#he has a bandage over his scar today-- that's what's showing at the edge there

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with lace where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and calves straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

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[mothtral]

to you, the rain had not stopped rising since geshu lin disappeared. most would tell you at this point, to try and move on. that you'd planted a flower--the first flower--in the field jiyan made, so didn't that mean you'd accepted it, at least a little bit?

you hadn't. you won't accept he's gone until some trace of him was found. his necklace, the one you made for him before he left you behind the first time to head for the front lines. scraps of the armor that covered his arm.

jiyan used to approach you, in the beginning. though well-versed enough in consoling people in grief to not push you until you were ready. jiyan never told you, but it wasn't hard to figure you weren't the only one who would see geshu lin whenever it rained.

(though, you have a feeling what he sees is a different geshu lin to yours.)

you weren't part of the midnight rangers, or work for the magistrate. you meeting geshu lin was by chance, or fate, as yangyang used to say. you were a small seller, taking up crafting jewelry or fashioning clothing from scraps of fabric and yarn. it was during a large market that the midnight rangers returned home to, years ago.

that was the night you met geshu lin. you didn't know who he was at first, apart from clearly being a member of the military. it was something geshu lin would tease you about, unaware that the big bad general was haunting your doorstep. he was heavily bandaged, with scars covering the slips of skin you could see.

you crafted him a set of earrings after urging him to choose the beads he liked best, and sent him on his way, refusing to take his money. you said it was thanks for protecting the city. the next day there was a welcoming ceremony, and you nearly fainted once you discovered just who you met the night before.

and somehow, it carried on from there. little meetings and small gifts between you two. one late night you showed geshu lin how you made your jewelry, and woke up the next day to him sliding a ring onto your finger, something he spent the entire night on. the crown jewel was from the original earrings you made him.

you hadn't taken it off. the only change was that you wear it on a chain now, scared it might slip off your finger when you weren't paying attention one day and it's lost forever. just like--

today was the anniversary of geshu lin disappearing, and no one has done anything. you knew popular opinion these days is that he got what he deserved, refusing to fall back. as if these people knew what the midnight rangers went through everyday, with the limited knowledge on retroact rain back then.

the celebrations today are for the other rangers that fell that day, and it planted a bitter root in your heart. you hid in your home that day, waiting until the flower field was deserted to visit. you won't pay your respects, as everyone else did. instead, you will sit with the flower you planted and watch the stars, something you did every time geshu lin came home.

(something else jiyan never said, biy you knew once a certain time hit, he would usher people away from the field to give you a moment alone. whatever you did to gain a friend like that, you'd never know.)

there's a watering can set to the side, and you take it to gently trickle water onto geshu lin's flower. you were about to start with your ramblings of the day, when soft footsteps crept toward you.

"come to finally join me?" you asked over your shoulder, assuming it was jiyan making his way to you.

"yes," an achingly familiar voice said, low and rough, like it hasn't been used in years, like it's been torn apart from screaming.

your head snaps up as your body twisted around, almost falling over into the grass. there, standing at the edge of the field, was the man that stole your heart and disappeared into the rain with it. but... something is wrong.

maybe it was the strange light in his eyes, or the heavy air that surrounded him like a second skin. his clothes traded from the standard black with accents to gain red and white, and his arm almost tucked behind him, like he was a child trying to hide the vase he broke. this was not the same man that left for battle and never returned. "i'm sorry it took so long for me to come home," geshu lin said. he took a step closer, and it was then that you saw what became of his arm. it had turned to blacken scales, glimmering in the starlight. purple glowed from the cracks, like his ability couldn't turn off. "i never meant to leave you alone. i'm home."

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Oh, the horrors of falling in love -Danny Words: 2,534 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Little Lion Man' -by Mumford & Sons

XXVI: Ah Shit, Here We Go Again

"We were..." I look at the boys towering over me, "training."

"Training?" Mike asks indignantly. "For what? Dying?"

"It's a long story," Nico rolls his eyes. "Harmless match, that's all."

"Harmless," Percy repeats, scowling. "Nico, you have a black eye. Ara's lip is busted and her leg is bleeding. What the Tartarus were you doing?"

Nico and I look at each other with the same surprised expression. I touch my lip and feel the blood, as well as the pain. Nico touches his eye and frowns. "Ouch," he mumbles.

"They wanted to know which was the strongest since they both believe they are the top gladiator of the twenty-first century," Connor explains.

"Why didn't you try to stop them?" Michael scolds him.

"Di Angelo cracked the ground beneath her feet and she threw a water bottle at his face and kicked him in the crotch!" Travis complains. "They move too fast."

"You two come with me." 

Mike guides us out of the arena with Lily quietly following close.

"Where are you taking us?"

"The infirmary is for campers who hurt themselves training properly, not for uncontrolled beasts who have fun breaking arms. I'm going to cure you two with other remedies, the ones that stink of compost."

"No one broke anything," Nico sulks.

I nod thoughtfully. "Can't be hard, though..."

"No more fights!" Lily and Mike shout in unison.

"Who won, then?" Connor asks Lily, quickly catching up to us.

We look at her, she looks back like she can't believe we're asking. "Nobody! None of them asked for a truce, Percy and Mike had to break the fight."

"One of us should've been better anyway."

"You're both equally stupid," she scolds us. "There was no winner. Period."

We get to the edge of the forest, Mike sits with us and smears our faces with a strange moss that stinks of stagnant water. 

Let me say, that stuff tastes as bad as it looks, so I refuse to put that in my mouth, I don't care if that means I'll end up having a scar.

Percy takes a look at us once we go back and asks in a frustrated tone: "You'll continue fighting until there's a winner, won't you?"

Nico and I look at each other with the same dark grin.

"Forget Kronos, they're going to die before they turn fourteen," Lily groans.

"I hope they gain some sense before that happens," Mike fixes my bandages with concern.

I don't care about the bruises and the scarring, they show I'm not afraid to throw a punch. Besides, if getting into fights means I'll have Mike's attention on me, I think I can live with it.

Ara gets yanked backward before a boulder hits her. 

"Get us out of here!" Nico yells at Leo, then he leans down. "That'd be the third time, by the way."

Ara pushes him aside. "I've saved your life more times than you can catch up to."

"Judging by how sloppy you are, I doubt it," he replies.

They've been trying to pass through this patch of sea for the last two days and each attempt ends with them having to retreat. Ara hasn't been this angry since the second time Percy went missing.

The girl curses in ancient Greek and tosses remains of rock off the deck, they land in the water with a pathetic splash. She walks up to the others, scowling and muttering swear words under her breath.

"Well, that was sucktastic," Leo groans, matching her mood. "Should I wake the others?"

"They need rest," Hazel says, though she looks tired too. "We'll have to figure out another way on our own."

"Huh... another way—do you see one?" Leo scowls at his monitor.

Ara's eyes stay on him as he speaks. She doesn't know if he's angry or guilty about the fortune cookie, could be both, but the boy's made a clear effort to keep her away so she can't use her empath touch on him, which is torture. 

Today he's wearing a stained work shirt and singed jeans, and his hair is covered in sweat and dirt yet Ara has the urge to reach up and kiss his stupid frown away. The longer he stays away, the more she wants to yell at him, hating that she can't focus on saving her friends because she's too busy yearning for a kiss.

"It's our fault," Hazel says at last. "Nico's and mine. The numina can sense us." 

"Yeah, I agree," Ara sulks. "It's Nico's fault."

The boy glares at her as he picks out splinters off his jacket. Ara suspects he knows she's just pushing his buttons because she has no other outlet.

"Earth spirits don't like children of the Underworld. That's true," he says ignoring her. "We get under their skin—literally. But I think the numina could sense this ship anyway. We're carrying the Athena Parthenos. That thing is like a magical beacon."

"So crossing the mountains is out," Leo sighs, examining the monitor again. "Thing is, they go a long way in either direction."

"We could go by sea," Hazel offers. "Sail around the southern tip of Italy."

"That's a long way. Plus, we don't have..." Nico glances at Ara pointedly. "Our sea expert, Percy."

The girl tightens her grasp on Almighty's grip. "Well, we obviously can't go this way any more than we can shadow travel the whole ship, so there's gotta be a way around it."

"What about continuing north?" Hazel continues. "There has to be a break in the mountains, or something."

Leo tinkers with the Archimedes sphere newly installed on the ship. Ara's fingers have been itching to touch it, but she doesn't know how it works, and since Leo is spending the least amount of time with her, asking her boyfriend for lessons is out of the question.

A hologram comes out when Leo presses a few buttons and proceeds to examine the map carefully. "I dunno. I don't see any good passes to the north. But I like that idea better than backtracking south. I'm done with Rome."

"Whatever we do," Nico continues, "we have to hurry. Every day that Annabeth and Percy are in Tartarus..."

"They'll be fine for the next three days," Ara states confidently.

"Because you say so?" Nico scoffs. "The universe doesn't bow to you, regardless of what you think."

Ara's blood boils instantly. "Do you know what my job was on the quests I went to?"

"Was it Lady-in-distress?" Nico taunts her. "Or bait? You liked to squirm a lot."

Ara steps closer. Hazel and Leo prepare to break a possible fight, this has happened way too many times in the two days Nico's been on the ship. "I was in charge of supplies. I know how much food Annabeth and Percy consume, the amount of nectar and ambrosia they need, and they know I'm good at my job. I would never let them starve during the first two days of a journey."

"The supplies you had in your stupid dino were for you, not them," Nico argues.

"They were better survivors than I ever was, dumbass, do you think I didn't take that into consideration?" She scowls. "They have enough for a whole week, perhaps more if they eat less than they should."

Hazel hurries to speak. "He's just worried, Ara. Please."

The girl sounds so stressed that Ara snaps out of her anger. She looks back at Hazel's imploring eyes and steps back, arms crossing over her chest as she avoids looking at Nico.

"Anyway," she continues in a gentler voice. "If we're going to change trajectory, we should bring the others. Jason can fly and check for us, Piper's dagger can help too, maybe."

"No," Hazel replies stubbornly. "We can figure this out. We just need some creative thinking. Another way to cross those mountains, or a way to hide ourselves from the numina."

"The only way to hide would be using the mist," Ara raises a brow. "But I've never been able to trick monsters with that."

"And like Ara said, if I was alone, I could shadow-travel. But that won't work for an entire ship. And honestly, I'm not sure I have the strength to even transport myself anymore," Nico says with frustration.

"I could maybe rig some kind of camouflage," Leo suggests, "like a smoke screen to hide us in the clouds."

"Arion," Hazel says suddenly.

"What?" Nico frowns.

Leo lets out a joyful exclamation as he points forward.  "It's her horse, man! You missed that whole part. We haven't seen him since Kansas!"

"He's back?" Ara squints, spotting the animal rushing towards them.

Hazel smiles. "We have to meet him—He's here to help."

"Yeah, okay." Leo tilts his head. "But, uh, we talked about not landing the ship on the ground anymore, remember? You know, with Gaea wanting to destroy us and all."

"Just get me close, and I'll use the rope ladder. I think Arion wants to tell me something." 

"Just don't go too far away," Ara pauses. "Though since it's Arion, I almost feel stupid asking that."

"Almost?" Nico responds sarcastically.

"Enough," Hazel scowls at them. "Leo, don't let them fight while I'm gone."

"What?" Leo waves his hands in front of him rejecting the idea. "No, no, no! These two drive me nuts! Not even Coach Hedge can stand their arguments, and he loves it when people fight!"

Ara frowns. "I'll go below decks, if that makes you feel less anxious, Hazel—you," she points at Nico. "Wait for your sister."

