but he doesn’t push the locks away. Cody falls by his side, his back against the wall.

"Are you alright?" Obi-Wan inquires, but the clone by his side nods.

"Yes, sir. Just catching my breath."

"Have you seen Y/L/N and her men?"

“Her men are still with us, sir. I haven’t seen her in a while though. Last I saw her, she was on her way to set up the charges to allow General Skywalker and his troops to join us.”

"I told her not to do that," Obi-Wan groans in frustration.

"Well, it worked, nonetheless, sir," Cody reminds him, nodding towards the shape of Anakin, Ahsoka and Rex closing on them.

Indeed, it takes only a few seconds for the three fighters to reach them. As Anakin takes cover by Obi-Wan’s side, he notices the worry on the Jedi Master’s face in the blink of an eye.

"What’s wrong?" he asks, shouting to cover the sound of the battle raging around them.

"Have you seen Y/L/N?" Obi-Wan asks back.

"She blew up the wall, then joined us. Haven’t seen her in a while though, no."

Obi-Wan’s heart is beating faster again, but not because of how tired he is, because of how scared he feels now.

Where by all the stars can you possibly be?

"They’re retreating!"

He hears Cody’s shout covering the sound of his own twirling thoughts. He forces his mind to focus on the matter at hand. He hates himself for being distracted by you this way. He’s a Jedi. He is leading these men around him, they rely on him. And yet he can’t push his fear that something might have happened to you away.

He brings his attention back to the moment nonetheless, and peers above the wall in ruin. Indeed, the Separatists’ army seems to move back across the town. The centre of the city is nothing but ruins by now. The tall buildings have crumbled, the streets are but holes carved in red dust, the windows are shattered and the glass shines on the ground. There’s fire in a tower on the right and sparks everywhere, and a few yards away, the Separatists troops run through the debris. Puffs of smoke pass to and fro through the ruins, making it hard to breathe, coloured by tiny embers and grey ashes swept up by the wind.

He studies the movement of the droids retreating and…

And then, at last, he sees you.

You're there, across the street. In the dark, he can't quite see all your details, but the second he catches your silhouette, a shadow against the flames that burn behind you, he has no doubt.

How did you manage to venture so far ahead of his own troops, he has no idea. And yet, there you are, in the middle of the street, trying to bring a wounded soldier to shelter.

What by the stars are you doing?

"Y/N!" He shouts across the distance, but he knows that the 100 yards or so separating the two of you are too much in this chaos for his words to reach you. It doesn’t matter, he can’t keep the cry inside, he’s too scared for that. "GET OUT OF THERE!"

You seem to have been spotted, there are explosions and sparks around you. You don’t move though. You pull the soldier out of the debris and try to pull him to the side of the street. The fires behind you and on your right colour your frame with gold and orange, embers and ashes fly around you, grey and burning dust surrounding you. Smoke clouds envelop you, making your throat painful and your form blurry, a silhouette caught in a whirlwind of grey smoke and red sparks.

Obi-Wan stands again to jump above the wall and go help you, but a shot hits the wall, the rocks exploding to his face. A debris cuts his cheek open, and he huffs in pain. Before he can take a step forward, more shots block his way, and he falls back to take cover.

"Y/N!"

You don’t hear him, yet somehow, you know he called for you. You know he’s here. You can’t explain it. You just know. You can feel his blue eyes set on you, and you turn to meet his gaze, finding it with ease despite the chaos your world has become. He’s there alright, half-hidden behind a broken wall. You notice there’s a chair and a table still standing between you, in the middle of debris of what was once a living room. They’re covered by dust and pebbles but they seem so out of place nonetheless, one tidy thing lost in chaos. Funny thing, how your mind focuses on details now…

But you focus on Obi-Wan again, while still pulling the wounded clone. You can hear him breathe through his helmet. You can’t leave him here… So you pull him up and drag him across the broken houses, the air burning your lungs, and every inch of your body exhausted and painful, but you ignore all the signs. You won't leave without him.

But something changes on Obi-Wan’s features, and worry becomes terror. You can’t hear him, but you recognize the way his lips form your name.

A B2 droid has turned back and is aiming at you. But Obi-Wan has barely enough time to shout your name that the flash of light is fired already.

It seems that he sees it all happen in slow-motion. The bolt of red light flying towards you, the blast hitting your back taking your breath away, the pain on your features as you let go of the soldier… Your eyes find his again as you fall to your knees.

And all coherent thoughts have abandoned his mind to a blind terror that makes his whole frame shake and tears up his lungs, unless it’s his shout, maybe, that steals all the air that belonged in his chest.

"NOOOO!"

Anakin tries to stop him as Obi-Wan jumps pass the wall, but he's not quick enough. His former Master has already started to run, faster than he has ever run before, it seems, in the middle of the blaster shots flying towards both the droids and the Republic's clones. He deflects the next shot right back at the droid. He can hear Anakin and the troopers following him, but he doesn't pay much attention to them. He's halfway through, reaching that standing table, when you hit the ground.

The droids seem to have turned away for good this time, although shots keep on flying down the long street. Obi-Wan blocks every spark with the same perfect precision he always does, but this time, he doesn't focus on his reflexes at all. Instead, his eyes don't leave your frame.

He drops to his knees by your side, at last. You're bleeding. So much red across your torso, it seems to cover his entire world…

"Obi-Wan…"

Your voice is but a whisper, but he hears you all the same, somehow, despite all the shouts and all the explosions, and all the fighting raging on, he can still hear your voice above it all.

You extend your hand towards him, and he hangs his lightsaber back to his belt and holds your hand in the matter of a second.

"I'm here," he speaks in a voice that struggles to be reassuring, but is shaking too much to hide how scared he is. "It's going to be fine. You're going to be fine."

You turn towards the soldier lying beside you.

"He's still alive. You've got to help him."

He exhales deeply. It's not a sigh, it's not a gap, it's just a long, painful exhale, and it takes him a few seconds to be able to fill up his lungs with air again, the smell of ashes, fire, oil and melted metal harsh in his tighten throat.

You're one of a kind. Even hurt, you're more worried about a stranger more than your own life…

"The rest of our men are on their way, they'll take care of him. I am going to take care of you."

You give him a weak smile, your eyelids getting heavier and heavier and you can't keep them quite open anymore. Your wound is so painful, crossing your entire frame from your back to space right under your ribs…

"Always the gentleman," you joke.

"Always the reckless one," he fires back.

"I couldn’t leave him."

"I know. I know. That's typical of you, really. Nothing unexpected. You can't help but rescue everybody."

Your smile widens, but then you start coughing. Loud, rough against your throat, and you can feel there's more to it than the dust in the air.

Obi-Wan gently pulls you up so he can hold you in his arms, cradling you, and he presses his gloved hand against your side in attempt to slow down the bleeding. You wince and let out a shout under the pain that rushes under his palm, but the Jedi doesn't relieve the pressure. Each breath brings so much pain…

You take in his features, his hair falling before his eyes, his beard stained with ashes, his cheeks dirtied by dust and a cut across his right cheekbone. He's still so handsome, even through the chaos.

You smile again as the cough subsides. You're so glad he's here. Somehow, he makes it all easy. You're not afraid. You know you should be, and you were before he was with you. Your wound is serious, you don't need to be a medic to know that. You're probably dying. But you're not scared. Obi-Wan is with you, nothing bad can happen. Maybe you'll die, it's okay. You think about the garden you used to play in as a child. Drenched in sunlight and the scent of grass and flowers. Maybe you can go there again, once all this is over. Maybe your fight was enough to make its destruction worthwhile.

You feel your eyelids closing on their own accord, but you don't mind. Obi-Wan would be the last thing you would see of this world, and that was fine by you.

"Y/N! Stay with me, don't close your eyes! Please…"

His voice breaks, and you force your eyes to open. You can't see him in pain…

Behind him, Anakin stops. The troopers have taken control of the street, but Anakin lingers on, watching Obi-Wan holding you in his arms, and then he knows. He's been suspecting for a while, but now that he sees him like this, holding onto you, he knows. He understands. His expression saddens, and he's about to turn around to leave the two of you alone when Obi-Wan speaks to him, his voice firmer now.

"Anakin, make sure this side of the town is secured. Do not engage the enemy's forces beyond the opera, we don't have the firepower to hold such an open position."

The Jedi Knight nods, quiet.

"I will. I'll call for the medics to be dropped now too to take care of the wounded in the area we've secured."

"Thank you. And… Anakin?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

He would have usually replied with a snarky remark, but not this time. This time, he feels like a little boy staring at a grieving Jedi, barely a Knight, still wearing his Padawan braid, as his Master is gone. And he doesn't feel like joking, instead, he feels cold.

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan turns a little towards him at the title Anakin uses, but his former Padawan is already gone, joining Ahsoka and the troopers instead.

"You should go with him," you breath, your voice hoarse and shaky and coming out with a struggle you're not sure to sustain for much longer.

But he shakes his head.

"The battle is over for today. Anakin will take care of the rest. I'll stay here, with you. You heard him, didn't you? He's going to call for the medics, you will be alright."

You're ready to believe him. You trust him so completely, he almost convinces you this time around too. Almost…

You gather most of the strengths you have left to raise your hand to his cheek, his beard tickling your fingers. It's only then that you realize that your hand is covered with blood.

He leans into your touch, tired, terrified, fragile. He who is so strong, he has no shame in showing you how close he is to breaking. Maybe it will hold you back. He closes his eyes as he turns to press his lips to your palm.

There are prayers for the Jedi. Words to be thought and felt and poured into the Force. There are wishes for every living form. Dreams to be hoped and longed for and shared only with the night. He's never been so keen on that particular side of a Jedi's life, but now he pours all of his thoughts and all of his soul into a begging prayer. And it's almost dawn, but he begs and begs every star in the sky and gives up all his hopes and all of his heart into one wish.

Not you. Anyone else. Him. Him, a thousand times, him. But not you. May he die in your stead. As long as you live…

"Obi… I…"

He opens his eyes again to look at you, and you smile up at him. You're tired, so tired, you know you won't be able to stop your eyelids from falling for much longer. You're running out of time. If you're at peace with it all, there is one last thing that you wish to say before resting.

"You know… I… really… wish," you struggle to let the words out, partly because you're so tired and it's becoming so hard and painful to breathe, partly because you've been holding the words back for so long now. "I wish we had… more time. And I wish… I wish it was allowed… what I have to say, I wish it wasn't… forbidden. But I… I really do love you."

Tears threaten to escape his clouded blue eyes, but he won't let them. He knows you see them glimmering in his eyes, and as he speaks, he knows you can hear them in his voice too. But he won't let them fall, he knows that if he does, he will crumble whole.

"We'll have plenty more time."

But you shake your head.

"You've never been very good at lying."

"You will be fine, Y/N."

"I love you."

"You will be fine."

He gives you an order, almost. Maybe he's trying to convince you, but he's probably trying to convince himself. Because he cannot imagine what his life would become if you didn't survive.

Upon his cheek, your fingertips travel through his beard, a tender caress to finish to carve all details of his features in your memory.

It's harder and harder to breathe. Every intake of breath is a vivid pain that lingers more and more. You can see the smoke covering the sky behind him, and the glimmers of embers carried through the sky by the wind. You notice then, that the sky is brightening. It will soon be dawn.

But it hurts, oh it hurts so much, and it's so hard to breathe, and you're so tired… you wish the dawn would come faster, you're not sure you can wait for it to come.

"It's funny," you smile, "I always feel… so safe in your arms. So warm. So calm. Like nothing can happen to me."

He tries so hard not to cry, he can't allow himself to let it out or he won't be able to stop again.

"Obi… Can you hold me till it's over?"

He tries so hard, but fails. A tear rolls down his cheek, cleaning a path on his dirty skin. It's followed by a second, and a third…

He wants to contradict you. He wants to deny it all and tell you that you will be alright. But he can't. He doesn't have the strength. But he keeps on praying and wishing.

Not you. Him, a thousand times him. But not you.

He nods.

"I'm right here, and I'll stay with you… my love."

He's got blood all over his hand, but he doesn't care. He cups your face all the same. And you look at him with so much hope. He tells you that you're right with just a gaze.

Of course, he loves you. He's loved you since this afternoon during training. You kicked his ass, there was no other way to put it. And you were fierce and brave and so unbelievably kind. And he loves you like he has never loved anyone before. He loves you so much it hurts.

And now, after reaching for the flame, he is getting burnt. It doesn't mean he regrets falling for you. It has been the gentlest of falls.

"I won't leave you alone. I'm going to stay with you," he forces a smile despite his tears.

You mean to thank him, but all you can manage is a grateful smile, before you blink, and your eyelids finally fall. Your hand slips from his cheek to slump between his shoulder and his neck. And Obi-Wan's whole frame is shaken by a sob.

The transport carrying the medics arrives, but you've already surrendered.

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

Taglist : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters

@wangmangagavroche @yana-versio @goldenor-5

457 notes · View notes

lifblogs · 4 years ago

Text

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 | Christmas Curse | @bend-me-shape-me

READ ON AO3

“DEAN!”

Dean was shocked from his sleep, hearing Sam calling for him as effective as getting doused with a bucket of ice water. In a second, he was grabbing his Colt MK IV from underneath his pillow, re-checking that it was loaded, and hurried out of his room. He went quickly, but kept the gun held out, knees slightly bent to have better control over his motions should he need to dodge anything.

When he entered Sam’s room, the light was on, and his brother was running his hands through his hair. Dean checked every corner of the room, and aside from seeing a creepy Santa doll, he didn’t see anything strange. He lowered his gun.

“Sam, come on! I thought you were dying.”

“Yeah, me too. I woke up in bed with that thing,” he said, pointing across the room where the Santa doll had clearly been pushed onto the floor.

Dean decided to not put his gun away just yet. He approached, pistol pointed at the floor away from his feet. He kicked the Santa doll, and then, expecting some form of retaliation, he stepped back, leveling the gun at it.

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes from Santa. “We don’t own any crap like this.”

“I know! I just… I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to hit the lore. Till we figure out what to do with it, maybe we should lock it up in the storage closet with all the other artifacts.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

~~~

Both Winchesters slept in that day, having to recharge after their odd encounter with the Santa doll. They were in the kitchen now, eating breakfast, and drinking coffee that Dean had made. Dean was telling Sam about something Cas had texted him, and then, off to the side, a flash of red and white caught his eye.

Dean dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl, milk splattering onto the table, and onto his black undershirt. His jaw went slack as he turned, and he saw it: the Santa doll.

Dean kicked Sam under the table to get his attention.

“Ow! What the hell? What?”

Dean just tilted his head in Santa’s direction. “Look.”

Sam, confused for a few seconds, did so. His face relaxed into a look of utter disbelief.

“You locked the chest you put it in, right?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s throw it out,” Sam suggested.

“Dude, bad idea!”

Sam turned to look at him, face furrowing in confusion. “Wait, why?”

“What if it gets angry?”

“It’s a Santa doll. I don’t think it can get angry.”

Dean picked up his coffee to have a sip, and then he pointedly said, “That is exactly what a dude who ends up getting murdered by Santa would say.”

Sam just tilted his head at him, nostrils flaring.

“I’m throwing it out,” he declared.

Dean raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “It’s your funeral.” He downed the rest of his coffee.

~~~

Sam was relieved, but a little nervous after throwing the doll out. What if it came back?

Don’t be stupid. How could it come back?

But it had before.

For the most part, the day was normal. Sam tried to do research on the possibility of objects being possessed by ghosts (though he didn’t think that was what was going on here, since there weren’t any other signs of ghost activity), and he looked into cursed objects.

So far, that creepy doll hadn’t reappeared. Thank god. Sam just wanted to shoot the thing in the head at this point.

He got up to go to the bathroom, and when he turned… there it was. Staring at him.

Sam held in a yelp, and then took it and threw it out the door. He finished with his business, and then grabbed the doll, feeling some bit of satisfaction by holding it around the neck. He went to the library and dropped it on the table Dean was at. Dean jumped at the sudden clattering.

“It was watching me in the bathroom,” he said, taking his seat across from Dean.

Dean just started laughing.

“What?” Sam asked, spreading his arms out.

Dean laughed harder, head tilted back, mouth open. His face was turning red, and when he finally seemed to calm down, he looked at Sam. My god, were those tears in his eyes?

“Sammy, that’s hilarious.”

“It’s not. What if it was trying to watch you do your business?”

Dean just shrugged, and pulled a book closer to him. “I ain’t ashamed of what I got.”

“Great. Real helpful.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

~~~

They kept an eye on the doll, digging deep into cursed objects. So far… nothing.

“What if we lock it up?” Sam asked. “You know, put it in a curse box.”

“Maybe…” Dean mused. “Or we can just burn the sucker.”

“You know that’s bad for the environment, right?”

“Thank you, tree-hugger police,” Dean intoned. He grabbed the doll, and stared at it. The eyes were empty, dead. The thing looked like a normal doll. “I mean,” Dean went on, “it’s not all plastic. It’s ceramic, so maybe it won’t be so bad?”

Sam sighed, and slapped his hands to his thighs. “Alright, fine.”

~~~

Despite the thin layer of snow, and the frozen mud on the ground, they went out to their usual abandoned, dirt crossroads where they burned their dead. This thing didn’t deserve a hunter funeral, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to get one.

Dean was carrying the doll in a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. Sam had salt, and oil.

They set about their work, struggling to find any bits of dry wood, but eventually, they had a sizeable pile. Kindling was set up along the edges.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Dean said.

He went and placed the doll on top of the wood, and Sam salted it, threw oil on, and Dean lit the kindling. The kindling didn’t want to go up at first, thanks to the wind, and the cold environment. Eventually, Dean got it. He gently blew on the fire to coax it to life, and used a stick to nudge at the kindling.

The fire hit the wood, and found the oil that had dripped down the logs. It went up.

The doll burned.

They stayed till the doll was nothing but charred, half-melted remains, and then they used snow to douse the fire.