"Like you have to tell me," he mutters.

"And you..." Ara looks at Leo. He briefly looks into her eyes before turning to the control board. "Keep looking for alternative routes."

"On it, General," he mumbles, eyes fixed on the sphere's projection.

Lily stares at the Aphrodite figurine in her hand. I'd left it in my room, but I guess she found it when she went looking for her dagger. She's on border patrol, it seems, next to Thalia's tree. Connor Stoll is with her. 

"Hey," he nudges her arm. "Don't you need like a whole deck of cards to play with that?"

Lily puts the item in her pocket. "I'm not playing."

"What's on your mind?" Connor asks, then looks away wincing. "Never mind."

The girl stares ahead. "Do you think she's okay?"

"The last thing we heard was that she was slaying sea monsters," he grins. "I think she's having a ball."

Lily pulls out her dagger and plays with it. "But the Roman tropes are coming—and she's not here to send them away."

"Quests are more important, Lily," he tries to reason. "And it's her brother we're talking about. I mean, you have to remember he and Annabeth are her oldest friendships in camp—"

"I'm not talking about stupid friendships," she snaps. "She made an oath. That's what this is about."

Connor frowns. "To you?"

She stabs the ground and glares at it. "Didn't even try to take me along..."

"Because there was no way that'd—"

"I know!" Lily stands up. "It's not about that either!" The girl huffs before continuing. She seizes the Aphrodite figurine again. "Do you remember... people used to like her from the get-go? She could make a crowd welcome her in with open arms. I know she has charmspeak, but there used to be something else—she made me believe there was hope out there for us. Now she..."

Lily hands Connor the figurine and sits down, gazing wistfully at the small statue.

"She was pure sunshine. You know what I mean."

Connor seems uncomfortable, he puts the figure in his pocket and gets up, then offers his hand to Lily. "C'mon, you have to join Grover and Rachel for the meeting with the Roman kids."

Lily groans, but she takes his hand anyway. I get to see their matching soul lights immediately after. "Do I have to?"

"We respond to you while Ara is gone," he smiles. "And we all know you've always been in charge of the diplomacy, anyway."

Ara opens her eyes at once, almost falling off her chair. She'd fallen asleep on the worktable while trying—and failing—to read.

"Hey, man, why are you hugging Nike?"

She turns and spots Jason and Leo, her boyfriend has been napping in one corner of the engine room hugging the statue in Athena's hand. Ara straightens her posture and rubs her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Leo pushes a tangled blanket off his lap. "We were just cuddling. Um, what's going on?"

"We made it through the mountains," Jason announces. "We're almost to Bologna. You should join us in the mess hall. Nico has new information."

"Oh, goody," Ara mutters, pushing the hair out of her face and closing her book. "Nico wants to talk..."

Jason frowns. "Can we get through a meeting without you two fighting?"

Ara thinks of what she saw in her dream, and her annoyance shifts into shame. "Fine, I'll sit away from him."

Once they're left alone, Leo and Ara speak simultaneously. "I had a bad dream."

Ara raises a brow. "That's why you were cuddling Nike?"

"Don't worry, she was a one-night thing," Leo approaches her worktable. "But please, tell me yours didn't have Janus again? That would make mine worse."

"What? No, it was a different type of dream," she replies, eyeing him intently. "What was yours?"

"It was a lady and she was like, offering me two different types of death," he shrugs, trying to remember. "Said something about a maze..."

Ara's stomach twists in dread. "No, that was not related to my dream, but it sounds bad. You don't want to find yourself in a maze ever, Leo. They suck."

"Geez, sunshine, stop trying to cheer me up," he sulks.

"Sorry," she tries again, Lily's words tormenting her. "Perhaps Nico has something useful for a change. And uh... is Hazel..?"

"She came back. I came here to let you know but it felt wrong to wake you, so I took a nap instead."

Despite everything, Ara smiles. "You took a nap where your girlfriend was... just at the opposite corner of the room?"

"Your bench isn't large enough for the two of us."

"Nothing to do with avoiding all physical contact with me, right?"

Leo's nose starts to steam. "Whaat? Baby, you know I can't live without you!" Ara crosses her arms and stares at him, so he caves. "Listen, can't blame a guy for feeling awkward, okay?"

"About what?"

"Your brother and oldest friend falling straight to hell because of what I did."

"It sounds terrible that way," she frowns. 

"When you bravely tried to lighten our burden by closing the Doors of Death alone but ended up getting your friends in trouble," he raises a brow, being heavily sarcastic. "Better?"

The girl sighs. "If it means anything... I would've been really sorry about not giving you a goodbye kiss."

Leo's voice contains a bit of amusement. "That's as close as you can get to an apology?"

"I won't say I'm glad it was my brother and Annabeth instead," she complains.

"That's not what I want to hear either."

"What do you want?" Ara leans closer, almost begging.

The boy holds her by the shoulders, playfully shaking her. "I don't want anything, Arae! Stop trying to fix it!"

"That's rich coming from you!" She huffs, pushing his hands away.

Leo smirks, cupping her face and kissing her forehead. "It is, isn't it? Come on, we shouldn't keep Nico waiting. That'll only give him more reasons to talk shit about you."

"He'll do it anyway," Ara mumbles, letting him guide her out of the engine room.

"I know, honey, I know," he replies in a mushy voice. "You are so strong for putting up with that."

"Shut up."

"My brave little angel..."

"I mean it!"

"The gods's strongest warrior—"

Ara tries to elbow him but Leo dodges her, escaping with a devilish laugh.

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[plutoswritingplanet]

Moon River (Hoyt Volker x Reader)

a/n: listen....that's how romance looks like, okay? don't drink kids

Warnings: it's a Far Cry 3 fanfiction for crying out loud, Canon-Typical Everything. No Smut, just, kinda Soft(?) Hoyt Volker.

Summary: When your boss goes a little too hard on the alcohol, you're about to suffer the consequences. Or so you think.

Anger and alcohol don't mix well with Hoyt Volker. 

And since Jason Bordy has arrived at the Rook Island, Hoyt's anger management has gotten worse and worse every day. Which was unfortunate for you, as his secretary/fucktoy/assistant, because as soon as the man felt anything even vaguely reminiscent of annoyance, he reached for the bottle. That usually ended with your ability to walk being stripped away from you for the next couple of days. The relationship developed between the both of you was a strange one, deffinitely not a usual sight to the habitants of the Island. 

His reasoning for "hiring" you was rather simple. He was running an empire, after all, a unique sort of company. And any respectable businessman needed to have a pretty thing on his arm, to look over more mundane tasks, and bring him coffee. Or, in some cases, to vent his frustrations to, in the only way he knew how to. Your salary has been simple as well. He allowed you to live and keep some sort of a resemblance of human life, which, on this particular island, was more than a woman could ever hope to achieve. And, despite everything that has happened to you, despite this horrid place, that smelled of fear and death, and many bodily fluids, he kept you safe. Obviously, it was a stark contrast from the life you led back home, if you could even remember what it tasted like. But beggars can't be choosers, and as you compiled a list of medical supplies that needed to be ordered for his men, you couldn't help but think of how much could've happened to you, but didn't. 

Of course, you couldn't completely relax into your squeaky chair, because despite this relatively cozy agreement you have been roped into, Hoyt Volker was a dangerous man. Unpredictable and violent, the scars on your body a testament of his short temper. Your arms littered with cigarette burns, one of his favorite ways of showing affection. A long line across your thigh, from when you've spoken out of turn. And of course, the bullet wound on your right arm, when you stepped over an invisible line and asked him a question about his past. 

Still, here you were. Late in the evening, adding bandages to the list, while a cup of cold coffee stared at you from your desk. Thank Heavens for caffeine. He wouldn't let you partake in any other form of substance abuse. his reasoning was simple, he needed his assistant to be always sharp and ready. Really, you suspected it was just another way for him to fuck with you. 

Today's been quiet at least.

He hasn't sauntered down to your "office" with any weird requests. The whole day passed with him locked in his own room, which stayed eerily quiet. You waited, always on edge, for him to yell for you, to drag you wherever he needed you to be. But, as hours passed, and you continued to do your job, no call came. Small blessings, you supposed. 

That is, until midnight has passed, and your thoughts have slowly begun to drag you to bed. You needed sleep, despite your devotion to the "company" and the insane ammounts of coffee you've drank throughout the day, you were still human, and the single cot tucked against the wall of your room called to you every time you dared to rest your eyes. Slowly, you place the papers on the edge of the desk, take a sip from your cup and move to stand, quietly, so the creaking of the chair doesn't alert the dragon locked inside his lair. It was a ritual you've adapted over the weeks, months, years of working for the man. Of living for him, and thanks to him. 

In retrospect, you concluded, that night you did everything right. Your chair moved without a sound, you didn't bang anything on the desk, you didn't even breathe too loud. Which is why, you theorized, that maybe your boss (owner) had developed some sort of super hearing abilities, because just as your bottom lifted from the chair, the door to your room busted open. 

You swallowed a scream of surprise, as none other than the man, the myth, the menace stood in your doorway. His figure slanted forward, a half empty bottle of whiskey in his slender hand. You can feel him watching you, his dark eyes scanning the room, your body, as he sways in place. Finally, after what feels like forever, he turns around without a word, and walks back to his office. 

For a moment you stay where you are, dumbfounded, legs cramping from the uncomfortable, half-seated position he has caught you in. Then, you debate, whether walking after him would be a good idea. He hasn't called after you, and honestly, you didn't see any indignation, that he wanted you to follow. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he expected you to know his thoughts, wouldn't be the first time you get punished for not reading him like an open book. So, mustering all the courage in your body, you straighten up, knees cracking as you stand. 

He always does this shit when you're exhausted.

 Always finds you, on the verge of passing out. Or maybe, you're just perpetually tired, and the fault is yours. It most likely is. Even if it isn't, it's always your fault. You try not to pry too much on those thoughts. Bitterness hasn't been particularly helpful in your current position. You have to be good, always, otherwise he might think keeping a secretary is boring, or, even worse, troublesome. You can't be troublesome, you can't be a burden. You're not ready to die, yet. 

Your rising panic is interrupted, rather rudely, by the sound of loud shuffling. Something is being dragged across the floor, coming closer and closer. Finally, he walks in, his body barely managing to stay upright. His other hand is clasped tightly onto the backrest of his leather office chair. He drags the furniture into your room, placing it right in the middle. Then, after standing still for a couple of seconds, presumably to regain his footing, he plops himself in the chair, sinking into it immediately, as if his bones were made of cotton. 

You're left there, standing, as the man lifts the bottle of liquor to his lips and takes a long drag. You can see the liquid spilling all over his face, dripping down his chin and neck, just to be greedily soaked up by the red material of his shirt. While he's busy with himself, you wonder absentmindedly, what he would do if you just, walked over and licked all that liquor off his skin. 

Your thoughts surprise you, not only because you're not used fo fantasizing about your keeper in such a way, but mostly because of how bold you appear in your daydreams. You could never do that, not ever. He'd kill you on the spot. If there was anything Hoyt Volker hated with real passion, it was insubordination. There were lines you just wouldn't dare to cross, not after the last attempt left you with a bullet wound dangerously close to your vital organs.

And as it turns out, there would be some lines you'd have to trample over, as the man lets go of his already empty bottle. It clangs to the floor and falls right beside the chair. You fight the urge to gather it up from it's spot and dispose of it into a trashcan. Old habits die hard, and before the pirates took your life away, you'd never be caught with such a mess. 

Then, you nearly jump in your spot, because the man, who you assumed was passed out in his chair, raises his hand. Golden rings reflect the dim light from your desk lamp, as his palm motions for you to come closer. It's not an angry swipe, nor an impatient one, so your bones relax slightly, as you wobble forward on weak knees. 

You sincerely doubt, in his current state, he'd be able to pounce on you, would probably hurt himself more than you. There's a small voice in your head that hopes he'd just die of intoxication, or trip and smash his head on the floor. Those thoughts are squashed quickly with a sudden and damning realization. If he dies, there's no one here that could protect you.  So, you move, until you're just outside of his reach. 

Hoyt's head lulls backwards, as his eyes land on you, hidden under heavy eyelids. In this light, you're not afraid to think he looks like shit. The lines on his face are accentuated, and his cheeks look even more sunken than usual, which is a horrific sight. He hasn't been shaving for quite some time, it would seem. There is a cast of dark hair poking through his skin all around his lips. 

- Do you need anything? - you ask, voice barely above whisper, but still too loud to your ears in this silent room. 

Hoyt watches you, his arm still slightly extended. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you take notice of the slight blush that has settled onto his tan skin, making his sunken features a bit more bearable. 

If he wasn't a monster, he'd look handsome. 

- Dance - his voice startles you more than you're comfortable with admitting. 

You can barely understand him, between the slurred tone and the roughness coating his words. Your face must reflect that confusion, because his eyebrows immediately scrunch together. 

- Daaance - he repeats, louder, waving his hand in front of you, his body sliding slightly in the chair. 

You raise your hands in immediate defeat.

- Okay, okay Boss - you mutter, before bracing yourself for impact, because there was a question you had to ask. - There is no music, Boss - you cringe in preparation of an outburst.

It never comes, thankfully. Hoyt seems to be on another plane of existence with the amount of liquor he's been drinking. Your lucky day indeed.  

- Fucking... - his entire face scrunches up, as if saying anything at all is causing him physical pain. - Fucking think...of it. Use that... - his hand dances in the air, as he points to the vague are where your head is - Use it.

If you weren't scared for your life, you'd find that hilarious. Drunk people usually made you laugh, but this? Your big and scary boss, who deals with death and torture on the daily, and likes it... Reduced to a bumbling idiot. And right in front of you, at that. Maybe there was a God.

But, his request still rings true, and your mind tries to focus on some song you remember hearing in a strip club years ago. From another life. Your movements are a little stiff, as you sway your hips, touching your body in a way, you hope, he finds pleasant. A strip tease usually works for him, and it wouldn't be the first time he's ordered you to put on a show for him. Good, you know how to do that.

Immediately, when you start to move, the man in the chair shakes his head. Okay, apparently you've missed. His whole body becomes animated, feet kicking and sliding on the tiled floor like an impatient toddler trapped in a stroller.  

- No no no no - he reaches up to push his sweaty hair back from his forehead, you can see him scratch his skin along the way - Not like - his lips purse - thaaaat...

To your surprise, you can feel a tinge of irritation rising in your gut. Again with the fucking mind reading. Your life would be so much easier if he would just communicate with you. You realize having an expectation such as this, about a murderer, torturer, human trafficker and a lot more, is borderline insane, but still, a woman can dream. 

You surpress the urge to run, as he suddenly shifts his body weight and slumps forwards. He stays like that for a long while, his head down between his legs, and for a second you entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, the fucker has finally passed out. Your hopes are short-lived however, because as suddenly as he changed his position, his head snaps back up, dark eyes fixated on you.

He swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down under his thin skin. 

His expression is serious, the dark circles around his chocolate eyes give his face an almost ghastly look. But, to your general discomfort, you realize he's trying to form a thought through the alcoholic haze. It's not good if he's thinking. You prefer him boneless and mindless, and preferably far away from you. 

- Dance like... - you catch onto the change of his tone almost immediately, but for the life of you, you can't quite place this new expression.

Dare you say, he looks almost wistful? No, you wouldn't dare call it that. You're not dealing with a lovesick puppy after all, and the worst thing you could ever do, while in the presence of Hoyt Volker, whatever his state may be, is letting your guard down. So you don't. Your arms come up to encircle your waist, as if holding your own body would stop you from shattering on his command. 

- Dance like I'm not here.

A pin drops somewhere in the room, as his words register in your brain. Like he's not there? Can you even remember how to move your body like that, so carelesly, so happy? 

There's an obvious strain in his body, as he pushes himself back against the chair, his head lulling back. His eyes stay trained on you however, and with a sigh, he watches your body sway. It's awkward at first, your movements clumsy and uncertain, but you continue to move in your own rythmn. What was the last song you heard before your life got destroyed? You try to remember, to envision yourself back at home, standing in the kitchen with a wooden spatula in your hand. 

You'd be cooking spaghetti, or some bastardized version of it, the whole kitchen filled with the smell of tomato sauce and spices. God, you missed that smell, and the taste of good, home cooked food. Or, taste of any food, for that matter, because the sorry excuse of meals they've been giving you here could barely pass as edible. What music would be playing, you wonder, as you let yourself slide around the room, twirling in place. You liked old timey tunes, something that would be easy to work to, to dance to. Something, with music that would rise and fall, smooth and light, like your steps on the tiled floor. 

You can almost feel the sun pouring through the window, the buzzing of insects and the sound of birds singing outside. Is this the insanity of Rook Island finally settling in? Have you finally gone mad with the fever, with all the pain and fear? Perhaps. Maybe this is only the first step towards oblivion. 

You sneak a look towards the man. He hasn't moved from his position, head lulling from one side to the other, as his eyes follow you through the room. You can see his hands, tightened around his knees, where his blunt fingernails dig into the thick material of his jeans. Then, as if pushed by something, he slumps forwards. The chair creaks as he does, and in surprise you loose your momentum for a split second, before regaining your rythmn. He says nothing, but you can hear his voice mixing with the buzzing of the electricity all throughout the base. 

He's humming, you realize with a mixture of feelings you can't quite place. 

It takes you a while to recognize the tune, as his voice is broken by the thickness of his drunken state. Then, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Motherfucker is humming Moon River. Has he seen the Breakfast at Tiffany's? In your mind's eye you can almost imagine him, splayed out on a couch, with a glass of burbon in his hand and the face of Aubrey Hepburn on the TV screen. The thought brings a small giggle to your lips, and as you spin in place again, you swear you can see a ghost of a smile on the man's lips. 

Again, you allow yourself to get lost in the fantasy, in the smell of fresh pasta and the low humming coming from the man. You miss your past life, you always will. The comfort of freedom, of being allowed to decide for yourself. You missed going to sleep and not having to worry, if you'll be able to see the sun rise. Of hoping, deep down, that you won't.

The tears pricking at the edges of your eyes are the first thing that startles you. Your dance stops, as your hand migrates up wipe your eyes. Stupid, stupid, so stupid. You can't allow yourself to become sentimental now. You have to survive, as long as it takes to find a way out of here. 

The second thing that startles you, is the sudden hot weight, that hangs around your back. Your bones lock in place, heart thrumming wildly against your chest. 

Hoyt buries his face in the crook of your neck, his slender arms encircling your body in a vice like grip. Your breathing nearly stops, as you feel his chest brush against your back. He smells strongly of cologne, sweat and alcohol, and he's hot, almost unnaturally so. 

Then, he starts to move, and your mind scrambles for any other instance of a behavior such as this. It's no use however. Never in your life on the Island, has Hoyt Volker gotten so close to you without finding some way to hurt you. 

His breath huffs strands of your hair to the front of your face, as he mutters something quickly into your skin, his lips moving across the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Phrases leave him in hushed whispers, in a language you don't understand but can recognize. Afrikaans. Did all the alcohol and drugs finally scramble his brains? Did he finally go completely insane? 

He might as well, because as you swayed in place, trying to accommodate the sudden weight of his body, Hoyt's hands start to roam your figure. Blunt nails dig into any flesh they can find, raking over your thighs, squeezing your hips, before finally settling on playing with your breasts, weighing them in his hands. Then, with a sigh, which you can only describe as content, his arms fully encircle you, pulling you impossibly close.

- What the fuck? - the question slips from your lips despite your best efforts at stopping it. 

He doesn't say anything, his voice going back to the low hum from before, as he starts to sway in place to the tune of the song, shared between the two of you in a whisper. 

He stays like that for a while. You're not sure how much time has passed but soon, the humming starts to become more and more jagged, his voice rough. And before you know it, his whole body weight pushes you towards the desk, where with an annoyed sigh you realize, he has fallen asleep. 

He always does shit like that, when you're exhausted, you think. The distance between your room and his bed suddenly becoming a dawning problem, one, you'd have to deal with sooner rather than later. 

[kinglyisms-archived]

They're having dinner, it's casual and the food is good, Wyatt always makes the best dinner. Though there is a brief moment of silence and Ellinon opens his mouth to fill that silence, looking quite amused as words tumble from his lips. ❝ Someone tried to stab me today. Y'know the drill, I ruined their lives blah blah blah, I deserve to be dead this, I'm going to stab you that. He had shit aim for the record. ❞

He rolls up his sleeve to show that he actually had gotten injured but not where the other had planned to actually try and stab him ( who cuts an arm when they're aiming for the heart ? ). There's a poor attempt at bandaging on his left arm and in his defense, his left hand is his dominant hand so bandaging had been tricky and he's never been great at wrapping things properly. There's redness on the bandages but he doesn't seem bothered by it personally.

❝ He aimed for my heart . . . How pathetic are you to miss that badly ? ❞ He starts to roll his sleeve back down like he's going to get back to focusing on eating his meal and be completely unbothered by the wound on his arm. It's fine, it wasn't that deep ( though it was still somehow bleeding which was odd but maybe because he was still using his left arm so much as it was his dominant arm so it was just probably irritating it ? Maybe that was it ).

❝ Dinner is good as always, my love. You'll have to make this again. I like it. ❞

wyatt your husband is something else.

♚ — @mythcaels ;; Wyatt & Ellinon.

   “It’s only Sunday, Ellinon.” 

   There was still so much more left of the week for them to run these bets of theirs. “I have a meeting on Monday, so I’ll have many more lives to run before you even open your store that day.” He had to head down to the Market, to deal with an incident, and he’s going to light so many of their asses on fire that they won’t even know what hit them. Ellinon better start figuring out what he’s making for dinner on Friday. 

   He sets his fork down on the side of the plate and reaches his hand out, snagging Ellinon’s left arm and yanking it over toward him. He hooks his foot around the chair, to drag that up beside him and shoves the sleeve of his robes back. A soft blink at the bandage, the very poorly and crappy done bandage, and then he reached over and started to peel the bandage back. He tossed the soiled fabric to the side, it would need to be picked up and burned later so no one can use his blood against him, and then Wyatt turned his gaze to the mark. 

   It’s going to scar, because he hadn’t properly treated it. Not with magic and not even with basic first aid supplies. Wyatt has seen his mother do healing magic before, when he was very little. She had said it was the kindest and most gentle forms of magic; “like the flow of water, Wyatt” . She had greatly enjoyed helping people, it was what she thrived in when it came to any of the things that she did. His mother had been gentle and loving, something she had tried to instill in her children. 

   Now there was Wyatt, an insult to her name, and his husband who thrived off of hurting people. 

   Somedays, he wonders what his mother would think when she saw him. 

   His fingers brushed along the edges of the gash in his arms, his blue gaze blinking down at the raised and torn skin. He was thinking about whether or not it needed stitches when there was a zap from his fingers that caused him to jerk his arm back in surprise. He nearly shoved Ellinon away from him, glaring at his husband as if it was the Warlocks fault, when his eyes caught sight of Ellinon’s skin. 