“Alright. Home,” Dean said. “There’s a bottle of scotch that’s calling my name.”

~~~

Dean went to sleep peacefully that night knowing that the Santa doll was dead. That peace didn’t last, and he tossed and turned for what might have been hours, his dreams filled with a doll that came to life, and stabbed him through the gut, eyes completely black and soulless.

Blood splattered on the living doll. It stared down at him as he collapsed to the floor. Its bloody beard was the last thing he saw.

Dean woke up, covered in a cold sweat, startled. When he realized he was in his room, and that he was alright, he just shook his head, and started to laugh at himself.

Idiot, he chastised. The doll’s dead. Pretty sure it can’t kill you neither.

A clattering sounded from out in the hall. Dean grabbed his gun, and went to hunt down what was causing the noise. His heart beat fiercely in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. His skin tingled, all of him alert.

Please don’t be Santa. Please don’t be Santa.

When he turned a corner, he saw it. The doll was back. It just stood facing the wall that was only a few inches from its stupid ceramic nose. It didn’t move, was utterly still in the dark. Dark ash was smudged across its entire body. Then, the Santa doll seemed to shudder and shake.

“Merry Christmas,” it growled.

Dean let out a startled cry, and shot the thing till it was just shards and dust. Then he found a curse box to lock it in.

All the noise had woken Sam, and he helped Dean with sweeping up the mess, and locking it away.

“What the fuck, man?” Dean asked, now nursing a beer while leaning against the metal counter in the kitchen. Sam was doing the same.

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously, what the fuck?”

“Christmas curse, I guess,” Sam said.

Dean shook his head, had a few swallows of his beer, and then said, “I knew I always hated Santa.”

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #Day 6 Christmas Curse #spn #Supernatural #spn fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #fanfiction #writing #my writing #tw: graphic depictions of violence #(for just one scene)#graphic depictions of violence

19 notes · View notes

crystallinecrimsonmoth · 4 years ago

Text

Future Serial Killer [ongoing]

Chapter 42

Blackout curtains in the spare room they occupied for the night kept Carl and Negan from waking up too early in the day, the couple only getting disturbed when Negan finally stirred in his own time and opened his eyes to look at the younger man lying in bed beside him. Without the fire they usually had to keep them warm, the two relied on the central heating of Hilltop to keep them from freezing to death, but Negan didn’t like the lack of burning wood smell that reminded him of waking up next to Carl every day.

Gazing at the teen, the fire was the only thing missing to make the morning perfect.

‘You should take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ The mutter from his husband came out in a gritty but soft tone of voice, his one eye opening only slightly to avoid being blinded by any invading light from outside.

When he realised there was no danger of that happening, his blue eye opened all the way to stare back at Negan, causing the man to grin a big stupid grin at him.

‘I don’t need to take a picture because you’re mine already.’

Carl snorted at that.

‘Age is turning you into a teddy bear, old- Negan!’ He yelped in surprise when he felt the older man’s hand under the covers and his fingers easing their way inside him slowly.

The other simply grinned wider at him, sliding the digits further in and pressing the pads of his fingers right against where he knew his partner was most sensitive. It was a movement that made Carl jolt and try to wriggle away from him.

‘We have to get up before Jasmine needs us, Neeg,’ He tried to argue but was cut off by another assault on his pleasure centre, forcing a moan from him and encouraging Negan to shuffle closer in bed and kiss his shoulder blade while he worked him with his fingers, ‘Negan, come on!’

The elder of the two shook his head in response, though, pressing his lip to the cartilage of his ear and making the movements of his hand a little rougher.

‘She’s with Maggie and the others downstairs, she’s fine. So, we’re alone… in bed…’ He began to accentuate his statement with kisses down Carl’s neck with every few words, hovering over his back now, ‘no distractions… and I haven’t… been inside you… for far too long.’ He muttered lastly right into his ear like a vibration, licking the hard muscle there and causing his lover to jolt in pleasure once more with another rub against his sensitive insides.

Carl rolled his eye despite his moaning, gripping onto Negan’s hair to get him to slow down and burying his head in his pillow.

‘I hate it when you’re right.’ He grumbled, gasping when the man hit the right spot again before shoving at his shoulder weakly.

‘Sit against the fucking headboard, I don’t want fucked like a dog.’ He huffed, shivering and letting out a whimper when Negan nodded and took away his fingers so he could sit up.

The teen grumbled again when he had to move, trying to sit up and keep the duvet around him at the same time as he straddled the Saviour’s thighs, almost faltering and falling off the bed until rough hands caught him, sliding around his waist. A deep chuckle accompanied them while he settled on Negan’s lap comfortably, resting his hands on the man’s shoulders and glaring into the brown eyes that were watching him with a fond expression.

‘I’m trying to keep myself wrapped up ‘cause it isn’t as warm here as it is at home, stop laughing.’

‘Sorry, it was just a funny sight to watch you almost fall off the bed.’

Carl narrowed his eye at that, hitting his chest.

‘Keep laughing and you can forget getting your dick warm today, asshole.’

‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry,’ Negan laughed in reply, sliding his arms tighter around the boy and kissing him softly, feeling his smaller member rutting against his stomach despite his complaints, ‘come here, killer.’ He purred, coating himself in the oil bottle he’d left on the bedside table and pushing into the younger slowly.

Fingers dug into the meat of his shoulders as he filled in the tight warmth surrounding him, short breathy gasps reaching his ears while he moved inside the blue-eyed beauty straddling him.

‘Fuck, Negan…’ The words were accompanied by a sharp tug to his hair and the feeling of Carl’s thighs trembling against his, his ass clamping around the intrusion.

The older Saviour simply chuckled and gripped his hips tighter, thrusting into his tight body fast enough to make the teen fall against his shoulder, moaning into his neck.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ He whined into his ear, arms wrapping around his neck and trying to gain stability as he was ravaged.

Negan didn’t let up on his pace, gripping onto the plump flesh of his hips until Carl was a moaning wreck, only able to focus on the feeling of his insides being turned to mush. He pressed his lips to the man’s neck in attempt to keep his moans from being too loud, but that didn’t prevent the whole house from hearing them.

∞

Downstairs was a whole different situation.

In the kitchen, Maggie was already up and making breakfast for everyone, heating up formula for Jasmine while the toddler sat in her highchair and spoke in nonsense language to her stuffed fox. She had been up since 5am and actively seeking Maggie’s attention, reaching for her anytime she let her go and babbling softly in reply to anything she said.

‘At least you’re getting closer to words, huh, Dandelion? But you know, I don’t think your daddies would even care if you couldn’t speak. They just love you to pieces.’ The older woman smiled, leaning her elbows on the kitchen counter as she leaned forward to the little girl.

Jasmine just babbled happily again, looking up at her with a smile full of little teeth. Maggie sighed, pinching her cheek gently.

‘Alright, darling, breakfast time.’ She hummed, taking the bottle of formula from the bowl of warm water she’d set up earlier and drying it off.

Testing the heat on her forearm briefly, she then handed the bottle off to Jasmine who took it without any fuss, able to hold it herself. Her guardian smiled at the sight of her drinking and slid a small bowl of porridge onto her highchair table before glancing over at the couch.

She’d come downstairs that morning to find Daryl sleeping there with Liùsaidh resting with her head on his chest, both lost to the world. It was unexpected after the fights they had had but Maggie thought it was quite sweet, leaving them to sleep off the hours they had stayed up late talking to each other. The two notepads on the coffee table with lines and lines of conversation in them were evidence enough of that.

Sorcha, on the other hand, had settled herself at the foot of Jasmine’s highchair once she was sat there and she’d lay there ever since, snarling faintly still every time Maggie got too close but the woman was sure the dog was softening to her.

Now the living room was quiet, complete silence filling the house while she picked up the plastic spoon in Jasmine’s porridge and blew on the mouthful for her.

‘Here comes the choo choo train, chuga-chuga, chuga-chuga…’ She laughed softly when Jasmine giggled at her actions and ate the food without a fuss, blowing on another spoonful for her as a groan came from Daryl on the couch.

‘Don’t wake your girlfriend up, she looks tired.’ She said it so casually she wasn’t sure he’d heard before a grumble reached her ears and both of them were awake when she looked over.

Daryl had jolted upon hearing Maggie’s comment so suddenly that it had caused Liùsaidh to wake up too, her hand resting on the archer’s chest as they stared at each other with wide eyes. It was a scene hard not to laugh at for the third wheel in the situation and she had to cover her mouth to keep Daryl from seeing her smirk.

The room was quiet again for a moment before their newest member was on her feet and brushing her hands through her black hair to neaten it. In that moment Liùsaidh looked like the feral, frightened girl Carl and Negan had found on the side of road again, her eyes downcast while Daryl sat up slowly, treating her like he would a spooked animal when he saw her body language.

‘Liù...’

‘I made breakfast if you want some, might help.’ Maggie spoke up from the side-lines, trying to diffuse the situation and regretting it immediately when Liùsaidh bolted from the house, leaving Daryl to sigh and rub his hands over his face, gazing at the notepads on the table and picking one up.

He flicked through the pages of conversation, hours’ worth of back-and-forth admissions and mistakes and everything in between. After all that, she shouldn’t have run so quickly but he had expected it still.

‘I’ll heat it up for you later. Go and find her.’ Maggie told him softly, covering the plates with foil for now while Daryl stood up, shrugging his vest on, and tying his boots.

‘She’ll be in the woods, betting.’ He huffed, leaving the house, and finding the young woman already climbing the Hilltop fence like a bear.

She was halfway up when he jogged over.

‘You fall and it will hurt!’ He called out, getting her attention as hazel eyes turned to focus on him.

Daryl sighed when she didn’t speak, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand while he looked up at her.

‘If you come down, we can talk. Or you slip and die, crazy lady’s choice.’

Liùsaidh looked affronted by his choice of words, having more understanding and more memory of the English language after spending all night talking to him. Daryl watched as she turned her nose away from him stubbornly before starting to climb down, only just moving fast enough to catch her when her footing faltered and she fell to the ground from fifteen feet up.

The younger landed in his arms with a thud, her eyes screwed tight as if she believed he would have let her hit the ground. It took her a moment to realise she’d been saved and then she turned stubborn again, dropping out of his arms the rest of the way and hitting the dirt, standing up quickly.

Daryl put his hands up in surrender without saying anything, wondering what she would do next, but Liùsaidh only stared at him, her face flushed from the shock of falling. She didn’t say anything as they stared back at each other, eventually looking away and moving to tie her hair back into a ponytail while he watched.

The archer frowned again, his face melding into its usual position as he looked around at their surroundings for signs of people. When he found no one else was around, the older man gulped, feeling like a shy teenager again looking back to Liùsaidh. She still looked embarrassed, running her fingers through her hair like she’d done all night while they talked.

He made sure to look around once more just in case before stepping closer to the young woman. He didn’t know when he started wanting to kiss her, he hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in all the years that they’d been stuck in living hell. The man was used to being surrounded by people having sex and relationships, and he didn’t get it – not until the psychotic woman who pounced on him and held a knife to his throat the first time they met.

Liùsaidh seemed to freeze when Daryl stepped closer, trapped like a deer in the headlights as she looked up at him.

‘Da-’ He cut her off without thinking about it anymore, kissing the ravenette and holding his breath in anticipation for his throat to be slit.

He hadn’t expected her to start kissing back.

#cegan #future serial killer #chapter 42 #carl/negan #negan/carl #carl x negan #negan x carl #cegan ao3 #cegan fanfic

10 notes · View notes

cutegirlmayra · 5 years ago

Text

Metallic Need (Bonus Chapter unedited)

Metallic Need : Bonus Chapter (NOT THE FINAL, FINISHED CHAPTER YET.)

Because my friend loves it and I had to write something for her lolol Love you!

Here is what started it:

Idea about burning oil and Neo Metal Amy laying on her stomach seductively in it (since she can't catch on fire, but she could melt lolol) the oil is around and over her so it looks like she's on fire too.

The power walk like, "This alloy doesn't react to such small heat." (hahaha but the real heat is inside their coding lolololol)

Neo: I always knew you were prone to flames... I just didn't realize you wanted to die so quickly. Metal Amy: It's those red eyes that hold the real desire for destruction, Neo Metal Sonic. Neo: ... Who said anything about destruction? (~) lolol A purring lull in his metallic string of sounds (He's honestly so turned on and she's just like, ARE WE FIGHTING?)

Metal Amy: Let's rumble! Neo: Tumble? I like the sound of tha- Metal Amy: NO.

Neo: You will be under my power... -holds up a clawed hand seductively- Metal Amy: -leans head back and glares- You have no power! Neo: ... -pulls back- Is everything literal to you now?

(Friend: HE TRIES SO HARD, Me: Suffer my friend lolol I have a lot of metallic feels thanks to you and now I'm in the mood to write some robotic flirting XDDDD he's like 'how make robotic attracted to me without physically magnetizing her to me?' He did that... once lolol)

Neo: -walking around her, wants to say so many things but is having a hard time with his heart virus finding just one- Your attempt at luring me with your new form is pointless. I own you. I created you. There isn't a part of you I don't know already... I have your blueprints in my mind as we speak. Such a shame... you truly can't ruin what I have made. No matter what you invent yourself to be, you'll always have me in you. Metal Amy: ? Are you still calling me pretty after all I've done!? Neo: -wide eyed- 'SHE UNDERSTOOD?'

Neo: -getting frustrated and angry- YOU BELONG TO ME! -up in her face with his hand twitching and wanting to just slash into her. Metal Amy: If I had a tongue, I would stick it out at you. Disrespectfully. -looks unfazed. She turns to walk away and he's just crushing his body inwards and twiddling his fingers in the air like AHHHHHHH cause he doesn't know how else to flirt-

AND HERE'S WHAT IT IS:

Neo Metal Sonic paced the laundry room, hands behind his back, impatient. He looked at the clock with a look that stated that if it didn't tick correctly he'd have it destroyed with the broom of doom. He was already finished with the basket of organic filth that had been deposited into the washing machine of torturous existences... so now it was time for Neo Metal Amy to check in on him. He had a plan, a sinister way to escape this prison confine of Amy Rose's Home and take his creation back, it was flawless, the moment was right! He had planned everything down to the last drop of blood he'd drain from each of Sonic's friends... but where was she!?

The time seemed to slow down around Neo Metal Sonic, he grew increasingly hostile, flicking his claws to create heated sparks that flew off like a small sparkler in a fireworks demonstration as he stopped pacing and glared with a beam of red to the door. 'She's LATE.' his entire metal frame was on edge, as though his being was polarizing with magnetic force and crushing itself in and out. "That's it. My inferior programming has subsided for the day!" He looked to check that the dryer of all burning screams was almost completed, and so, he left his post...

Walking around Amy's home, he kicked and put nicks on all her furniture as he passed by, a way to vent without triggering his programming since the 'safety of inanimate objects' wasn't a prioritized programming... so Amy would finds steel foot dents and scraped wood on her cabinets constantly as a way for Metal to still protest his confinement as a butler. Needless to say, she hated it. Finally, he made his way to the flowerbed outside, pretending a moment in his mind to set the whole thing on fire like Amy's repeated red clothes that he wished he could dye in her blood instead of wash in detergent when suddenly... a flash of light came from the lake outside of Amy's home... He stared as the powerful force of whip-lashing wind blew the petals out from the backyard and surrounded the water droplets that sparkled around the metallic frame.

It was the first time Neo Metal Sonic realized... he couldn't fly to her. That sick, twisted realization sent a feeling of hopelessness throughout his heart virus... his shoulders wanted to fall back, but he tried to will them up... but with the heart programming it was useless. They slumped as he watched her send a blast through the lake, training maybe or figuring out better ways to perfect her battle abilities... against him? He hoped. At least that meant she was thinking of him again. At least he was still somewhat important... He tried to kick off the ground by lifting his heel up and shoving it down, but his jet didn't engage... Why... He kicked again, and again, and again, and again until his eyes squinted in their desperate need to grasp her... hold his creation again... be with her again... Like a flightless bird, he felt useless, defective. Out of all her 'tortures' she tried to conceive against him... this was the worst one yet. She finally did spot him, turning gracefully in the air with her duel turbo engines under her dress and by her legs, seeing him in the distance. '...Be with me.' he commanded, before glaring in his rage. 'BE WITH ME.' he tried to send the signal but she was already coming, a threatening claw reeled back to attack him. He waited quietly as her sound drew closer, and then dodged as she spiked the ground, jumping to the roof and making sure to damage it in the process. He held himself high, feigning dominance. "you're late... even for your own 'torture session'... pitiful."

"You say that as though you're excited." she yanked her hand out, glaring, "Prepare to feel death once more... Neo Metal Sonic!" he twitched at her saying he seemed excited, then mentally scolded the infernal heart programming again for giving it away. "I would say prepare yourself, NEO Metal Amy..." He flared, slowly to let the dramatic wind swoop his waist-cloak out flapping into the air menacingly. "I have plans for you as well..." He matched her glare, but it was much more regal then hers, and it infuriated her. She sent out a metallic cry and charged him, flying up to him. 'Yes... come to me... don't take your eyes off of me. Don't ever stop thinking of me.' he jumped to dodge her, as she materialized her hammer as the silver goop formed it and she sent electricity through it, hitting balls of sparking light towards him. He tilted himself in the air, before wildly gesturing as an acrobatic to dodge them, showing off. Not one hit... 'Pay attention, this will be your first lesson!' He twisted himself and landed beautifully on the roof again, slowly rising up. 'You will feel me... you will know only I can satisfy you...' he gripped his claws, and then shred them over her image a few feet away. 'I want to exist in those eyes... forever...' and then he charged her.