   Stitching. Itself. Together. 

   It was the strangest thing in the world, but familiar. He had been thinking about his mother, about what she had done when she healed. The gentle blue glow of her fingers as she ran them over wounds whispering beneath her breath. She had done it to Wyatt before, mending his skin and humming pleasantly. The kind and caring look in her eyes as she did it. And now it was doing it before his very eyes and he suddenly feels as if his own body betrayed him. 

   “This is your fault.” He accuses, actually unsettled. “You and your open door policy for magic over my ticking timebomb.” Ellinon’s skin was perfectly healed now, the wound gone, not even a scar. Wyatt doesn’t heal. He rips people apart with their own emotions. Makes them beg for death at his feet. 

   And yet, his magic was thrilled over the fact it fixed his husband.

[archived-kin]

kaeya isn't as smooth as anyone thinks (and that's okay)

note from kin: basically i saw the ‘kaeya is flirty and constantly flusters reader who has a giant crush on him’ trope and went ‘but what if KAEYA was the one with the giant crush’

quick background: reader is the ‘strong, silent, stoic’ type, has a cryo vision, and works alongside barbara in the church of favonius as a medic

i couldn’t think of a gender neutral way for you to be addressed that sounded natural so i just had you be called your name throughout the piece, but just know that barbara would be addressing you with older sibling honourifics and kaeya would use some sort of respectful title (but in like. a flirty way)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, kaeya, barbara, bennett

pairing(s): kaeya/reader,

warning(s): non-descriptive blood/mild injury

genre: fluff

“Master Kaeya!” Barbara exclaims as a familiar cavalry captain strides into the cathedral, dripping blood all over the freshly-polished tiles. “What happened this time?!”

“Just a run-in with some hilichurls,” He says with a nonchalant shrug, swiping away a bead of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?!” She hurriedly ushers him into the hospital wing, hands already beginning to sparkle with Hydro healing magic. “You— you’re bleeding extremely heavily! I need to get these wounds closed up as soon as possible—”

“Relax,” Kaeya placates, giving one of her pigtails a playful tug as she frantically flits about him like an agitated butterfly. “I don’t feel a thing. It’s all superficial, really…”

“Still…!” She hurries over to one of the cupboards and fumbles around for a roll of bandages. “Please sit down! This won’t take a moment...!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” He says, holding up his hands. “Is [Name] in today?”

“Yes, they agreed to watch over Bennett while I took care of our patients…” She answers, still rummaging about feverishly, then suddenly pauses, and Kaeya grins slightly. She’s seen right through him. “Ah, wait… Master Kaeya, is this what I think it is?”

Kaeya laughs as she looks up at him with large, reproachful blue eyes, hands set firmly on her hips. Maybe he’d be intimidated if Barbara didn’t have the face of a baby lamb. It’s just kind of adorable. “Perhaps.”

She blows out a breath, cheeks puffing up, then shakes her head with a resigned sort of smile. “I don’t think [Name] will appreciate you disturbing them…”

“I won’t be disturbing anyone,” Kaeya says with a cheeky sort of grin, raising his hand as if showing off the gash in his forearm. “I’m a patient, after all. So, where will [Name] and Bennett be?”

“In the west wing,” Barbara answers, dropping her hands, though the soft blue glow remains.

“To the west wing we go, then,” He replies, and strides off with a flick of his cape. Barbara follows hurriedly, clutching the roll of bandages to her chest.

You’re sat by the window when Kaeya pokes his head in through the door, flicking through a book. The sunlight streaming in behind you seems to illuminate the pale colour of your robes to an ethereal glow, and Kaeya can’t help but silently compare the sight to the illustrations of divine celestial beings he’s seen in books. He takes a deep breath, briefly pressing his hand to his chest, then moves to greet you.

You seem to notice his presence before he can, however, raising your head from your book and practically pinning him to the spot with those clear eyes. “...Master Kaeya.”

He smiles, unable to help the slightly goofy quality of his expression. Archon knows that Lisa would never let him live it down if she saw him now. “[Name].”

“Hi, Mr Kaeya!” Bennett exclaims, attempting to raise a bandage-wrapped hand in greeting, but having to drop it as its sling goes taut. Kaeya offers a brief wave in response, but he’s far too absorbed in looking at you to say anything more.

You stare at him in silence, eyes moving down to the patches of red staining his sleeve, then back up at the scratch on his left cheek. Your expression is unmoving, cold, even, but he still has to try hard not to overheat under the sheer intensity of your gaze. Any flirty quips that he might have thought of trying on you just dry up in his mouth as soon as they come.

“What happened?” You ask finally.

“Master Kaeya says he encountered some hilichurls,” Barbara answers for him, slipping into the room and standing beside him. Bennett grins enthusiastically as soon as he sees her, and she responds with a sweet smile of her own.

You raise an eyebrow at him, and Kaeya can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. “Hilichurls?”

“They were rather... aggressive,” He answers, folding his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg. “And there were quite a lot of them as well.”

You blink slowly. “I would have thought that the Cavalry Captain would be sufficiently capable to ward them off.”

“Well, when you’re surrounded on all sides, there’s not much you can do,” Kaeya shrugs as nonchalantly as possible. He’s not going to admit that he’d stood there and allowed them to get in a few good hits just so he’d have a good reason to come by.

You sigh and close your book, setting it on the windowsill beside you. “I suppose you’ll need some healing.”

“Please,” He responds with a chuckle, inclining his head. You nod and get to your feet.

“Keep an eye on Bennett,” You instruct Barbara, who quickly moves over to take your place beside the unlucky adventurer’s bed. “I trust that he’ll be well under your care.”

“Of course!” She nods, beaming as you gently pat her on the shoulder. “You can count on me!”

You nod, the faintest of smiles crossing your face. Kaeya almost feels as if he shouldn’t be witnessing such a sight, but he can’t help but stare in subtly open-mouthed awe until the smile disappears, and you begin leading him back into the east wing.

“How deep are the wounds?” You ask monotonously as you guide him to one of the chairs. He sits down without needing to be told, obediently holding out his right arm and allowing you to unfasten the cuffs and pull back his sleeves.

“Not deep enough to be too painful,” He answers, shivering slightly as he feels your cold fingers press into the skin around the wound, carefully prodding about to see the extent of the damage. “I’m sure that you’ll make quick work of it.”

His compliment doesn’t seem to affect you in the slightest - quite frankly, it’s a little disheartening how little you seem to care. “Then why didn’t you have Barbara heal your wounds for you? Do you think she is incapable?”

“No, not at all!” Kaeya hurries to answer, unnerved by the sudden narrowing of your normally calm eyes. “I just… rather like seeing you. That’s all.”

Your hands pause for the briefest of moments before returning to their work. Is Kaeya imagining the surprise that flashes across your face? “...is that so?”

“Of course...” He tries to offer a suave sort of smile, only to grimace when he feels you pinch the raw edges of his wound together in preparation to seal it.

You’re silent for a while, though Kaeya can’t quite tell if it’s because you’re absorbed in your work or if you’re thinking about something else. He tries not to stare, he really does, but you draw his eye with such deep compulsion that he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

Finally, your stern expression softening ever so slightly, you say, “...then you are welcome to come by whenever you please, injuries or not.”

He jolts so hard that he almost rips the wound open again as soon as you’ve sealed it, feeling a hot flush rise to his face. His mouth falls open, and he aggressively snaps it shut again as you look back up at him. “I…”

“Bennett has been rather vocal about his suspicions as to the frequency of your visits,” You say steadily and factually, a ghost of a smile tugging on your mouth. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe him before, but…”

“O-oh?” Kaeya pinches subtly at his own leg in an effort to snap himself back to his senses. Where on earth has all his charm and poise gone? He feels like a young boy again, stumbling over his words as his heart hammers like a drum in his heart. “What exactly has Bennett been saying?”

“He seems to be under the impression that you’re getting yourself injured deliberately,” You answer, and Kaeya mentally slaps himself. Of course he’d been too obvious. But, really, how else is he supposed to find an excuse to see you so often when you’re otherwise always so busy with patients?

“...I suppose I’ve been caught.” He raises his free hand to rub almost bashfully at the back of his neck. “Is it such a crime to want a reason to visit?”

You look him directly in the eyes, and he has to fight the urge not to throw his arms around you right then and there. How can one’s gaze be so blank and yet so warm at the same time? “Perhaps it would be better if you weren’t injured.”

“It’s the only way to make sure you’ll see me,” He chuckles. “You hardly ever seem to leave the hospital wing.”

You pause and frown slightly, as if confused, and the sight is so endearing that Kaeya doesn’t think his heart has ever felt so full. “...I don’t think I spend all my time here…”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever even seen you out on the streets,” He continues, fighting back a grin as you bring a hand to your chin, still looking rather puzzled. He pauses, taking in a breath, then asks, “Why don’t you stop by Angel’s Share in the evening some day?”

Your frown smooths out slightly, and you cock your head to the side. “...will you be there?”

His cheeks heat up again. “Of course - if you’d like me to be.”

You nod thoughtfully, pulling back from his arm. The wound is little more than a thin scar now. “I would.”

You shake your hand out briefly, coating it once again in your special brand of healing Cryo energy, and raise your frost-covered palm to the scratch in Kaeya’s cheek, only to see that he’s already staring intently at you. It’s almost unnerving how intense the glacial blue colour of his eyes is - so deep that you could almost be frozen in them completely, like a fly trapped in amber.

He moves the hand of his uninjured arm up to your own cheek, slowly, almost as if he’s in a trance. You can’t quite read the expression on his face - the gentle slope of his brows, the soft corners of his eyes, his ever-so-slightly ajar mouth - but it’s compelling in such a way that you can’t pull your gaze from his.

Almost abruptly, he smiles bright, eyes closing, and he leans forward. You freeze in place as he throws his uninjured arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, turning to press the softest of kisses to the side of your head.

“Kaeya?” You whisper, and his grip tightens slightly. He doesn’t respond, only laughs quietly, almost giddily, a deep sound that seems to reverberate through both your body and his.

You slowly raise your own arms and wrap them around him in turn, leaning into his touch. Kaeya laughs again, and this time you can’t help but smile, pressing yourself further into his embrace.

Footsteps and voices are approaching from somewhere far in the distance, and perhaps you hear a knock on the door, but in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. For now, the patients and healing can wait.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[chiwhorei]

brown, leather straps

pairing: l. ackerman x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

genre: a lil angsty, smut, 18+ minors dni

warnings: oral (f. receiving), spitting, bondage sksksksk

a/n: day six in levi brain rot hell. nothing is real and there is no escape. thank you to @messwriting for letting me scream in your dms at 7am and helping me flesh out some soft levi feels sksksksksk. @pleasantanathema said us two together is a scary little duo and i wholeheartedly agree.

hymn: desire - slowed by hucci, and do it for me by rosenfeld okay listen to it again sksksks

your hand raps lightly against a familiar door, knuckles scraping in contemplation against the wood.

this wouldn’t be the first time tired feet drug you down the hall and in front of the captain’s bedroom, not by a long shot. the night air whirls around you, nipping against any bare skin it could reach. you pull the wool cloak farther around your form for reprieve.

levi pulls the door open with a huff, turning back around without much acknowledgement. you watch as he he sits at the edge of his bed, he looks every bit as exhausted and battered as he did when you saw him return just a few hours ago. his eyes are downcast and heavy, the grey color reflecting every body he must have seen fall. they hang off of his shoulders and press against his spine in piles of limbs. the horrors of war are inescapable, you know that as well as anyone.

you also know there’s no amount of words that could be used as salve for the things he saw today, there’s barely bandages big enough to cover the long diagonal wound across his front.

“it looks worse than it is, don’t worry about me.” levi can feel your worried eyes against his bare chest, they follow the paths upwards to meet his face. you waste no time fussing over his injuries, there’s nothing more to be done for bruises and cuts against the pale skin.

his head hangs in his hands, you walk up to stand in front of him, bouncing on your heels as nerves take place in your heart. levi doesn't look up to you yet, still marose and curled in on his own body. he hears the small thud of fabric against the floor directly in front of him, his eyes flick forward slightly to catch the pile of green framing your ankles. you’ve piqued his curiosity now.

hungry eyes move up your almost naked skin. the only remnants of modesty lay in brown leather around your hips and thighs. the straps twirl like vines around your waist meeting finally to clasp right above your breasts. you’re ensnared in a trap of your own creation, prey captured and presented on a silver platter. levi’s mouth waters at the meal before him, canines aching in his mouth, itching to tear into you.

you’re pulled forward by the buckles on either hip to stand in between a stong pair of knees. there are usually very few words shared between the two of you, opting to spend the secret evenings putting mouths and tongues to better uses. tonight feels different. instead of clashing teeth and snarling, your fingertips trace against the captain’s hairline. two sets of fingers dig into the skin below your ass, but the grip feels more like a centering of soul.

you climb onto his lap, either knee pressing into the sharply made bed below you. levi wanders over your body, rubbing against planes of skin and fat that are well-known to his touch. your body reacts as it always does, arching into his exploration. his fingerprints paint your skin, covering every expanse while your lips attach at his pulse. you kiss lightly against his heartbeat, following along outlined trails to reach his collarbone.

levi is lost in your touch, each kiss chipping away at the horrors of reality beyond the wood of his bedroom door. he falls back into the mattress at your soft push, staring up at the outline of your body as the moon casts a spotlight from the window. your presence drips onto him like syrup, calming a broken man with seemingly little effort. he reaches out for you, catching on the leather across your chest and pulling you down. you meet his eyes again for a moment, you watch the storms that cloud him.

“you have no idea what you do to me.” his words shake down the column of your spine, poking at questions neither of you would voice out loud. you don’t answer him, instead you continue a soft assault against his marred skin. every jagged scar is touched by your lips as if trying to heal them. the silvered skin remains, but warmth blooms against the tissue.

levi returns with new wounds that will turn to scars against his beautiful skin, but he always returns. while scanning across the new additions to his collection, you feel the clumping of tears in your eyes.

“you’re going to ride past that gate for the last time one day, aren’t you?” your whimpers knock against him, he feels your soft sobs dripping onto his chest before you can stop yourself.

levi is stiff under you. the right answer seems non-existent, because you didn’t actually ask him a question.

he could tell you that he would crawl back from whatever hell awaits him, break every finger as he drags himself back up from the earth’s crust to lie in bed next to you— but no words seem strong enough.

he’ll have to show you instead.

you’re flipped over in the next moment, back cradled by one of his arms. his gaze on you is nothing short of primal, a wounded animal presented it’s first meal in days.

he’ll take you like sacrament. he’ll eat you alive.

you watch as levi sits back to regard you, his eyes warm at the sight before him. you’re wrapped like a present in the chestnut straps. he leans down to meet your lips again, his thumb pressing into your chin as he parts.

“open up.” your jaw falls slack at his command, you look up to him in anticipation. Jet hair frames his face from above you, slightly tousled. one hand rests above your head while the other is busy keeping your lips parted with a soft grip. you watch his mouth scrunch and a string of spit fall downwards towards your awaiting mouth. you lull your tongue out, always taking what he has to give you.

“good girl,” are the last words you hear before levi snakes down your body. every inch of leather and metal is followed with wet lips venturing downwards. levi reaches your aching cunt, already sheened with slick. he blows lightly against you to marvel at your reaction. you’re so pliant under your captain, completely submissive to his trek against your body.

the first union of his tongue to the perimeter of your lips is feather-light and disastrous.

you cry out in a cracked plea, the night’s circumstances being emotionally raw in so many ways. your body is hyper-sensitive and throbbing. when two fingers hover over your hole and press in without warning, the moan ripped from your throat at his contact is loud and unintentional.

just as quickly as two fingers press into you and curl against the anterior, spongy pad of your walls, they are ripped from you to find a home shoved into your mouth.

“no talking with your mouth full, it’s not polite.” his teasing spreads across your hot cheeks. his fingers press against your tongue, saliva pooling in their wake and escaping to run in small trails across your cheeks. levi snaps back up to you again, capturing you in his stare while his tongue pokes out from those pouty, downturned lips.

his hands grab onto the straps nestled against your thighs, bringing your pussy to him to lave a flat stripe against the weeping skin. you’re taste is intoxicating, tart and heady. he moves his mouth against you with vigor, purposely collecting pools of slick and spit to coat his face.

you squirm in his hold, the contact overbearing, but the cool leather in his grip keeps you in place against his frantic mouth. with every long lick over your pussy, he reaches the apex to suck against your clit. the pace is set, messy and wet. his mouth works your body like it has done so many times before, in the secret reprieve of a captain's quarters.

his tongue traces against your sensitive bundle of nerves, coiling a live wire in your stomach and pulling against it tightly. he releases your puffy clit with a squelching pop right as you feel the taste of your orgasm at the back of your throat. the feeling retreats and levi looms over you again, he barely gives you a moment to catch your breath before the taste of your own arousal is spat into your mouth. he wipes his slick covered face with the back of his hand, grinning down at you.

neither of you will waste words on the resounding, catotonic pull between your two bodies. there’s no point in whispered confessionals when tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

tonight, levi will pull every high from your twitching body that he steals from you. he’ll bring you to the edge and pull you back into his orbit. it’s been a long day, full of terrors beyond his control.

it will be an even longer night.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[animefreak1145]

For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked  about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o  y o u  h e a r  i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . .  Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

           Pain          Pain              боль

                    боль

   Pain                                         Pain

              боль

Pain        Pain                   Pain

          Pain         Pain    Pain                

боль                                                              боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯  ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.”  His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough.  Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

.

.

.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well. 

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart  @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard  @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @danjer

[softcallofdutyimagines]

The crew with their soulmate headcannons

Ok, to make it up to y'all for the angst yesterday, here's a response to the death by broken heart post 😌

This one goes out to @smokeywhalee since I've had her crying for the past like three posts 💀💀😂 I also snuck in a little something to the Weaver one for @direwolfspostsrandomshit and I specifically 😌💅🏻

No warnings, just a very long post and lots of fluff lol

Adler

You two met when he was still young, before he even joined the CIA

Back when he was a goofy, carefree kid who didn't know better

You've been with him through so much by now, that he knows he can always count on you when something's bothering him

There's no one he trusts more in the whole world

Adler knew you were the one around the time he got his scars

He thought for sure you'd leave him, thinking he looked like some kind of monster with half his face bandaged and bloodied like it is

But when he came home from the hospital, you were so overjoyed to see him again, it's like the bandages weren't even there

You kissed his face and helped him clean and dress the stitches and cuts everyday until they healed

With you there to give him all that affection, he's never let his scars make him feel any less then handsome

Of course, it doesn't hurt that you remind him often

Even now, he never tires of you kissing his scars

Hudson

You and Hudson met in college, back when he was a shy, nerdy outcast

It's not like you were exactly popular, but you at least had some social circles to run in

He never thought someone like you would even look twice at someone like him, but...

He's been wrong before

One day you decided to give him a chance, maybe just see what his story is, and you've never looked back since

Hudson's life path calls for the utmost secrecy for nearly everything, and you've lost contact with a handful of people because of it

But you've never complained

If anything, you consider it their loss for losing you

That's how Hudson knew you were the one

You have an undefeatable, never give up attitude and can find the silver lining in just about everything you put your mind to

And of course... You indulge him in his love of head rubs

It's you and his best kept secret of all

Lazar

You've known each other since you were just kids

For him, it was puppy love at first sight, and he was crushing hard before he knew it

But... He was always insecure about his weight, being a bit chunky as a kid and all

He was afraid of rejection because of it

A shame really, since you would've loved him no matter what

But as fate would have it, you stayed friends all the way up until highschool where sports had him shedding weight like crazy

All the fluctuation has left him with stretch marks, some loose skin, and a belly pouch, but luckily growing up gave him enough confidence to make up for it

He asked you to the senior dance your last year of highschool, and later that night you shared your first kiss behind the bleachers outside

You were his first kiss ever

Lazar always knew you were the one

You've been his closest friend and biggest supporter since you were kids on a playground

He just wanted to make himself feel worthy of you first

No one else makes him feel as comfortable in his skin as you do, and only you are allowed the special honor of touching his body

A gift you exercise frequently when you cuddle him at night

Mason

Alex didn't meet you until after Vietnam and the whole... brainwashing business

After trying and trying for years only to end up with an ever growing list of failed relationships, he just assumed he was too damaged to love

Besides, he's getting a bit older now... Maybe he's just not meant to find someone

Or so he thinks

He meets you randomly in public, on an ordinary day in an ordinary place

You two happen to hit a conversation and it just keeps going and going...

Until finally you exchange numbers and begin seeing each other more frequently

And that's when Alex knows you're the one, he can just... feel it deep down

But it isn't until one, vulnerable night, when he tells you about his past and the war and.... Well, everything, that he knows for sure

With so much fear being pushed about the Russian threat and all that, he thought for sure the knowledge that he's been a brainwashed sleeper agent once would scare you away

It was a shock for sure, but... You aren't afraid of him, in fact, you feel sympathetic for his plight of anything

Alex doesn't need your sympathy, mind, but he is thankful for the empathy

That's all he wants, really

That, and someone who'll hold him through the nightmares at night

Looks like he lucked out there too :)

Park

She met you as a fellow agent through MI6

Things were purely professional for a looooong time

But she must admit though, you're quite charismatic, cunning, and frankly?

Adorable

Helen's not quite sure when the joking, friendly flirting turned serious but...

She's glad for it

You ask her out on a date first and things go well

More then well

She doesn't kiss and tell, but let's just say... She knows you're the one

You always have her back on the field and off

You're her closest friend and confident

She's breaking the rules by cluing you in on the goings on with the hunt for perseus and all, but there's no one here she trusts more for feedback and brainstorming

But it's probably a good thing you're not in the safehouse, considering you almost killed someone after the skyhook debacle

She rolls her eyes at your fussing, but you swear to never let her go again

And you know what? Park may not show it, but she loves how much you care for her

Perseus

He met you back in the ussr, when he still looked like his picture

You two grew close in your service to the government, and you were one of the first people he trusted to try and recruit for his operation

When you didn't even hesitate to say yes, that's when he knew you were the one

You've already proven yourself and impressed him with your wit and integrity in your service to the ussr

In fact, few have ever stood out to him in such a way as you have

All he needed to know was if you trusted him and truly believed in a better future

Many are jelous to see you running around with the exceptionally handsome man, but perseus was never one to get hung up on looks

However, he's glad you enjoy his appearance as much as you do his mind

Together, you raise hell for the capitalists, bringing a true biting edge to the cold war threat

In return for your loyalty, he does all he can to keep you a secret, both as his lover and his accomplice

If anything happened to you like what happened to Bell...

He would take the fight to your captors himself

And they wouldn't stand a chance...

Weaver

He met you through working in Requiem

You're one of the strike team operators, but you spend a fair amount of time talking with the consultants and himself back at base

Weaver finds you a little intimidating, but in a good kind of way

Sort of how he use to be back in the day

When he realizes he may or may not have a little thing for you, he suddenly becomes very shy

He's afraid to try and make a move on you because surely rejection would be the only outcome?