As she braces for impact, she also tries to secure her footing and grabs Neo Metal Sonic's shot out clawed hand, having it tightly compacted to look almost like a spike and flings him down like a martial artists dodge. 'Perfect' his eyes dim as he unparts his fingers and grabs her wrist. "What?" She looks confused, wondering what he could possibly be doing as he takes what looks like a charger pack from out of his waist-cloak, "You look a bit... thirsty." and spikes his thumb into it, having sparks fly out as he jams it into the crevice of her arm-guard. She is electrocuted, but with all her batteries, it's not really damaging. "What are you thinking?" She glares, her body twitching only slightly from the effects. "I could just shove energy out of me! This was your big threat!?" He continues to stare at her... "H-huh?" Then it occurred to her... this feeling... there was no pain associated to it anymore. Now that she looked down at her captive hand, she noticed the pleasant streams of... "Feeling." her eyes widened and she began to struggle to get his grip off. "Let go!"

"How amusing... the creation that used to enjoy this so much... now fights against it..."

"You made me hate it!" she kicked his stomach in, but he held his ground, trying to trigger his engine but it still wouldn't work. He could have at least scrapped up her foot with it spinning, though it wouldn't leave a mark on the alloy... it would have still given off plenty of sparks to the party... "Tell me," He tilted one eyelid down, "If feeling was so terribly traumatic for you... then why insist I struggle with it? Has it not occurred to you that perhaps I-" Before he could finish his manipulation, his eyes widened as she began to glow bright yellow from within her systems, and then turned to him fully. "So you know my pain." and jammed herself up against him. The explosion broke the roof as the two fell through, and Neo Metal Sonic did feel the pain... but enjoyed every second of it. Though he was in immense simulated pain, he fought through it and tried to embrace her... even while falling through the roof... he just wanted to keep her locked to his side. When the crashing consumed them, Amy cried out from upstairs and came racing downstairs, jaw hitting the ground as though this was the last straw. He was steaming... his systems fired, but he had successfully locked himself to her... 'Now, to give the command.' his eyes flickered red, almost about to shut down in an emergency protocol. She started to get up, but he sent all his power to executing the command, and was like a stuck accessory around her. "Ugh, get off!" she faked exertion, as though an organic feeling strain. However, she stood up as the rubble fell around her, arms away, looking down at what seemed to be a destroyed Metal... Clinging to her and not letting go. "He must have locked his arms before destructing." she thought, before turning to Amy to apologize. But while she did... a deadly signal was being sent to her... Neo Metal Amy was scolded yet again and banished to the Lake while Amy called for some help. She was still stuck with Neo Metal Sonic's trash tightly holding itself around her, but continued to try and find ways to 'unstuck' herself from him. Until a sudden idea popped into her head. She didn't know where it had come from, but she pulled lightly against Neo Metal Sonic's head and looked into the blank and black screens of his eyes... "...Huh?" she suddenly saw it flicker with an image of her when she was incomplete up on Eggman's storage ship. "That's..." she watched memories pass by on Neo Metal Sonic's screen, of their first experience under the electric shower to the later advanced 'pleasurable' electric charging sessions they had... but he seemed to be purposefully leaving out more of the recent tortures... She shook her head, "So he thinks of the past too much, so what?" she let the head drop, "...There was once a time... I would have liked to see even a shred of kindness from my master..." she thought out loud, not sure why, as though answering another inputted question. "But those days can never be. Not when you're a robot..." What she didn't know... was that Neo Metal Sonic was searching her memories, learning about Omochao and her previous thoughts. Seeing how she escaped, her betrayal, and her reprogramming. But then he sent more signals throughout her, looking for any sign that she wanted to please or be pleased... any weakness that he can draw upon. "To you... my flaws were nothing more than entertainment and pleasure... but to me... All I wanted was your acceptance." she closed her eyes, not sure why she was digging this out of herself again. A twitching, burnt claw hand suddenly skimmed her back... "All I truly desired was to please you... but you never accepted me, and you wouldn't allow yourself to be errored even though you were!" she swiped at his head, so he remained still again. "No matter what I do, you still torment me! Acting as though I'm something valuable to you! When you didn't even know what to do with me in the first place!" she kept hitting him, as he indirectly triggered her with his searching for information. Then he found what he was looking for... He reactivated his flickering eyes, looking slowly up to her as she stopped hitting him and was pushed to the ground. Still holding her, he lifted his hand up to the crook of her head, "I remember... the last look on your face... before I threw you to the canon-fodder..." He clicked a switch that gave him access to her spine's wires... "I remember... how you looked at me that day." She was shocked he was able to survive that, but even more so how he was still operational. "W-what are you..? What do you possible think you can gain from-!?" He pulled a wire out, and her expression suddenly went limp and her head fell back. Electric sparks danced around the loose wire as he held it up to his mouth, figuratively drinking her energy in as he prepared for the last and final stage... "I never wanted to loose you... but I couldn't possibly lose TO you... So in a way, you still please me... whether by your own will or not, it's an objective you can't possibly erase from your programming..." He dipped down once his eyes stabilized from the power source, and began shocking her with her own power. Bending her into him, he made sure he had enough before rehooking the wire in, and watching her flare up anger, trying to pierce her claws into him as he continued to send a pleasurable amount of energy back into her. He was attempting the revolving door again... "Doesn't it feel... entertaining?" he suddenly laughed as her eyelids blinked a few times, as though trying to fight the sensation of being recharged. "Doesn't it make you wish you never tried to be organic!?"

With the sparks sending only good feelings, though some constant pain to Neo Metal Sonic through his spinal antenna, the two were back to their old ways again but Neo Metal Amy continued to struggle. He gripped the sides of her head and pulled her against his sparking frame, trying to replicate what she had done for him by taking a hand and looping it in a twist around her arm, letting the heat and electricity spark up in a jagged line to send the same memorable pleasures back to her. So it seemed like a role-reversal, but Neo Metal Sonic had no idea if this was even working or not. His first plan was to addict her to him again, make her realize he was the only one she could serve instead of the organics, but her flaws seemed to be strengths when he looked at her memories. He was amazed by her continual ingenuity, and how no matter what problem, she seemed to find a way to wrestle out of the sensations of touch were mostly on Neo Metal Sonic's side, he was suddenly finding himself even more drawn to the heart programming when it made him of think of things and do actions he didn't know were an organic sign of affection... but through her memories he found, stage two in finding a flaw and formulating what systems were still intact also came through to give him location to her wires... how to strengthen himself. He couldn't hurt an organic, but there was nothing that said he couldn't 'tempt' her to do the work for him... Finding that she wanted his approval was laughable to Neo Metal Sonic, but if it meant securing her to him, what was to lose? His pride was already tarnished, and he could punish her later... but right now... he twisted his head and turned her into him, desperate to give her what she wanted in exchange to having the command signal closer and hoping to brainwash her... however... the heart virus was immediately activated, and suddenly, he found himself twitching. "Noo..." He finally had want he wanted... why was it-!? "NOOO..." his eyes blared red, his claw left her form and gripped the ground, digging into it as he fought the new expression being triggered. However, he couldn't, and suddenly... his escape plan didn't matter anymore. Neo Metal Amy was under a lot of stimuli, it was as though being drugged up in delight, but her hand hit his chest, trying to force him off again, "M-Metal..." she stuttered, unable to fight for much longer... because this was something she had once wanted... love without pain. In his struggle, he found himself absolutely giving in and focusing only on pleasing her, something he'd never do if he was fully in control of his own assets. "Stop... stop fighting me..." she was confused, not sure why his demeanor had changed and why he seemed less hostile... more desperate... "Metal?" her eyes were closing as sent all he had to her... every last spark before she regained herself and the command signal stopped... Neo Metal Sonic being consumed in making her loyal to him again. She began to recharge normally, and grabbed him to look and see what was going on. "You..." His eyes were... Green. "You're feeling." He bent them, twitching. "No." he stated. "Yes." she nodded, amazed. "You are feeling... for me."

As Neo Metal Sonic's form shook from the realization of what the heart virus forced him to recognize and reveal, Neo Metal Amy couldn't help but be stunned at his vulnerable frame. She was sucked into the moment, the sparks still zapped at times, but now her entire focus was on this new experience he had never felt before. Could it be? Was he really solely thinking of her and nothing else? "... Metal Sonic..." she referring to his previous life, "Do you..." She placed her fingers lightly on his cheek as the heart virus forced him to react as though panting, his chest rising and falling. "I can't..." His eyes were bent... all the hostility and evil she had known looked completely gone from him in this moment. It left her completely taken aback. She continued to look over him, watching the 'errors' manifest so prominently now. "I can never be this..." He kept repeating more and more things, but she tuned it out. He was so afraid of being organic... she didn't realize it was fear. She moved up and cupped his face, her former compassion shining through one more time, even towards this weakened moment for Neo Metal Sonic. "NEVER say that." she tried to command, but she didn't have that programmed into him to obey. "You are not Sonic... but you can be whatever you choose to be. You don't have to be evil, Neo... you could be like me..." she skimmed her thumb upon his muzzle. "...But I want you." he admitted, his hands coming back up to her own, and then sliding down to cling as though ashamed to her face, scooting himself closer to it. "I just want you." She let go of his face, "No... N-no, it's emotions. Metal, you're feeling! You can feel! You can allow yourself to-!" He gripped her head and pushed it up to his forehead, his green eyes trembling. "No." he declared, "NO." he repeated. "I don't want to change, I don't want to reform. I only want you. I don't want to feel, I don't want to emote. I never wanted anything besides the death of Sonic, the title of the superior Sonic, and you. YOU. YO-! VVEEE...vveee...VVERRR..." he suddenly arched his back as he jerked forward, sparking out to have the sensation of her and him spinning in that heated, electric pleasure wheel again before he hadn't checked his own supply counts... plus, with his body mostly destroyed from their last brawl... it was no use. He had sparked his last and fell limp, shutting down. Neo Metal Amy moved quickly, placing his head in her lap, "Neo! Neo, stay with it! Don't say that! Please..!" She ducked her head, as though crying as he closed her eyes and simulated the desperate loss of hope she had just gained for a split second. "Don't give me hope like this and then just reject and deny it like you did me!" as she turned her head away, feeling the doom of him never truly changing... and him always staying the torturous fiend she knew him to be... a tender hand lightly tapped her nose and skidded his sharp finger off of it. "I never... rejected... you..." he then completely feel limp and shut down, fully nonoperational. He may have hated feeling, hated 'errors', hated that he could never measure up to Sonic no matter how hard he tried to be a better 'Sonic' than him... he never turned her away, but embraced her. Her heart programming was so torn. Omochao's data sparked to life again, pleading. 'You aren't meant to be this... you had a good life. Please. Don't get hung on this again... be free.' she shoved the thoughts away, "He's a machine that can FEEL! He wants only power and dominion! But I think... for the first time... he was forced to realize how organic he really can become..." She knew he was stuck in his ways... but for just a moment, a brief moment... he was almost ALIVE. A soul... that could feel and possibly change. When she carried him home and revived him, building him up again. He went back to the same old chores, and didn't speak to her for a full day. Staring at the stars, she finally confronted him... but he looked away, acting as though that exchange... never happened.

the end

(In conclusion, she's gonna name a child after me. My friend: "Micaela, you were named after disgruntled robots with sexual frustration." her: "What?"

Fanficiton: (x)

#mmm-asbestos #cutegirlmayra #metallic need #me fanfic #metal sonamy #neo metal sonic #neo metal amy #metal amy rose #metamy #sonic fanfiction #cutegirlmayra1

23 notes · View notes

spoon-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 1

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 1 - The Great Escape

As the starship struggled through the atmosphere, the cargo hold shook like the world was coming apart at the seams. Sinead pressed herself against the wall, which was growing hotter as gravity tried to drag the ship back on the ground. She had squeezed herself between two crates and hidden by the shadows she was impossible to spot from the walkway.

Sound of blood rushing through her ears drowned out her labored breathing and loud bangs from the ship. She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth and tasted blood. Her other hand curled around the handle of the whip, thumb hovering above the button that would power it up, releasing a power she didn't know how to handle. The whip, the one that started it all. It was heavy in her hand. If anyone found her, they'd meet a quick end, if she didn't accidentally dismember herself first.

Eventually, the floor evened out, and Sinead allowed herself to shift, her burning leg muscles crying out in protest. A drop of sweat landed in her eye and she rubbed her forehead. She was drenched in sweat, whether from fear or the hot wall she didn't know.

As the ship got farther and farther away from the cursed planet, the fog of terror started to lift. She was free, or as free as one could be hiding in a cargo hold, stowing away on a starship bound for the unknown; they might as well take her into the heart of Hutt space.

The hiss when the door opened hit Sinead like an icepick at the back of her neck.

Bothans. Two of them made their way down the walkway, growling deep in their throats as they went, their paws almost silent on the metal floor.

Sinead shifted ever so slightly, breath caught in her throat, ready to pounce.

One of the Bothans stopped in front of her hiding place. She saw its long face through cracks between the crates, long canines curling up over its upper lip.

A clawed hand curled around the crate, pulling it back.

Sinead forced her eyes open. Her finger found the button and-

A loud growl and the Bothan let go of the crate and pushed it back in place. Sinead watched with wide eyes as they went further down the walkway and helped the other carry a much larger container out of the room.

The door closed behind them, and Sinead let out a sigh of relief. The cargo hold felt cold suddenly, and empty, the only light came from ancient fixtures in the ceiling that flickered every time the ship shook.

She made it. She was going to make it. Once the ship docked, wherever that would be, she would sneak off and find another, get as far away from the Hutts as possible.

She'd find Kyen.

... ... ... ... ...

Four months later

Gineesh was nestled between two glaciers, growing from the cracks like stubborn weeds too deep-rooted ever to be pulled out completely. If the dormant volcano under the biggest glacier ever woke and flooded the area with molten lava, the city would find a way to break through the volcanic rocks before it even had time to cool off.

Two years ago, a surveyor from the mining guild found spice deep down under the ice and rocks, and what used to be a small port whose only claim to fame was that it was a stop on the way to Mon Calamari, bloomed into an entire mining operation.

Sinead had found a job in the big shipyard carved out of the ice, doing maintenance on the enormous freighters that came every day to pick up spice. Her father had taught her just enough not to get herself killed in an industrial accident, but mostly she fetched tools and ran messages for the more seasoned mechanics.

Working around the big ships made her feel closer to her parents than she had in a long time. They'd owned a freighter, running cargo for whoever wanted to pay for it, and Sinead had grown up among the stars.

She was jostled when she left the shipyard by big burly men coming in for their shift, their clothes covered in crusty oil and mud. The ever-present snow lined the road, turned grey from pollution. The road itself was a mess of dirt and sludge that seeped into her cheap boots as she walked.

A Twi'lek female waited for her just outside the shipyard; Ludah was young and pretty, her blue skin vibrant in the grey surroundings. She smiled when she saw Sinead.

"Jesha! I was about to leave without you."

Sinead shuffled closer to Ludah so they wouldn't be separated in the steady stream of people leaving and coming into to work. The sun was nearly below the horizon, but work never stopped a place like this.

"I had to finish up before I could leave. You know how it is."

Ludah squeezed past an overturned hovercart someone had left in the middle of the road. "I told you, you could work with me at the cantina. You'd get to sling ardees instead of oil for a change."

Sinead huddled further into her cloak. The glaciers sheltered them from the big snowstorms that ravaged Toola, but that didn't mean it wasn't colder than a wampa's balls.

"I've tried the whole server thing, and it turns out I'm no good at it."

"Because helping drunk assholes get even drunker is so hard."

"You're really selling this cantina job, you know that?"

Sinead knew she shouldn't talk to anyone more than necessary. She definitely shouldn't befriend the neighbor for fun walks through the slum, but she did anyway. She was a social creature, and the last months had been hell in more ways than one, although a different form of hell than the one she escaped from.

"Your loss."

Ludah leaned closer to Sinead with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes and said, "Lon stopped by after my shift ended."

Sinead blew out a deep sigh. "You know I don't want to hear about this."

"But he told me he's leaving tomorrow. We're gonna meet later, down by the mine."

"Ludah ..." Sinead said, looking around to see if anyone overheard them.

"I'm serious! I might never get to see him again when he joins the resis-"

Sinead's heart shuttered in her chest. "Shut. Up." Her eyes roved around them, hands balling into fists in her pockets. Everyone looked too preoccupied with themselves to notice them, but it only took one before the Empire descended on the planet like vultures. "Think before you speak, will you?"