After all, he's way too far past his prime by now, missing an eye and slowly letting himself fall out of shape

It's a mess

So why haven't you just moved on from him yet...?

Doctor Grey seems strangely invested in this little one sided romance, so with a bit of help, he manages to ask you out for coffee

The last thing he expected was for you to say yes

It's not until the day that you almost don't make it back to base that he realizes how very much you mean to him

Weaver stays with you as frequently as he can while you recover and can often be found cuddling you in your med bay bed (bc why the hell not?) or at home

He has to pull back a little on visiting you in the med bay however

He's starting to get teased for how much he loves all the head pets, jaw scratches, and tummy rubs you give him while you're bored and resting

Carver has now begun addressing him as "Fido" with no end in sight

Woods

He meets you out at the marine base he spends all his time at

It was one of the many occasions that he was doing target practice at the range, and he today he's caught you watching him

At first he honestly didn't think much of it, but of course he took the opportunity to show off a little

He succeeded in managing to lure you over with his skills, where you came to stroke his ego a bit

For that, he offers to show you some pointers and before either of you know it, target practice together becomes a regular occurance

From there, anything more social is up to you to initiate

He's a bit taken aback when you invite him out to do something off base sometime, but... He accepts

Once out of his element, he's like a whole other person

You're surprised to find that he's a lot more shy and little more warm towards you

You find it adorable

That starts the slippery path to how he knows you're the one

You're the only person he truly feels like he can be himself with

Everyone else expects the hardened sargent, and while that is still him...

He never feels like he has an opportunity to share his softer side

You can never complain about being cold or lonely with him around

Frank loves nothing more then cuddling with you whenever and wherever he can

Not only is it just, well, nice, to have the human contact, but it makes him feel like he gets to protect you

And nothing makes him happier then to see you safe :)

[starlightrows]

2 — The Bounty Hunter

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

← Previous - Next →

Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Brief description of injury

Summary: A change in the weather brings back a familiar face

Warm summer nights fade into crisp autumn days. You spend your days tending the garden behind your inn, working to make sure you have enough dried and canned goods for the coming winter, providing room and board for whoever happens to pass through and can pay for it, the shadow cat that likes to hang around your property has a litter of kittens. And you continue to think about Boba Fett, the supposedly fearsome bounty hunter with a kind smile.

You often find yourself wondering if he will come back. Perhaps he would come in later in the season, when the snows have fallen and clung to the trees, when a good fire in the hearth and a bowl of hot stew is all a person craves in the world. You could provide those things. You would be happy with those eyes again, glinting in the fire light while he speaks of far off places and grand adventures.

You have to snap yourself out of these thoughts, focusing your attention back on wet stone sharpening your kitchen knives. Most who pass through your door do not return. Either bounties who are caught are brought to their justice or travelers choose not to venture out so far again. Occasionally you get bounty hunters who return to catch new bounties trying to disappear into the mountains or large game hunters returning each autumn- just passing through on their way further up into the mountains where the herds of black ram and lone bears roam freely.

You do not actually expect to see Boba Fett again, and when you do it is nothing like you’d imagined in your head. A storm is brewing, not yet cold enough to bring snow, but rain, freezing rain that will flood the streets and drown out your remaining autumn plants before the first frost comes. That’s when there is a pounding on the front door in the middle of the night. No one is staying at the inn tonight… perhaps a traveler has gotten in much later than they intended… you get up and throw on a house coat… making sure to have your old hunting blaster in hand, just in case.

When you unbolt the door the howling winds try to slam it back shut, a dark figure slumps against the frame. Not a comforting sight.

“Who are you? What do you want?” you call out to the figure, trying with all your might to keep the door from whipping open all the way. The figure does not answer or perhaps they can’t hear you against the wind whistling through the trees.

Whoever they are, they’re taking too long and you’re freezing. With one hand you reach out and tug on their cloak, dragging them inside and slamming the door shut behind them. They slump back against the door, and you can hear their ragged breathing.

“There aren’t many I turn away from my inn, even when there isn’t a storm raging” I say “But if you intend to stay you’ll need to remove your hood and show some credits”

“I have credits on my ship” comes the deep rolling voice… you know that voice. Without thinking you reach out and pull back their hood. Revealing the same hard lines in his face, and those kind dark eyes. Boba Fett.

“It’s you!” You gasp “You came back”

“Wanted to see you again… and… I need your help” he grits out, wincing in pain.

“What happened?” You guide him by the arm to sit at one of the dining room tables

“Blaster bolt to the side” he groans “It’s mostly fine, just need somewhere safe to lay low for a day or two”

“Will they be coming after you?” You ask bringing him a pitcher of water

“Can’t, they’re dead” he answers, accepting the water and gulping it down thirstily. Well at least you won’t have to worry about others trying to break down the door coming after him.

“Let me take a look at that” you say indicating his wound

“Suppose someone needs to” he grunts getting up from the table. He winces when he steps, and you fall in to catch him before he lists over to the side.

“Come on, there aren’t too many stairs” you manage to get out, as you help him towards the old wooden staircase.

It’s a struggle to get him up the stairs and into the first guest room. He’s a lot weaker than he’s letting on, a good chance he’s more injured as well. You get him to lay back on the bed, and he groans.

You sit beside him and reach for the hem of his tunic and give it a gentle pull “May I?” He nods. Removing the tunic is less difficult than you imagined it would be, it’s shredded from the blaster bolt.

The wound is ugly… and you shudder just looking at it. But it’s not as bad as you were afraid it might be.

“I’m going to wash it out and wrap it with a bacta salve. A few days rest and a hot meal and you’ll be alright” You go to get up and start getting the items you’ll need together to clear out the wound, but before you can turn away he catches your wrist in a gentle hold

“Thank you” he says softly. You smile, and gently pull away.

It takes some time to actually clean out the wound, it’s painful for him and he strains to not howl with the wind as you work to clean it out. Finally you get him bandaged up, and wipe your hands on a dry cloth.

“That should do it” you say wiping your brow with the back of your hand “Please rest, and call out if you need anything”

In the morning you bring up a tray laden with tea, toast, and warm oatmeal with dried fruit and honey. To your surprise he’s up and out of bed, looking at his injury in the small mirror on the wall.

“Good morning” you say, setting the tray down on the bed… which you’re even more surprised to see is fully made. “I don’t normally do room service, but for the injured I make an exception… though you could fool me right now”

He turns to look at you “Wouldn’t even consider myself injured anymore” he says, showing you the scar left by the blaster bolt. He sits on the bed and invites you to join him. You hesitate for a moment… there’s a lot you need to get done today, and you don’t make a habit of spending time alone with your patrons. But he’s been kind thus far, and to be honest you could use the company. So you sit next to him and pour him a cup of tea.

“So tell me, what happened that you landed up on my doorstep last night?”

“I’ve been tracking down something that once belonged to me. Something that is very dear to me” he explains

“Am I allowed to ask what it is?” You smile accepting the second cup of tea he’s poured you.

“My armor” he states

“Your armor?” You’re a bit confused “How did you lose it?”

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” He sets down his cup. You shake your head.

“No offense… but you’re just another bounty hunter to pass through my door” you admit “Well, that’s not entirely true. You’re the only bounty hunter I’ve ever undressed and stitched up”

He studies your face, and sees that you are genuine… you’re confident and self assured but there is an innocence about you. He can’t help feeling drawn to you.

“About 5 years ago, I was thrown into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine and left to die” he explains carefully “I can’t explain why I am alive today. Fate let me live. But I lost my armor, and my former position”

You nod, and listen carefully… Sarlacc’s are native to Tatooine. His… position… “You worked for the Hutt’s” you say

His heart drops, he’s disappointed you. But he won’t lie. He nods “Does that scare you?”

“That depends” you say scooting back from him. Not to get away but so you can square your shoulders and look him in the eye “Do you still condone the use of slaves?”

“No” he says quickly “I never did. It was always my intention to get close to Jabba and his most trusted advisors and usurp him. End the use of slaves. Clean up his drug trafficking. And rule over the great dune sea”

He takes your hand and squeezes it. “That is still my intention” he says “but I need my armor to do it”

“I hear Bib Fortuna rules the great dune sea now” you say “a weakling and a coward… I have no doubt you will make a better leader”

“I’ll miss your little corner of the galaxy” he says “if I asked you to visit, would you consider it?”

“Maybe. I don’t own a ship. Don’t even have a speeder. Might take me a long time to get the credits to make the trip all the way out to Tatooine” you say “but then again, if you are king of Tatooine, I can hardly refuse an invitation”

He smirks at that, “I will come back for you, Princess. I want you to visit me on Tatooine”

You shake your head, if he does successfully overthrow Fortuna, he will have his hands full ruling and dismantling the institutions he already described. He will likely forget about you, and your inn at the edge of the galaxy.

“Find your armor Boba Fett, and claim your empire” you smile “Then com me someday so I can proudly say I served tea for Boba Fett before he was king”

“You have my word Princess” he chuckles

He leaves that afternoon, with a bag you prepared for him containing home baked bread and cured meat. He promises you again that he will come back for you, and while you appreciate the thought, you won’t hold it against him if you never see him again.

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey

[morganaspendragonss]

Can you write a fic where Carlos is attacked while he is home alone and TK comes home after a shift and finds him super badly hurt?

holly's august extravaganza day 31: scars turn to memories

thank you anon! who else isn't ready for it to be september yet? i'm certainly not 😅 a masterlist will be coming out tomorrow with all fics listed. thanks so much for everyone's support this month, and i hope you enjoy this final fic (for august)!

thanks to @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 1.5k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, major character injury, knife violence

There’s someone in their bedroom.

TK is stuck in the doorway, just watching as the love of his life is brutally attacked in their bed, in their home. He tries to shout, to move, to do anything, but some invisible force is pinning him in place, making him a mere spectator to the horror show in front of him.

Carlos’s head rolls on the pillow, his eyes instantly alighting on TK. His lips move, though the only sound that comes out is a wet gurgle, followed by blood spilling from his mouth and down his chin. Tears drip hot down TK’s cheeks as he sees the desperation in Carlos’s expression, which soon morphs into confusion and then betrayal as TK doesn’t save him.

He can’t—he can’t—and he’s trying but the light is starting to fade in Carlos’s eyes and he’s dying, he’s dead, and TK still can’t move, he—

He wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed. His heart is pounding and his face feels tight with drying tears, trembles wracking his entire body as the dream replays all too vividly in his mind. He’s been having the same one since that night four months ago, when he’d arrived home from shift to find Carlos…

To find him…

TK shakes his head, trying to shove the memories from his mind, but it’s a lost cause. He presses the heel of his hand hard into his eyes, but he can’t stop the tidal wave from rising up and claiming him, dragging him back into a waking version of his nightmare.

*

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

He takes a tentative step forward and peers into the darkness, slowly sliding his phone out of his pocket with a thumb on the home button, ready to call 911 at the slightest sign of movement.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then—

Carlos.

TK barely remembers to be quiet as he rushes to the stairs, desperately praying that the intruder has left Carlos alone. He knows that Carlos is more than capable of defending himself, but he would have been in bed, maybe asleep and definitely alone; TK doesn’t want to imagine what might have happened to him.

But, as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. TK stops dead in the doorway to their bedroom, all the breath knocked out of him as he takes in the sight before him.

The room is a mess, lamps knocked to the floor, the bed in disarray, and dark stains cover their sheets.