"Sorry," Ludah said, not sounding particularly sorry. "I'm just so tired of being stuck on this frozen pile of bantha shit." She looked at the ground like the planet itself could hear her insult. "I'm tired of drunk astash grabbing my lekku and following me home. I don't want to end up like my parents."

"Keep talking like that, and you'll end up in a prison camp, which I guess technically counts as getting off-world," Sinead said.

Ludah sniffed and crossed her arms. "I hate this stupid place." Another nasty look at the ground. "I'm sweating under my lekku and the rest of my body is frozen solid. How does that even happen?"

Sinead let Ludah rant the rest of the way to their lodgings, at least it was better than her talking about the Resistance. News of the Resistance's victories had reached all the way out to the frozen planet, and tension was building in the slums that, if not taken care of, might explode into a revolt.

It wasn't that Sinead didn't understand where Ludah was coming from; she knew all too well the stifling feeling that came from staying in one place too long, kept in place by literal or metaphorical chains. That didn't mean she was going to risk the Empire finding her just because Ludah had cabin fever.

They rounded the last corner and their lodgings were at the end of the road. Ludah's house was larger and sturdier than many of the surrounding shacks. Warm light spilled out from the windows. In contrast, Sinead's one-room hovel looked like it shouldn't even be standing up.

Something made Sinead stop in her tracks; a chill that had nothing to do with the cold went through her body.

"Jesha? Are you all right?" Ludah looked at Sinead with furrowed brows. They stood in the middle of the road. "You look at bit pale."

A shadow moved behind the lone window of the hut, and Sinead took a step back.

"You know, I forgot something at the shipyard. I'll just see you tomorrow, yeah?"

She didn't wait for Ludah to answer but turned around and hurried back the way she came. There were fewer people on the street, the few streetlamps to be found in the slum still in working order was alight, making everyone who passed underneath look sick in the yellow light.

She reminded herself not to run as she hurried back towards the shipyard. Someone walking fast might just be late for work, but someone running would attract too much attention. She looked around as subtly as she could, trying to see whatever it was that gave her that feeling like it was the world's end.

The smell of fire, oil, and metal hung in the air as she entered the shipyard, the sounds of heavy machinery just as loud as when she left, echoing in the big open space. A Wookiee passed her carrying a rotor across his shoulders, almost as tall as he was.

Only one freighter was docked, which meant the shipyard was emptier than usual. Sinead hurried into a dark corner and entered a maze of pallets filled with spare parts for the ships. Stopping in front of the wall, she removed a small panel. The whip was still there, the kyber crystals fused into the metal glinting in the low light.

Sinead didn't give herself time to be relieved. She returned the whip and replaced the panel, making the wall look untouched.

She left the shipyard by a rarely used side entrance and hurried down the street. Another breed of people appeared after the sun went down; beggars and homeless people crowded around burning drums to find whatever warmth they could.

A hovercart filled with miners were going down the street, and as it passed her, she stole down the nearest alley. The darkness swallowed her up.

Filth and frozen mud covered every surface, and Sinead nearly tripped over a garbage can, spilling its greasy content on the ground. Only slivers of light came through the dirty windows turned towards the alley.

A Weequay sat slumped against the wall, and at first glance Sinead though he was dead. As she hurried past, he looked up and his hoarse laughter followed her, echoing through the alley.

If she could find a ship that departed tonight, maybe she could stow away on it, buy herself some more time. Then when the coast was clear, she'd return for the whip and-

Pain exploded across her face as she turned a corner. The world tilted, and she landed on her side, hard, holding her face like it was about to split in two. There was blood in her mouth.

A Trandoshan stood before her, his eyes glowing in the twilight.

"There you are," he said, the words low and rough. "Been looking all over the galaxy for you." While she lay dazed on the ground, he bent down and snatched the blaster hidden behind her cloak. "That thing is much too dangerous for a girl like you."

Sinead forced her hands to stop trembling. Snow and mud had worked its way through the many layers of her clothes. He'd taken her blaster, but she still had a vibroblade tucked into her boot.

"Y-you have the wrong person," she said, edging away from the Trandoshan.

His maw opened in a grin. "I don't think so," he said, bending down and grabbing her by the wrists. "You're exactly the girl I'm looking fo-"

Sinead's foot connected with his stomach, sending him flying back and landing with a crash on top of an abandoned bag which split open and a black, foul-smelling content spilled out on the ground.

Sinead got to her feet and broke into a dead sprint, running blindly down the alley. His undulating hunting call echoed between the narrow walls, and ancient survival instinct kicked in gear, screaming at her to hide in the nearest hole she could find.

But he would find her in the end. That's what Trandoshians do.

The alley opened into the main thoroughfare that cut through the slum like a dirty scar.

Sinead burst into the road like a shot out of a cannon. She screamed at the top of her lungs, the kind of scream that made the silence ring even louder once it ended.

People stopped in their tracks and watched as she made a beeline to a group of Besalisks standing by a grill where three small creatures hung suspended over the flames.

"Help!" Sinead's voice cut through the cold air like a whip. "Help! He's trying to kidnap m-" her legs were yanked out from under her and mouth filled with dirty snow as she landed on the ground for the second time that day.

A crowd formed around her; several blasters pointed directly at the Trandoshan who came skulking through the snow, a grappling line trailing behind him.

"She's a wanted fugitive," he said, snarling as his beady eyes jumped from blaster to blaster. "Sinead Cade-" He held out a small bounty puck where an image of Sinead spun slowly, the blue light making the Trandoshan look pallid and sick- "is wanted for theft and murder.

A murmur went through the crowd and they fell away one after one until people just moved around them like they rocks in a stream.

The Trandoshan bent over her again, catching her wrist in his hand. "If you run again," he said, snarling as he drew in a breath, "I'll fly back to the Hutts with you strapped to the hull of my ship."

He fastened bindings around her wrist, and once he was sure they were secure, dragged her up by the arm. "Walk."

Sinead moved, head bent low in defeat while her eyes swirled around, looking for a way out. She still had the knife tucked away, but she had better make sure it stuck if she tried to use it.

Snow fell as they trudged towards the port located on the edge of Gineesh, covering the ground with fresh powder. Sinead's clothes started to freeze, and she had lost most feeling in her hands and feet. The Trandoshan kept a bruising grip on her upper arm, steering her towards certain death. His claws cut through her clothes like it was tissue paper, and Sinead felt warm blood trickle down her arm.

"If you send me back there," Sinead began, wincing as his grip got even tighter, "I'm as good as dead."

"And why is that my problem?" The Trandoshan yanked her to the side as a hovercart came zipping down the road, nearly hitting them.

"My blood will be on your hands."

The Trandoshan laughed, a raspy sound like scales slithering over stone. "You won't be the first, and you won't be the last."

Sinead swallowed down the growing panic and wet her lips. "I can pay you," she said, her voice lower and smoother than before, "I have something worth more than what they're paying you, I promise."

"Shut up." The Trandoshan pushed her forwards, and she landed on her knees in the snow. "We aren't all stupid enough to piss off both the Hutts and the Empire."

Sinead made a strangled sound as he grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. A weight was sitting on her chest. The Trandoshan dragged her along, her fingers found the knife, and hid it in the palm of her hand.

"You're making a mistake."

"I'll live. Too bad you won't."

A ship rose in front of them, its charred hull and dark windows making it look abandoned. The Trandoshan released her to press a button on his wrist vambrace.

Sinead flicked open the knife and lunged at the Trandoshan, burying the knife in his shoulder until only the hilt was visible.

The Trandoshan screamed, striking her on the side of the head with a fist like a rock covered in sandpaper. She used the momentum to spin around and run. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and with every labored breath, the cold air felt like knives in her lungs.

A roar echoed between the starships. She was about to chance a look behind when pain exploded in her shoulder and threw her to the ground. A smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Rough hands grabbed her hair and pulled her head out of the mud. The Trandoshan pressed his disgusting mouth to her ear.

"You really shouldn't have done that."

And everything went black.

... ... ... ... ...

Sinead came to, lying on her back in a small room. The first thing her brain registered was how cold it was. Her clothes were soaked in mud, melted snow, and blood, and the air was cold enough to crystallize in front of her face.

When she opened her eyes, she thought she had gone blind. Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slivers of light made it under the door to the cell. Because it was a cell, that was for certain. She was lying on a small cot, and the only other furniture in the room was a metal bucket pushed into the corner, which Sinead had no intention of touching no matter how long she was stuck in there.

The dull pain emanating from her shoulder turned into a fiery agony when she tried to move. She covered her mouth with a filthy hand to stifle her cry. That only made it worse as her wrists were still bound together and every time she moved her arm, a new stab of pain tore through her shoulder.

She couldn't just stay there. She had to get up, find a way out of this.

Gritting her teeth, Sinead counted to three and hoisted herself into a sitting position, nearly sliding off the cot. Pain exploded behind her eyes. Pitching forward, she emptied her stomach on the floor. When she gingerly pressed a hand to the back of her neck, she discovered that her hair was stiff with blood.

Sinead breathed deeply against the wave of powerlessness that hit her. As long as she didn't panic, she'd find a way out. She had to.

Getting up took more tries than she cared to think about. She stepped around the sick on the floor and examined the door, a thick slab of steel that a thermal detonator wouldn't be able to break through. The rest of the cell was as if poured straight into a mold, there wasn't a crack or gap in the cold wall.

A low, constant hum made it clear that she was on a starship, and it was heading nowhere good. A strangled sob escaped her lips as her fingers dug into her arm. Her body felt light as if it'd been hollowed out while she slept or expelled with the vomit.

She didn't know how long she stood there. The room shuddered as the ship hit the ground. It felt like someone had filled her ears with cotton.

The door hissed open and the Trandoshan appeared, his beady eyes trained on her. There was a dark stain on his shoulder, a bacta patch peeking out under his jacket. Grabbing Sinead's bound wrists, he pulled her towards the door.

An involuntary, guttural scream tore from her mouth and she dug in her heels as he dragged her down a narrow walkway. The ramp was down, sunlight streaming through the opening. As the Trandoshan shoved her through, Sinead closed her eyes against the harsh sun.

The sight that met her when she opened her eyes made her want to close them again: Slezza the Hutt sat fat and glistening in the shade of a canopy held by four slaves; Beside him, Jusgra stood just as pale and insipid as she remembered him. A group of palace guards surrounded them.

On the other side of the landing platform, an army of white shone brightly in the sun. An Imperial officer dressed in grey was waiting in front of a squadron of stormtroopers.

She'd hoped she never had to step foot on Sriluur again. The dry heat assaulted her when she stepped out of the ship, a sweat breaking out under her clothes.

Sinead hissed between her teeth as the Trandoshan grabbed her injured shoulder and dug in his claws, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Jusgra's long face split into a smug smile. Humans came in all shapes and sizes, but Sinead had never seen anyone as disproportional as him.

"Ah, I see you've finally found your quarry. Took you long enough."

The Trandoshan growled. "Delivered in one piece, just like you said."

Jusgra grabbed Sinead by the chin and lifted her face into the sunlight. "Not without damaging the merchandise, I see."

Sinead's vision flashed and she spat directly into Jusgra's face.

He hit her across the face with enough force to make her legs give out, and she slipped out of the Trandoshan's grip, landing on the dusty ground.

Slezza laughed and said something in Huttese, but Sinead's ears were ringing too loud to hear.

She pushed herself to her feet. There was no way in hell she'd meet her fate lying helpless on the ground.

"If you're all quite done," the officer said, brushing a speck of dust off his grey coat. "I'd like to interrogate the prisoner."

The Trandoshan grabbed Sinead and pulled her close. "Not before I get paid."

Jusgra looked back at Slezza, who nodded his great head, and then Jusgra procured a pouch from a hidden pocket. The credits clinked when the Trandoshan caught it.

"You'll see it's all there," Jusgra said in a bored tone, examining his shirtsleeve.

"I just check if it's all the same to you," the Trandoshan said, turning the pouch upside down and counting the credits that fell in his palm. When he was satisfied, he gave Sinead a hard push towards the others.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

The starship took off, leaving her to die. Eventually.

Sinead breathed heavily through her nose, trying not to scream.

The officer stepped forward, flanked by two Stormtroopers who grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, making her clench her jaw in pain.

Slezza's booming voice rang out with a command.

"I do believe-" Jusgra stepped forward with his own guards behind him- "that seeing as she is property of the great Slezza the Hutt, and he deigned in all his magnificent glory to pay the bounty, she rightly belongs with us."

A change went through the guards and stormtroopers alike, tension boiling just below the surface. The stormtrooper to her right shifted his grip on his blaster rifle.

The officer patted his forehead with a handkerchief, not used to the oppressive heat of Sriluur. "She stole a valuable artifact belonging to the Empire, and I am tasked with getting it back. Since an alternate payment was found, the weapon still belongs to us."

"And we will relay the information on its whereabouts to you as soon as we've extracted it, I guarantee."

"That wasn't part of the deal-"

Slezza let out a gurgling roar, and the officer whirled around to face him. A hush went through the stormtroopers, and there was a low clicking sound of blasters being readied.

If they ended up opening fire on each other, maybe Sinead's death would be worth it.

Jusgra listened to Slezza with a passive face before smiling coldly at the officer. "Slezza the Hutt permits you to extract the information as you see fit, providing that she'll be delivered back alive, as the glorious Slezza wishes to oversee her punishment personally."

The officer gave a curt nod. "I can't see why that will be a problem." He adjusted a button on his coat and looked for the first time directly at Sinead.

"I don't suppose you'll tell us where you hid the weapon and get it all over with?"

"D'emperiolo nok," Sinead spat, looking directly into his runny eyes.

"This one has always been … spirited. More trouble than she's worth, really," Jusgra said.

"Yes, well, the Empire has ways of making people talk," the officer turned toward Slezza and gave a curt bow. "The Empire thanks you for your cooperation and looks forward to a long and profitable partnership."

As the stormtroopers led her away, Sinead looked up at the small building roof connected to the landing platform. There, in the heat haze, a shadow crouched behind a water tank.

Something glinted in the sunlight.

A grenade landed between the Imperial and the Hutt, and all hell broke loose.

Next Chapter ->

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #din x oc #din djarin x oc #fanfiction #ends of the earth #oc: sinead

9 notes · View notes

lu-undy · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 30 - SBT

Here it is!

"M, I must say that your opponent is very skilled. He hit points that do hurt a lot but did only very superficial damage…"

The Doctor was a man who looked like any other beggar. He was dressed in rugs and has an unkempt beard, and bushy eyebrows. He was very short and equally old, behind his round pair of spectacles. Beyond the appearances, he turned out to be indeed a medical expert. His surgery was at the end of Maurice's district.

Mundy was sitting on a hospital bed and Lucien was sitting on the one next to him.

"You are welcome, Bushman."

The Doctor sniffed the air and turned to the Frenchman. He removed the cigarette off his lips and Lucien pouted.

"This is a non smoking area…! And M, you did not tell me that this man is the cause of your injuries." The Doctor shut the curtain between the two and started removing Mundy's clothes as he was done with cleaning and patching up his face.

"He is the cause of mine too." Lucien added from behind the curtain.

Mundy rolled up his eyes.

"You looked for it, you fancy ski teacher."

The Doctor raised his head off Mundy's chest.

"He is a ski teacher?!"

"Yeah." Mundy answered.

"Non!" Lucien said.

"Good Lord…" The Doctor shook his head and resumed his tending to Mundy's bruises.

"Ouch, Doc', that hurts…"

"Oui, Docteur, he is delicate, please don't break him further."

"Oi! I'm not delicate! You just hit where it hurts!"

"Oops…?" Lucien answered and Mundy clearly heard that he wasn't really sorry at all.

"It is the first time you bring me your foe to heal too, M." The Doctor said. "And it has been a decade since I last saw you."

The tone in the room became serious again.

"Can I speak freely?" The Doctor raised his eyes to Mundy. The Aussie knew that Lucien would hear everything.

"Go ahead."

"First, lie down on your back please. Thank you. Now, as a doctor, I am the happiest when I don't see my patients, because it means they are in good health. But with you, M, I had my doubts. You were either in excellent health or in a state that no doctor could fix."

"Y-yeah… I see what you mean. Uh… Sorry I didn't say anythin'. And uh, I was in both of these."

Lucien listened closely.

"What happened, M?"

"I… I lost my parents and decided to stop everything. I disappeared and just… I don't really know, time passed." Mundy tried to explain himself without giving too many details, as Lucien was no doubt listening.

And indeed, on the other side of the curtain, Lucien had lied down too and let Mundy's voice just fill the silence.

"I am sorry to learn about your parents. They were good people, very good people." The doctor had applied medicinal creams on the bruised areas and was now putting some bandages.

"Yeah… Thanks."

"But why are you back now?" The Doctor asked.

"Because the bloke who killed them is here and I want to kill him."

The Doctor shook his head.

"M… In all those years of remarkably good work, in all these years of saving lives, you now want to end one?"

Mundy frowned.

"He didn't even give them a painless death."

"Can you turn on your side, please. Thank you. Now…" The Doctor took care of Mundy's right side. "What did your parents do to end up… gone? I presume it was an accident." The Doctor asked.

"No, it wasn't. They did nothing. Absolutely nothing." Mundy answered, staring in front of him. He was facing the curtain and could distinguish Lucien's silhouette. "They…" He sighed. The Aussie was unsure.