And on the floor, spread-eagled in a pool of blood, lies Carlos, and TK feels his world crumble.

*

His hands won’t stop shaking. TK grips onto the kitchen counter as he waits for the coffee pot to finish and closes his eyes, breathing carefully. It’s like the anxiety started when he first caught sight of the open front door and then never left, latching onto him and growing like a weed.

He hasn’t really had a good day in months, but it seems like today is going to be an especially bad one. Nausea climbs up the back of his throat as he remembers the sensation of Carlos’s blood on his hands, sticky and warm and there was so much of each, every bandage he pressed to a wound being soaked through in seconds.

His body is almost bent in two, his forehead pressed against the counter as the panic of that night returns in full force, almost choking him. TK gasps, his entire body trembling, before he loses his grip and crashes to the floor, the sobs that have been building in his chest since the moment he woke up finally letting loose.

*

“Carlos! Carlos, baby, stay with me, please, please.”

TK blinks back tears as his shaking hands hold another bandage to one of Carlos’s many wounds, crying out in despair as it quickly turns red. It was his last one, and now he’s down to grabbing anything he can find to attempt to staunch the ever-increasing blood flow.

He thinks the 911 operator on the phone with him is trying to calm him down, maybe, but TK stopped listening a long time ago. His training has been the only thing keeping him focused; if he had to just sit here helplessly, TK thinks he would have lost his mind by now, though it can’t have been more than five minutes since he found Carlos.

TK knows, in the back of his mind, that it’s a miracle Carlos is still breathing. There’s so much blood… No-one can lose that much and be okay. They’re on borrowed time, every second of delay in getting Carlos to a hospital increasing the likelihood that he won’t make it out of this.

“Come on,” he begs, pressing down harder, as if he can force the life back into his husband. “Don’t die, please don’t die, not now.”

But his pleas are in vain; Carlos’s breath stutters and rattles, and then stops altogether.

A second later, the room is bathed in blue and red as the wail of sirens heralds the arrival of help.

*

He comes out of the flashback with a gasp, finding himself curled into a ball on the kitchen floor. TK sits up with a groan, resting his head against the cupboards and tries to figure out how to breathe again.

One, two, three, four, five, in through the nose.

One, two, three, four, five, out through the mouth.

One, two, three, four—

One, two—

One—

It’s pointless.

TK forces himself to his feet, chest still tight with anxiety, and staggers to the couch. He collapses onto it and stares sightlessly at the wall in front of him. It’s still mostly dark outside, only the barest slivers of light entering through the windows, and TK wishes he could go back to sleep.

He won’t try—he’s too scared of the nightmares for that—but he’s so tired. He hasn’t slept properly since that night; is one night without feeling his husband’s life ebb away under his own hands really too much to ask?

Is it too much to want just a few hours of peace to pretend that reality doesn’t exist?

*

“I can’t lose him, Dad,” TK whispers, curled in on himself in the waiting room of the hospital.

His dad rests a hand on the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing TK’s hair, but it brings little comfort. Usually, his dad’s hugs and gentle reassurances would work miracles—even after their house burned down, when TK was furious at him, he couldn’t deny that it calmed him, just for a moment, to relax in his dad’s embrace.

But now… Now, TK doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that could make him feel better.

He has no clear memories from the moment paramedics swarmed the house; all he can remember is the pain and dread as they worked on Carlos, the fear as TK gripped onto his husband’s hand in the ambulance, unable to stand the thought that this could be it.

“I can’t,” he continues, shaking his head. “I don’t—I won’t survive it.”

“We’ll get through this, son.” His dad squeezes TK’s neck gently, then moves his hand to rub circles on his back. “We will.”

But all TK can think is how grateful he is that his dad didn’t say something stupid, like “It’ll be okay.”

Because it won’t.

Nothing will, anymore.

*

A silhouette steps into TK’s line of sight, and then he’s being lifted, his body pliant to the shadow’s ministrations. He’s resettled against a strong chest, arms wrapping around him and a kiss landing on the top of his head.

“Did you dream about it again?” Carlos murmurs, rubbing a thumb over TK’s knuckles. The gesture is soothing, and it does more to loosen the knot in TK’s chest than anything else could.

He nods wordlessly, sitting up and raising a hand to Carlos’s cheek. The raised scar tissue is barely visible in this half-light but TK feels it clearly as he brushes his fingertips over the mark. His hand drifts down Carlos’s neck and to his chest, where even more scars litter his skin, and TK’s heart aches—but then, something incredible happens.

Carlos smiles.

He fucking smiles, his eyes understanding and sad and maybe a little haunted, but it’s full of love; the same love TK feels for him.

And it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

TK kisses him gently, briefly pressing their foreheads together before burrowing closer into his husband, his ear pressed to Carlos’s chest. And his heart is beating, strong and steady, just like it always has.

And everything is going to be okay.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

We Keep Going, That’s All

@whimpers-and-whumpers , this is for you. Hope your surgery goes well today!

CW: Aftermath of near-death, hospital whump, recovery whump, survivor's guilt, alcohol use, referenced drug use

Ryan shows up to the hospital with Coke bottles full of liquid that absolutely is not Coke - or not much of it, anyway - and Nate doesn't refuse the gift.

He twists off the plastic cap and takes a drink, wincing at the burn down his throat. "Jesus, Ryan, this is m-m-more Jack than Coke."

"Yeah, well. Figured we could use some relaxing." Ryan gives him a slight smile, and the bruising that's been along his jaw - the obvious press of fingers - is finally starting to fade. Off-white bandages ring his neck, hiding from direct view the deep, slowly healing gashes rubbed in by the iron collar he'd worn for a year.

There are other wounds, Nate knows, underneath the lightly-draped black t-shirt Ryan wears, under his effortlessly casual, perfectly-on-trend jeans.

There are deeper wounds still entirely underneath his skin, inside his head. Nate knows those even better. He doesn't begrudge Ryan the need to find some way to fuzz out the edges of what must be written in stark, bright blood in his memory.

Nate spent a year and a half doing the same, after all, before Bram came back for Danny again.

"How is he?" Ryan asks, settling into a hard wooden chair with plastic back and cushion in a dull pastel mauve. "Any different?”

"Then y-yesterday?" Nate exhales, slowly, rubbing at his unshaven jaw. The stubble prickles his fingertips, itches a little as it grows in. There's a razor in the private room's little bathroom, but he doesn't have the energy to use it. All of Nate's energy now is focused entirely around staying right here, being right here, for the rare moments that Danny is both awake and himself.

"Yesterday wasn't... great.”

"No, it wasn't." Nate sighs, leaning over in the chair he sits in, next to Ryan, reaching out with his good left hand to gently nudge a bit of wavy red away from over Danny's face.

The love of his life - the man he's killed for, twice, and would kill for again - lays on his stomach with his head turned to one side. The hospital blanket is pulled up nearly to his chin, hiding from view the fact that nearly all of Danny seems made of bandages these days, bandages and tubes and wires. He breathes slowly, a drugged deep sleep to let his body rest and try desperately to heal itself around the nearly-fatal place the knife went into his back.

He sleeps, more than he's awake. But Nate makes sure that when his eyes open, someone is here for him, every single time.

"Today has been a little b-better, I think," Nate says after a moment's though. He brushes a crumb from the corner of Danny's mouth. "He ate a l-little, this morning. Just Jell-O and a little bit of cereal, but...”

"But something." Ryan nods, takes another drink, looks out the window. Outside, the day is bright and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky. The courtyard below is full of visiting families and patients taking walks through the landscaped flowers, all of them in brilliant bloom. "Have you even left this room since we got here?”

"No." Nate doesn't bother to lie.

Ryan looks over at him, and smiles very slightly. "Remind me to bring you by some multivitamins do you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency.”

"I'm f-fine." Nate takes another drink, feels the warmth slowly spreading through his shoulders, relaxing the knots and tension that have been slowly building day by day. The 'bed' he has here is just a visitor's couch built into the wall, lumpy and hard, with exactly one flat pillow with a scratchy pillowcase. But he'd rather be here than anywhere else. He'll be here for every single second Danny needs him. "I eat oranges for breakfast every d-d-day. No sc-... sc-... scurvy for me.”

"Didn't we joke about scurvy once?" Ryan asks, slightly faintly, looking up at the ceiling. "After Danny came home the first time?”

"M-Maybe. Don't remember. Why do you c-care if I feel good, anyway?”

“My brother can’t fuss over you right now,” Ryan says with a casual shrug. “So someone has to. He’ll never let me live it down if anything happened to you while he’s here. I’ll get chewed out if you get so much as a headcold and we both know it.”

“I d-doubt-”

Danny shifts a little and both men go silent, watching him move in the bed - just an inch or so to the right, his eyes tightly closed, body tensing as even the slightest movement brings a wash of pain.

"It's okay," Nate whispers, and Danny's eyelids flicker, slowly open. The blue in them is hazy and clouded, but not empty. This time, at least, it's Danny who is looking at him, and not the other one, the one that Nate knows only as someone else. The one who runs Danny's body when Danny can't do it any longer.

"Hey," Danny says, in a hoarse whisper. He tries for a smile, and it's faded and wobbly, but it's there. Then he lifts his head a little, looking over to see Ryan. "Oh, you're both... here. How long was I asleep?”

"Four hours or s-s-so," Nate says, standing up - ignoring the twinge of pain in his bad knee - and moving the pillow under Danny's head to still support him even as he moves. A hint of freckled shoulder shows, with its swirling trace of scars from Bram's knife. There's a star carved into the back of his left shoulder that Nate did, at Bram's command, once.

Ryan's gaze be damned, Nate leans over to kiss it, and to kiss one by one the carved letters that are still there, faded, in the back of Danny's neck. A. D. N.

He tries not to feel the guilt that twists in him at the ownership Bram had meant to make obvious, there. His own first initial with Bram's initials, his own... his own culpability.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, leaning over close to Danny. 

Danny’s nose wrinkles. “You smell like a liquor store.”

“Yeah, well. When your big brother scares the shit out of you by getting himself stabbed almost to death because of you, maybe you need a little pick-me-up now and then.” Ryan manages a half-cocked smile, but it’s fragile, and they both know it.

With a hiss of pain, Danny moves his hand up the bed, offering it to Ryan, who takes it without hesitation, leaning over so his forehead rests gently against Danny’s. 

“I’m okay,” Danny whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Ryan whispers back. 

Nate moves to sit back in his chair, then stands again, restless. He doesn’t want to sit there but he doesn’t know where he does want to be... until he looks at Danny, thin and dwarfed even by a small hospital bed. He sets down the mostly-jack-and-a-little-coke and climbs into the bed without hesitating, laying down behind Danny on his side, letting his good hand rest just next to a swirl of Danny’s hair on the pillow. 

Danny’s smile widens - not that Nate can see that, from his vantage point. Although Ryan can. “I’ll be okay,” He corrects himself, watching his brother. “They said there’s no sign of paralysis. I’ll walk, I’ll probably even run after a while.” He tries moving and hisses again. “A long while. It’s going to be okay, Ryan.”

“You always were way more optimistic when you were high as balls,” Ryan whispers, and he and Danny laugh, until the action makes Danny whimper at a new spike of pain. “What do we do now, Dan, huh?”

“Keep going,” Danny says, voice low, barely audible even to the two men on either side of him. “That’s all. We keep going.”

“I keep thinking I should’ve died back there, ten times over,” Ryan murmurs. “But every single time, you took the pain for me. I should’ve died-”

“Nah. You’re my little brother. I need you here.” Danny manages to keep the smile, then, and his blue eyes are warm. “If you feel so bad about it, sneak me some of that booze next time, yeah?”