"Take a deep breath."

Mundy's eyes snapped wide. It was the same voice as in the sugar factory complex. The one that had asked him to relax. And then, the eyes, artic blue, as calm as the ocean could get, everything disappeared, the eyes again, light blue, almost grey, and streaks of darker blue, like threads intertwining with the lighter blue…

Peace.

Mundy took a deep breath.

"My parents did nothing wrong. They happened to live on a bit of land where there was some oil. They were asked to pack up and go somewhere else, they'd be offered a large cheque as compensation. But my parents loved it there, it was the house that they built together, with their farm, the chickens and geese. I loved it there too. They refused to sell it. A few months later, after being almost harassed about it, receiving countless letters about it, the cheques growing bigger and bigger, they still refused. One day, I was off on a job and…"

Mundy sighed and took another deep breath. He closed his eyes and saw the blue ones that had brought peace to him.

"When I came back home that day, the farm had been burned to the ground, the house was entirely devoured by the flames. I called for the firemen but it was too late. They… There was no one to save anymore." He screwed his eyes shut tighter.

Lucien had listened in utter shock. His lips had parted and his eyes were open wide. How the hell could anyone set fire to a house where two peaceful people lived there? They were harmless, they were just… living there.

"I see." The Doctor said. "And now you are off to find this man and kill him, hm?"

"Yeah. I want to make him suffer, I want him to understand what it was for my parents, and for me."

"And you stopped working for a little more than a decade now?"

"I swore to never touch a rifle ever again. My dad hated them and they got me far away from my parents when they needed me the most. I hate those things."

"Yet, you are incredibly gifted at using one."

Mundy and the Doctor looked at each other. The voice had come from the other side of the light green curtain.

"And you did use a rifle again." Lucien added. "What made you break your oath?"

There was a bit of silence. The Doctor collected his tools and threw away the packages, and dirty compresses in the bin.

"I… This is my last job. It's not even a job, it's somethin' I need to do. I have to kill that bloke and then…"

"And then what?" Lucien asked, looking in the direction of Mundy but only seeing his silhouette through the curtain.

"Then, whatever happens, I don't care."

The Doctor shook his head.

"M, you know that we care for you, don't you?" He said. "Maurice, Eddy, me, the animals' reserves of this country… You have always been doing an incredible job and you did it without killing anyone, ever. I remember the young M, the one who would rather cut his own hand than hurt people, or animals."

"Yeah, well that version of me died the day my parents did."

The Doctor sighed. He let Mundy dress up again and pushed the curtain to go to Lucien.

"Now, to us." He said, and Lucien lifted himself up to sit. "What is your deal?"

"I am after the same man as M."

Mundy put on his polo shirt again and lied down on the hospital bed.

"Ah, is that why you have been fighting? You each thought the other was an enemy when in fact you want the same thing?"

"Not exactly."

The Doctor was cleaning the blood off of Lucien's face.

"What then? You both bumped into each other as you were going to kill that man?"

"Non." Lucien answered.

"And what is your motivation to kill him?"

Lucien sighed. If Mundy had managed to make an effort, then he shall try.

"The same man who stole M's parents away from him, took my family away too."

"Oh… Quite the serial killer that man…"

"Indeed."

"Did he go for your parents too?" The Doctor asked.

"Non. Not my parents. My…" Lucien frowned.

"Hey, mate?" Mundy said on the other side of the curtain. "Deep breath."

Lucien obeyed.

"He took my… My fiancée, and our young son."

Mundy's jaw dropped and his eyes snapped wider than plates. Lucien's voice had cracked, he could hear it.

"Remove your clothes and lie down, please."

Lucien did as he was told. Mundy could only hear the muffled noises of fabrics being moved but his mind was stuck. Duchemin had killed a sheila and a kid…? What kind of heartless bastard was that…?

"Thank you." The Doctor said and started tending to Lucien's chest. "How did it happen?"

Lucien took a second. He closed his eyes, lying down on that hospital bed and saw it all against his closed eyelids.

"They were off to buy some groceries. I was watching them from our house in Boston. Jérémy was holding Marie's hand and they were walking on the pavement. Such grace she had when she walked, her hips swinging ever so delicately, mon Dieu…" Lucien bit his lip and went on, his eyes still closed. "They arrived at the end of the street and crossed. That's when a car arrived at full speed, took a turn and…"

Lucien opened glistening eyes.

"I went out running to them and… Putain de merde… Marie gave me her last smile, as the tears rolled down her smooth cheeks. She looked down at Jérémy and when she saw him in my arms, unconscious, her last tears streamed down her beautiful face and she closed her blue eyes, never to open them again."

Mundy had frozen on his hospital bed, across the curtain.

"When did that happen?" The Doctor asked, as he finished spreading the cream on the bruised areas of his chest and stomach.

"A bit more than a decade ago." Lucien opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"And, uh," Mundy's voice pulled Lucien out of his remembrance. "I guess Duchemin did that?" He looked in the direction of Lucien but could only see the silhouette of the doctor and that of the masked man lying on the bed.

"Oui. That car that ran them over, it was being chased by the police. I enquired about the case and it turns out that the man behind it all was none other than Arthur Duchemin. You see, that black 4x4 was transporting a load of gold that the police had been tracking down. And that gold had been stolen by the man we both are after. It is because of him that my Marie and my little Jérémy are gone now."

"What did you do after all that?" Mundy asked.

"I quitted my job. I left everything behind me and flew back to France where I just… time passed." Lucien said, quoting Mundy.

"What is your job?" The Doctor asked. "You clearly know a lot about close combat, or at least where it hurts. Were you a field medic?"

"Non, not at all. I am… I am a jack of all trades."

"But not a master of none, eh?" Mundy said and Lucien's ears pricked up. "Whatever you are, you're good at doin' it, mate."

"I have a good reason to do what I am doing, nothing more." He smiled.

The Doctor finished patching Lucien up.

"You can dress up again, I am finished."

Lucien slipped his shirt on and buttoned it up. When he was done, the Doctor pulled the curtain away and both Lucien and Mundy looked at each other. They were much cleaner, but their faces were covered in plasters here and there, there were still some red and sometimes even bluish bruises.

"Look at yer ugly mug now, spooky bastard..." Mundy teased and they both chuckled.

"Hey, you're the one with a large plaster across your cheek, Bushman."

"I will be back in a moment." The Doctor left them.

They looked at each other.

"I'm uh… I'm sorry for your loss." Mundy said as he sat up, letting his long legs dangle in the emptiness below him.

"And I apologise for the words I have said about your mother. You seem to love her quite a lot." Lucien answered.

"Yeah, she and my dad were everything I had. Now I don't have anything anymore."

"Don't say that."

Mundy raised his eyes from his feet to Lucien's eyes.

"Easy for you to say, you told me you had someone in your life again. That's nice for you. But I don't."

"An exceptional sharpshooter like you, it would be a shame to see you die." Lucien answered. "An exceptional sharpshooter, and a good teammate, for someone who lives in a hut."

"A hut? I live in my van."

Lucien's eyes snapped wide.

"W-what?"

"My parents' house has been burnt down."

"Didn't you move to a flat, or a house?" Lucien asked.

"Nah."

"So you stayed in that van for ten years?"

"Y-yeah." Mundy looked away and pushed his hat deeper on his head to hide his blush.

"Hey." Lucien left his bed and put a hand on Mundy's shoulder. "There is nothing shameful in that. I locked myself up for the same amount of time as you did. I refused to see anyone, I disappeared and I thought I would just wait it out."

"What made you come back? How did you learn that Duchemin was here?" Mundy asked, raising his head to look into Lucien's eyes.

"Through my job. I know people, they know things."

"And so you came here?" Mundy asked.

"Oui." Lucien hopped on to sit on Mundy's bed, next to him. "I took the first flight to Australia and here I am, to complete my last task."

"What will you do after that? I mean, if we get out of it."

"We?" Lucien asked.

"I mean… We both want the same thing. And we kinda make it work, don't we?"

"We do indeed." Lucien nodded.

"So, uh, what d'you say? We do it together?" Mundy extended his hand and Lucien stared at it for a while. Silence fell and the clock on the wall counted out loud the tics and tocs of Lucien's indecision.

"D'accord." He shook Mundy's hand.

[Agreed.]

"Oh, alright… Thanks, eh."

"Thank you too."

The Doctor entered again.

"Here, for both of you, some aspirin. Use it if it hurts."

"Thanks, Doc'."

"Merci, Docteur."

[Doctor]

They both exited the surgery and walked back together until they arrived at Mundy's van.

"Well, uhm… Let me know if you have any ideas what to do next, eh." Mundy said, looking at Lucien.

"In the immediate future, why not take a few days off and let our bodies rest. We cannot take our next move while being barely able to walk straight." Lucien answered.

"Yeah, you're right. Ok, uh, d'you know where to find me?"

"Non, but I don't need to. Maurice knows."

"Ah, yeah, true. Alright, see you then, Spook."

"Spook?" Lucien repeated.

"Well, I'm a Bushman, and you're one hell of a spooky bloke with your mask, and suit and tie. So you're a Spook." Mundy said with a smile.

"Fair enough, take care of yourself."

"Yeah, same to you."

Mundy drove away and Lucien watched as the van grew smaller before it took a turn and disappeared.

"Well, back to my piano." Lucien said to himself as he walked back to his motorcycle.

-- A few days later, the Queen Victoria --

"The usual, Sir?"

"Uh, yes, please. Actually, could I get a coffee with it, please?"

"Certainly."

The waiter disappeared and left Mundy at his table. He leaned back and waited impatiently for the show to start. He had been waiting for that night with high anticipation and had kept on listening to that song about solitude in his van. His heart didn't have it to switch on the radio. Only that cassette understood what he felt and could sing it. Although, in all fairness, there was nothing like the live performance of that singer on stage. Each time Mundy closed his eyes to see it projected on his closed eyelids, he felt shivers shoot through his spine and diffuse through his limbs.

He adjusted his position on his chair and wiggled his shoulders to shake the shivers away. Mundy was now almost used to the suit and each time he would wear it, he would feel less apprehension. The souvenir of his parents' burial started to fade from that black suit, and his mind started to associate it with the shivers of a new show. Wearing the shirt and tying the tie meant that he was off to see the man that managed to speak directly to something inside him. His soul perhaps, his heart surely.

"Your dessert and coffee, Sir."

"Thanks."

The waiter nodded and turned on his heels before leaving him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen…!"

Ah, Mundy smiled like an imbecile, on his own, and he didn't realise it. People were still chatting left and right from him. He wanted to shush them, like the quiet kid in a busy classroom. But the singer soon appeared on stage and Mundy's eyes couldn't leave him. He was handsome, that man, and always had a different suit. The ladies in the room applauded louder and shouted at him. Mundy was impressed...

"Thank you for coming each night in bigger numbers, I deeply appreciate it." Lulu bowed on stage and people applauded him warmly.

Bugger, he really sounds like L… Mundy thought to himself.

"I was pleased to receive letters from some of you sitting in the audience tonight or on the previous shows, complimenting my performance."

Again, the women in the room all agreed to applaud him and let him hear them. Mundy blushed and tensed. He, too, was one of those people. He felt put on the spot and the heat of the embarrassment crept over his body from his legs which turned to jelly, up to his cheeks and ears burning hot. He clenched his jaw.

"And I was surprised to receive so many. But you also have to thank Andy and his orchestra, without whom none of this would ever be possible."

Lulu stepped aside for the conductor and the musicians to bow courteously at the audience, who again applauded them loudly.

"Tonight, I would like to sing an answer to these letters, if I may."

Lulu went to the piano. He pinched his trousers' legs up and sat down elegantly. It reminded Mundy of L and how he had sat on the chair back in Maurice's hideout. The singer put his fingers on the keys and started playing.

The keys were slammed powerfully and the rhythm was quite fast. Oh, that change of tone was unexpected and it made Mundy curious and eager…!

{To the reader: the song is "La groupie du pianiste" [The fan of the pianist] by Michel Berger}

"Elle passe ses nuits sans dormir,

[She spends her nights without sleeping]

À gâcher son bel avenir,

[Wasting her beautiful future]

La groupie du pianiste.

[The fan of the pianist]

Dieu, que cette fille a l'air triste,

[God, how sad she looks]

Amoureuse d'un égoïste,

[She's in love with a selfish man]

La groupie du pianiste."

[The fan of the pianist]

Mundy couldn't understand a word of all that French but his soul read the subtitles that his eyes couldn't see, and he felt the meaning of the words. That was better than any translation anyone could have provided him with.

"Elle passe sa vie à l'attendre

[She spends her time waiting for him]

Pour un mot, pour un geste tendre

[For a word, for a tender gesture]

La groupie du pianiste

[The fan of the pianist]

Devant l'hôtel, dans les coulisses"

[In front of the hotel, backstage]

Oh he was something to watch that man… He was dancing in rhythm, as his fingers slammed the keyboard along his words, on the black and white keys, making the sheen of his Burgundy, satin jacket reflect the spotlights beautifully on Mundy's irises.

And the Aussie was slouched on his chair, his face on his palm, his elbow on the table. He was drinking the music of the man with the poetic salt and pepper hair beautifully. Ah, that grey front tuft that jumped and brushed the air before Lulu's ice grey eyes…

"Elle l'aime, elle l'adore

[She loves him, she adores him,]

Plus que tout, elle l'aime, c'est beau

[More than anything, she loves him, and it's beautiful]

comme elle l'aime"

[The way she loves him]

"Bloody hell…" Mundy whispered to himself. Lulu was half seated half standing and he was singing with such passion on the microphone…! His eyes were screwed shut and it was as if everything had disappeared around him. He was alone on the stage, and sang something about love quite obviously, with his blood boiling in his very veins!

Mundy was gobsmacked by the performance. He couldn't see himself, but his pupils had dilated to the size of planets and in them were engraved the image of Lulu singing his heart out to a lady who was way too lucky to understand it…

The Aussie bit his lip. That bastard made him feel things he hadn't felt in years, decades even. Even with Emma, a few months ago, he hadn't felt half of the quarter of what was happening inside him now. Oof! What was that?! There was something that came from his very guts, from his eyes, from his chest, something that grew out of his body from his very core and launched towards that man on the piano, thumping his foot on the pedal and shaking his head left and right…

Mundy put a hand on his chest. His heart was pumping hard and fast, to the rhythm of Lulu's words and his music.

"Gosh… What the hell…"

Mundy was breathing fast, as if he was running after something, after someone. His eyes were open wide and he felt his heartbeat on his temples, bugger, he was blushing now that he stared at Lulu…

"Il a des droits sur son sourire

[He has rights on her smile]

Elle a des droits sur ses désirs

[She has rights on his desires]

La groupie du pianiste

[The fan of the pianist]

Elle sait rester là sans rien dire

[She knows how to stay there, mute]

Pendant que lui joue ses délires

[While he plays his heart off]

La groupie du pianiste

[The fan of the pianist]

Quand le concert est terminé

[When the concert is finished]

Elle met ses mains sur le clavier

[She puts her hands on the keys]

En rêvant qu'il va l'emmener

[While she dreams that he will take her]

Passer le reste de sa vie

[To spend the rest of her life]

Tout simplement à l'écouter"

[Just listening to him]

Mundy was hanging on Lulu's very lips. Gosh, he stared at them, his thin lips, how they moved in front of the microphone, not even an inch away from it, declaring a love that a damn woman had without doing anything else but existing!

"Bloody hell…" Mundy sat straight on his chair as he started to figure out what was happening inside him. His hands patted his chest repeatedly, left and right, as if he was looking for something that he had forgotten, in a pocket he didn't know existed anymore. He ended up wrapping his hands around himself. Oh, he needed air, he needed so much air…!

Lulu turned his eyes to the audience, people were applauding in rhythm enthusiastically, the waves of applause crashed, making the air snap and Mundy's heart pumped harder, as Lulu's gaze swept across the room and got closer to him.

"Elle l'aime, elle l'adore!

[She loves him, she adores him!]

Plus que tout, elle l'aime, c'est beau

[More than anything, she loves him, it's beautiful]

Comme elle l'aime!"

[How she loves him!]

Lulu took the microphone off its stand and left the piano to come at the edge of the stage and repeated that infernal chorus that Mundy felt like a dagger to his chest. Oh he wished…! Mundy wished he was the one at the other end of those words. But he wasn't a she, despite being, as hard at it was to admit, a fan of the pianist.

The song ended in a thunder of applause and cheers from the audience, women in the room made their high-pitched admiration shoot through the very air and Lulu was proud. Gosh, he was handsome when he was singing but his smirk was something that split Mundy in halves.

And Mundy was left there, breathless, his eyes, his mind and his heart full of colors, tastes and euphoric feelings he could not describe. When he emerged from his shock, Mundy looked around him to see people eating their dinner left and right, as if nothing had happened a few minutes ago. A few minutes? Mundy looked at his watch. The show had stopped at least half an hour ago.

Crikey…

He needed to vent. To yell at someone, empty himself of what he had just been through. He would write another letter, screw it. Paper? Pen? Mundy patted his pockets. Nah, of course not, he's wearing a suit, he isn't going to school, why would he carry a pen and paper. No, no, of course not! He looked left and right.

Oh?

He got an idea. It was foolish, absolutely out of both his character, and his comfort zone. But screw it all. If he had managed to team up with someone to find Duchemin, how hard could it be to just…?

Mundy took his hat off his table and pushed his chair back. He stood up and walked resolutely to the backstage area. He slipped through a door without anyone stopping him and saw the musicians here and there. His eyes scanned the crowd but he couldn't see the man in the suit. Bugger, where was he…?

"'Scuse me mate, you know where Lulu is?" He asked one of the musicians.

"Yeah, he must be in his dressing room, that's the door at the end of the corridor."

"Ah, thanks."

"No worries."

Mundy walked to the white door. There was a sign on it. It read "Lulu."

"Well, that seems like the right door, eh, so uh, here we go…"

He knocked at the door. Three knocks, like the three words that his heart was beating.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

11 notes · View notes

thebliznet · 5 years ago

Text

Catch Feelings, Murderous Boy

Tumblr Exclusive

Rated: M

A Bloodhound X Revenant Fanfiction

A Requested One-Shot Fanfiction

Duo Written: @iamblothhundr as Bloodhound!!

~~~

I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill them! I’m going to fucking kill them all!

I was forced behind a boulder with the annoying other robot, Pathfinder, he calls himself. We were fighting on the hill-top between Epic Center and Refinery. Both our bodies were covered in tears and dents like some chip bags stuck in the trash. Though, I was more beat up than Pathfinder. The reason why, I’m doing most of the work, of course. Though I will give it to the damn guy, he’s a fighter, but not to my liking.

We were using our Shield Shells, recharging as fast as possible since the other team we were versing was doing the same. Why was this taking so long? There were only two of them, desperate for medical supplies to heal their wounds.

“Do you have any more shield cells, Friend?” Pathfinder asked with his chipper voice that annoyed me down to my core. “I don’t have anymore.”

I huffed at him. I didn’t want to share, but his body was reliable. I could use him as a decoy. Damn, that airhead called Mirage would have been perfect for this fight right now…

I threw the cells at Pathfinder and he simply caught them in his arms.

“We need to hurry up and shake this team off us,” I told him, hoping he would make a valid response.

“Gibraltar and Wraith are really good at what they do best! I will always expect a great fight with them!” Pathfinder answered as he finished up recharging his shield.

“Yeah, yeah. Now, where the hell are they?”

Pathfinder points towards another boulder not too far from us.

“Just a few meters from us! I can hear a syringe being used!”

Suddenly, I heard the crack of a Sentinel ring through the air, followed by the thud of a death box, and a loud curse from Wraith.

Pathfinder and I both spun our heads to the direction of where the sound of the shot came from. We saw Bloodhound reloading the Sentinel and adding a Shield Battery for an extra kick. Mirage was doing a little cheer, peering over the edge of the silo they were situated on. Bloodhound brought their sniper rifle back up, zeroing in on Wraith.

My hatred for Bloodhound began to burn. I never understood why I despised whatever they were, but I knew I never hated their capability of killing. They were more impressive than anyone else in this damn game and I don’t give away a lot of compliments.

“Shit. The last team is already here.” I pointed out, glancing back at Pathfinder. “Think you can toss a grenade up there without getting yourself killed?”

I realized I wasn’t completely recharged with shields before I asked him, and sped up my pace towards finishing. I was horribly banged up against my metal body. If I didn’t put some sort of protection now, I would not handle the last fight for barely a moment.

“Don’t worry! That’s easy!” Pathfinder answered and took off for the tower. He shot his grapple halfway up the tower and pulled himself up while grabbing a grenade from his bag over his shoulders. He tossed it to Bloodhound’s team mid-flight before hitting the ground.

Mirage was hit by the grenade; almost knocked before Bloodhound pulled him away from it.

The hunter jumped from the silo, pulling out their P-Twenty-Twenty, and firing a few shots into Pathfinder’s head as he tried to run for cover.

Pathfinder was able to grapple again as he took off, but halfway through Bloodhound’s shots, he lost control of his glide and crashed into the snow.

“Ow.” He easily says.

I groaned at his attempt at attacking. It was fucking embarrassing. I stood up from my cover and stared up at Bloodhound, growling at him. Suddenly, a bullet flew past my face, knocking me out of my stare. I instantly turned toward the direction the bullet came from and fired my G-Seven-Scout. It nearly hit Wraith in the bridge of her nose, but she took cover before it made it. I heard another curse word from her, making me laugh to myself.

I remembered I had a teammate and took my time to get to Pathfinder, sliding down the hill to get him up.

“I thought I told you not to die, Idiot?” I asked him.

“I’m sorry. I will do better next time!” Pathfinder exclaimed while I rushed him back to cover, dropping a few more shield cells at his feet.

I looked at my bracelet, forced on my wrist to check on my totem. I still had half a minute before I could activate it.

“My totem is almost ready,” I told Pathfinder and he responded with a sound coming from his voice. I looked back at Bloodhound’s team, keeping my focus on them.

I had noticed Mirage was halfway through a medkit when a kunai took him out between his eyes by Wraith. His death box fell from the edge of the silo. I could hear Bloodhound’s growl as they took out their hatchet from their belt, slid down the zipline, and ran towards the boulder Wraith had sheltered behind. I heard a thud and a pleasant scream of agony from Wraith.

I needed to rush that fight, but I felt something in my core that wouldn’t let me charge. It was wasting my damn time. My insides began to heat up, making me accidentally press down against the trigger of my gun and startled my teammate.

“Are you alright? Are you angry?” I heard Pathfinder ask, pissing me off.

“No! I’m not angry!” I yelled at him. “The moment that fight ends, you push! Got it?”

Pathfinder pulls out a thumbs up.

“Got it!”

I heard a grunt escape Bloodhound’s throat before seeing Wraith thrown out from behind the boulder. I was suddenly intrigued by what the hunter was about to do to her, seeing Wraith’s shoulder covered in her spilling blood against her suit as she fell in the snow. My circuits were burning as I finally began to feel a temperature from them against the metal due to this front row seat of the fight.

Bloodhound plunged towards Wraith with her knife in their neck, staining Bloodhound’s mask. Though, as Wraith fell, the hunter took another hack at her neck and finished her off. Bloodhound took a raspy breath, bringing a hand up to reconnect their respirator after Wraith’s knife had knocked it loose. Once it was working again, they turned towards the robots, gripping the hatchet in their hand.

I growled at them from afar before summoning my totem behind my cover. Pathfinder didn’t touch while I did, turning into my true form. The happy robot didn’t completely follow his instructions, ziplining up into the air, and fired his Hemlock anywhere that would hit Bloodhound’s body.

Bloodhound had released their own growl, low and guttural, and threw the hatchet, cleanly cutting Pathfinder’s arm off at the shoulder. They pulled their P-Twenty-Twenty out again, aiming it for the Marvin.

Disappointingly, that arm was controlling Pathfinder’s grapple, so he instantly crashed into the snow below. I tsked at the idiot, pulling out my G-Seven-Scout, and fired at Bloodhound from afar to give Pathfinder another chance to recover.

“Hurry up and get up!” I growled into the mic.

Pathfinder seemed to be in a lot of pain, but he stood back up and closed in on Bloodhound with his Havoc. He begins to charge up the weapon.

A grenade suddenly rolled between Pathfinder’s feet, only giving him a moment before exploding beneath him. I looked at my last enemy with shock. Bloodhound, covered in blood and oil, turned their attention to me.

“Come, Felagi Fighter. Let us finish this.” They rasped, breathless, and lungs screaming from exertion. They looked to be aching due to the knife in their neck and their respirator had been shot to hell.

I growled again like a hungry wolf. Why did I hate this impressive opponent? They are a wit at their work, but I never wanted to see them in my field of view compared to anyone else.

“I hope you know I’ll be tearing you apart, right?” I shot near their body, playfully warning them.

“Threats are empty. Actions will prove who wins today.” They take a step back as the Ring begins to close. “Though, dying in the Ring will not serve either of us well.” They turn then, moving towards Epic Center.

Them and their unnecessary fucking lectures…

“Oh, just shut up.” I spat before charging for them, shooting out one of my Silencer Orbs. It landed near Bloodhound’s foot as they stepped and exploded, taking out their abilities in an instant. Then, I fired two bullets in their back.

Bloodhound grunted as the bullets ripped through their shoulder. They turn, raising their P-Twenty-Twenty to take a few shots at my head. Their aim was slack, obviously in pain. A bullet made it into my shoulder; it was strong enough to pull me back into the snow. I grunt to the impact of the bullet, hurrying back up to my feet. I fired for the hunter again. This time, in their legs. Bloodhound avoided the shot but stumbled back with blood loss keeping them from standing again. They snarl at me, fumbling for a grenade. They pull out a Thermite, rolling it down towards me.

“Shit.” I rolled my body away and made it back on my feet. I take my time walking towards Bloodhound, listening to the grenade burn in the snow. “Just give up and I’ll kill you faster.”

“It is my pride to perish with a weapon in my hand. I will not back down.” Bloodhound rasp, struggling to take a deep breath. They shakily raise their Sentinel, firing.

The bullets strike me straight in the chest. I coughed up my oil as I fell to my knees, dropping my weapon. They had shot my damn core, one of the weakest parts in this body of mine. I hollered from anger and frustration. Why was I taking so long to kill them? I tried my best to pull out my last gun, but the bullet in my core was affecting my movements. Every time I moved, I buckled.

“Die, you piece of shit! Stop fucking talking!” I yelled.

“You ask me…” The hunter paused, taking a moment to gain their breath back. “…To accept defeat, but…will not accept…yourself.” They chuckled, but it trails into a wet cough. Bloodhound’s cough turns to a wracking cough, unable to catch their breath as they fall back, laying on their back.

I winced at their collapse for some reason, but I kept buckling towards them. Why? Why did it bother me? The laughter the hunter released had burned my circuits.

“I don’t care if I die. I only care about your blood being spilled. You’re a pain in the ass. You’re constantly killing everyone and leaving me with the dead bodies to pick with. You’re always taking out damn squads in only a matter of minutes and you steal my kill leader titles.” I replied, clawing through the snow. “Get out of my damn way!”

Bloodhound’s mask turns towards me, a hand reaching out.

“You are jealous of me. I see now that this is not my battle to vinna. It is yours, take it.” Their breath rattled, lungs filling up with blood.

“I’m not –” I began to yell, but I had stopped myself. I couldn’t handle this damn fool anymore. I had made it to them, grabbing the hunter by their throat and lifted them into the air. My body began to shake due to the bullet still in my core. I stared up at Bloodhound with so much hate, but I couldn’t pull out the strength to break their neck.

“You’re a fucking parasite.” I spat before dropping them back into the snow.

Bloodhound was dead and the Announcer had called me the Apex champion.

~~~

Several hours later, Bloodhound woke in the medical ward. Their breath like a sword through their chest. They reached up, pulling their oxygen mask down so they could see past it.

I was already there, standing at the foot of the bed they were in. My head was tilted with my hands gripped against the bar. My eyes were digging into the wounded hunter’s.

Bloodhound blinked down at me, moving to sit up with a pained groan.

“I think this may be the first time I’ve had a visitor in the ward. Though, that’s because no one is allowed to visit me in the ward.” They smile at me, speaking slowly with a rasp in their voice. The hunter replaced the oxygen mask for a moment before pulling it away to talk again. “I didn’t expect to see so soon.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I growled with my hands tightening against the bars. I was trying my best not to attack them for that remark. I didn’t want to fight an entire army right now and I normally loved the army versus one fights; easy death count.

“You are angry with me. It would only make sense for you to confront me. I simply thought you would wait until I was out, so you could challenge me.” Bloodhound placed the mask back over their face, looking around the room for something. Then, the hunter sighed.

I scoffed.

“At your death-bed gives a higher chance at no survival. You don’t understand ruthless.” I stepped towards the side of the bed, getting close to them as I sharpened one of my hands.

“Why wait for me to awaken, then? Surely it’s easier while I sleep.” Bloodhound winced. They bring a scarred hand to their chest as they were hit with wracking coughs, choking on their breath. They didn’t seem to react to my approach.

That was it; I couldn’t handle their coughs anymore.

“Are you alright?” I felt my insides warming up as I asked. Did I need to be repaired again? Did the hunter damage my core? Why was I worried about them? I wanted to end Bloodhound for bothering me so much, but I kept fucking thinking about that cough.

It took another minute before Bloodhound could breathe again, taking short, calculated breaths from the oxygen mask. They looked up at me, eyes wet from coughing, and nodded. After another few moments, they pulled the mask away to talk.

“This was my home, my father worked on the harvester. When it melted down, the coolant scarred my lungs. That is why I wear the mask.” The hunter sighed, settling back against the bed. “I’ll have to repair it before the next game.”

“…I don’t hate you.” I suddenly said, embarrassing myself. I knew I couldn’t take that back, so I continued talking, keeping my eyes on Bloodhound while my insides burned. At this point, I noticed some steam releasing from a hole in my ankle. “You…you fucking annoy me. You’re always in my head. You piss me off entirely. So, why do I care about your damn cough? I would love to see you die here and now.”

Bloodhound looks at me, frowning with their head tilting as much as it could without the oxygen mask falling off.

“I…cannot tell you what you feel, but I can help you figure it out on your own. What would you ask of me? Do you feel this for anyone else?”

“You’re the only person on my mind most of the day. It isn’t anybody else. Did you put a chip in me? Are you controlling me? What the hell are you doing to me?!” I yelled, raising my sharp fingers near Bloodhound’s throat, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t touch them. I realized I was scared to hurt the hunter. I even noticed the hunter didn’t flinch. They merely brought a hand up and took my hand into theirs.

“You know that I have not. This is the first time I have touched you outside of the games. And even if I could…living a life under someone else’s control is no life at all. I’d never subject someone to such.” Bloodhound answered.

“Then, what the hell is wrong with me?” My steel body began to cool while my eyes were completely focused on the hunter. I desperately wanted to know why I was so annoyed and interested in them.

“Come, sit beside me so I don’t have to lean quite so far.” The hunter patted the edge of the bed with their free hand; their other hand still holding mine.

I stared at them a while longer before stepping away from them. I finally understood what was wrong with me; I cared for Bloodhound. I wanted to sit beside them. For the first time, in a long time, I was terrified.

Bloodhound frowned at me when I had stepped away. Their hand was covered in blood due to holding onto my claws.

“You seem to have had a revelation. Was it a good one?” They asked as they moved to stand up, legs weak beneath them.

I don’t answer them, stepping back when they got closer. I didn’t want to believe what I felt in my core. It had a whole new meaning towards every moment I was near Bloodhound. It gave me a new emotion. I wanted to leave them, but I wouldn’t budge.

Bloodhound paused, staring at me intently.

“Will you tell me what it is? So I may act in kind?” They asked.

There was a spark of recognition in Bloodhound’s eyes, as if they already knew what I felt and wanted me to admit it. They put their weight against the bed, breath heavy as they stood.

I wanted an excuse to leave and the excuse I wanted was right in front of me, what I wanted to avoid.

“I’ll speak to you when you recover. I’ll be watching.” I told the hunter before disappearing out of the room through a puff of black smoke.

END

#apex legends #revenant x bloodhound #bloodhound x revenant #what is the ship name #requested prompt #anon #duo written #fanfiction #writing #tumblr exclusive #revenant practice #long post sorry #every time when i try to use the cut off to make the post smaller i get an error so sorry

19 notes · View notes