"Dan, I am not going to help you mix IV drugs and alcohol-”

“Just leave it in a really easy-to-reach place and I’ll help myself.”

“Danny. No.”

“Danny yes.”

“Daniel Michaelson-”

“Ryan Niall Michaelson-”

Nate’s rumbling laughter interrupts them. It’s such a rare sound that both of them go immediately silent when they hear it, and Danny even tries to look over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the ache to see the smile on Nate’s face. It’s slight, nearly private - a smile barely noticeable by anyone who isn’t looking for it.

But Danny is, and through the fog of the painkillers still coursing through his system, he sees it. 

“What?” Ryan says. “What’re you laughing at?”

Nate lays a hand over the star he once carved into Danny’s skin, and moves to rest his nose, just lightly, against the warmth of Danny’s neck, breathing in the scent of him under the hospital-smell that surrounds them. “Nothing,” He says, and Danny shivers a little as his lips move against the curve of the D at the back of his neck. “I’m j-j-just... realizing I’m g-going to listen to you two do this for the r-rest of my life.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ryan’s voice is dry. 

“No,” Nate says, eyes closed. He can almost feel them in the cabin, like this, just the two of them on days Bram was gone. Lying in the bed wasting the whole morning being warm, just them together. Warm and safe. It feels like being in Danny’s apartment during their year and a half of freedom, the way sometimes when Nate couldn’t get out of bed Danny would just stay with him, holding him, until the pain inside of Nate had lessened enough to let him stand. 

Now it’s his turn to hold Danny. 

-

@tiddiroki @whump-it @bleeding-demon-teeth @finder-of-rings @whumpywhumper @endless-whump @18-toe-beans @pumpkinthefangirl @goneuntil @swordkallya @astrobly @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @card-games-and-pain @raigash @whump-tr0pes @orchidscript @wildfaewhump @doveotions @eatyourdamnpears 

[thewildomega]

Broken but not Shattered Ch.6

Sitting outside of the hospital wing he waited for Madam Pomfrey to relay any news to him on his darling's condition. Looking up as something caught his eye he thought it may be someone coming to allow him inside but instead he was met with the back of the headmaster as he entered the medical wing, the heavy wooden door closing behind him. Feeling his heart hammer in his chest he swallowed thickly. Had Madam Pomfrey called for him? Was he there because of Y/n? Had something happened to her? The seconds seemed to pass like hours as he waited there in silence. When the doors suddenly opened again he looked up to see those two blue eyes looking down at him from behind his spectacles and he just knew the man was aware of what he had done.

"Come Severus, you and I must have a talk."

That was all Dumbledore said as he turned and started walking, expecting him to follow. Standing from his seat he cast one last glance to the door his female was behind, feeling that pulling in his chest stronger than ever. Having no choice he looked away and followed the headmaster to the tower on the back left corner of the castle, going the whole way up to the man's office, the whole time his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest.

"Please, have a seat."

Licking his lips he kept his head down as he moved to one of the chairs in front of the man's desk. Looking up he watched as the man moved around the room, making tea it looked like. When he placed a steaming cup in front of him he swallowed hard.

"Mint and Chamomile, to help calm your nerves. I have no doubt that you are on edge, the claiming process has been known to affect both parties in that way. Though omegas tend to get it the worst."

Snapping his eyes up Dumbledore he saw the man giving him a knowing look, his brows raised and his head tilted downward before he turned away once again. Letting out a long breath he felt his stomach drop, so he did know. Reaching forward for the tea he took a sip, hoping his headmaster was right about it helping to calm his nerves. Seeing the man come back to sit at his desk with his own cup if tea, lemon by the smell of it, he took another long drink from the cup. Blinking he felt his anxiety dwindling down but the pulling in his heart made his brows knit together. Meeting the man's eyes he took a deep breath, "How is she? Is she alright?"

Humming he set down his cup, "Our dear Y/n is well yes, she is resting peacefully with the help of Madam Pomfrey's sleeping draught." Seeing how this alerted the young male he gave a soft grin, "Not to worry Severus it was a small dosage, only to help her sleep off the events of today. You did well in your attempts to heal the mark, no doubt easing her pain."

"It would not heal completely." he spoke with a small shake of his head.

"Not a mistake on your part I assure you. Claiming marks are meant to scar, even magic can not help with that." Seeing him nod he took a deep breath. "Now, I would like you to tell me what happened in that forest."

Sighing he gave another nod before going into detail about the events from tonight. Knowing now that the male knew what his female was, that she was an omega he saw no point in keeping anything from him. Not to mention it was well known that Dumbledore always knew more than he let on. "... To be honest sir I do not understand it all fully myself. It was as if I could not control my own body, I did not even recall what I had done until minutes after I had already done it.... I.. I hurt her. I did not mean to, I...."

Watching the young male struggle to understand it all he furrowed his brows. He was aware of Severus's status, or rather his supposed status. He himself believed there was more to the boy than your average beta but his records stated otherwise so he had never spoken against it. They would of course have to be changed now that the truth had come out but that was not of importance right now. "Severus, I know you meant Y/n no harm, that it was not something you could control."

"But why did I loose control like that? Why does it feel like there is this whole other person inside of me, telling me, forcing me to do things?" he questioned. He had never much cared for talking to people about his personal matters, not even Y/n, but he needed answers, he needed to know what was going on for both his and her sake.

Taking another drink from his tea he stood and moved over to his bookshelves. Searching the spines as he spoke. "You are an alpha Severus, one who's instinctual traits have been repressed for quite some time. Am I correct to assume that this all started when tonight when her amulet was ripped off?"

"Well n...no sir."

"Oh?" he asked turning to look to the boy.

"The first time I ever had that pull in my chest, that pull to her, was when we first met in the courtyard?" Seeing the male's brows raise at that he went to question it but he swiftly turned back around.

Humming he continued walking along the shelf as he looked for one in particular. "That voice you hear, those feelings you get are that of your inner alpha. The amulet that Y/n wears is a concealing stone, which I am sure you put that together yourself. It's purpose is to help hide her true status from those around her in hopes that she would be able to have a normal life. When it was removed by the Hodag so was it's magic and that is why you lost control, you could smell her." Thinking on something he kept his back to him and his hands clasped behind his back. "But it was not the first time you had smelled her scent was it?"

"No sir." Dumbledore stayed quiet for a while after that and he wondered what it was the great wizard was thinking about. Just like before though he was speaking again before he coudl question him.

Plucking the book from the shelf he moved back over to the young alpha. "I know you have many questions, that there are things you still do not understand but perhaps this book may help you with that. "

Taking the black leather book he saw it held no title and furrowed his brows.

"By all accounts except for one Y/n and yourself are now bound to one another, mates. You have claimed her as yours and nothing can be done about it." Leaning back against his desk he took a deep breath, "I of course will have to write her parents, informing them of what has happened..." Seeing the male visibly pale he felt a bit of pity for him. "As for your own parents, well that is up to you to decide."

He would be damned if he would tell his parents a damn thing about Y/n. Knowing them they would just ruin the first chance at happiness he got.

"You are an exceptionally gifted wizard Severus, so with that being said I know you will understand that it is for Y/n's own safety that her true status remains a secret until the both of you graduate. Only then will you be able to protect her to the best of your ability." Seeing his brows knit together he raised his chin. "Understand this Severus, omegas are a extremely rare breed. I have only known of three in my lifetime, one including Y/n herself and as far as I know she is the only one living in our world now. She will be highly sought after you understand." Seeing Severus give a firm nod he grinned. "That will be all for now. Read through that book there, it will help. I will see if I can acquire anymore that I know will help better explain the alpha/omega connection."

Standing he held the book and walked with Dumbledore to the door. "Sir can I..."

"Yes, for a few minutes only, the both of you need rest."

"Thank you sir."  he said with a nod. Going down the staircase he hurried down to the hospital wing to see his omega. Quietly opening the door he saw Madam Pomfrey sitting in her office. As the woman glanced to him from her work and gesture to one of the beds in the back he bowed his head. Moving over to the drawn curtains he moved it to the side only a small amount to slip through, glad for the things to give them privacy. Laying the book down on the table he stepped over to her bed and eased down to sit by her side. Looking down at her he saw she was sleeping soundly, her face no longer showing pain like it was the last time he saw her. Licking his lips he brushed back her hair and saw that his claiming mark had been bandaged along with the cuts on her chest, a small amount of bandage peeking out from the neckline of the gown she now wore.

Hearing Madam Pomfrey whisper that it was time for him to leave from across the large room he looked back to her face. Letting out a small sigh he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. Even though he didn't want to leave her he knew Dumbledore was right, they both needed rest. Leaning down he gently kissed her cheek, "I will come see you first thing tomorrow morning." he promised. "Sweet dreams... my omega." he whispered. pressing his lips to her forehead for a few seconds, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. Standing he looked back to her one last time before grabbing the book and leaving.

.............................

Keeping his word he woke the next morning and went straight to the Hospital wing to see Y/n. As early as it was it came of no surprise to find the female still sleeping so he instead pulled the chair close to her bedside and opened the black leather-bound book to start reading. His classes wouldn't start for another hour and a half so he would skip breakfast to stay with her as long as he could.

The first thing you were aware of as you came to consciousness was that you were warm the second thing you felt was a slight aching in your neck. At first you were confused but then it all came back to you and your breath stilled in your throat. You were claimed. Severus.... he had bit you, he had claimed you. Going to open your eyes you instantly closed them back as the bright light hit them but after fluttering your ashes for a moment you were adjusted and looked around the room. You were in a bed, a hospital bed from the looks of it. Oh that's right Hagrid was taking you to the hospital wing. Oh no, that meant that Madam Pomfrey had no doubt seen the mark. If she knew then Dumbledore would know. Would you be kicked out of Hogwarts? Was this going to be Ilvermorny all over again? Who else knew? And what about Severus? Had you just ruined his whole life? Feeling your breath quicken along with your heartbeat you went to get up from bed when you felt someone touching you. Snapping your eyes to the owner of the hands you felt all of your panic fade away when your eyes met the deepest of black ones.

He had been in the middle of a passage when he felt a tug in his chest. Quickly looking up to her he saw her awake and trying to move, trying to get up. She looked afraid, her breath coming out in pants and her chest quickly heaving up and down. Placing the book down he stood and leaned over her, stilling her movements. "Easy sweetheart, it is alright. Shhh..... You are alright, clam down..."

"S...sev..."

Grabbing the spare pillow he placed it behind her head to help her sit up some. "Lay back darling. Relax."

Hearing his low, deep voice you let out a deep breath, your heart slowing back down to normal as you laid back on the bed. Looking into his eyes as he moved to sit beside you on the bed you felt him continue holding your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He was here so that meant that hopefully he wasn't in any trouble. Bringing your free hand up to your neck you felt a bandage there and winced as you went to pull it off but before you could he was again stopping you.

"Leave it be." Seeing her look back to him he sighed. "It is going to take time to heal, even then though it will scar."

He still felt guilty, for hurting you it would seem. You didn't want him to feel this way about it. Squeezing his hand you saw him meet your eyes and grinned, "I will wear it with pride. Proof that I am yours."

Breath catching in his throat he felt his eyes go a bit wide at her bold words before a deep blush was coloring his cheeks. Hearing her small giggle he dipped his head, his hair curtaining his face to help hide his blush. "Bloody minx." he grumbled making her only giggle more. Thinking on something he looked to their interlocked hands. "Dumbledore is writing your parents."

Taking a deep breath you gave a single nod and moved to a sitting position. "What all did he say about it?"

He was not angry. He did not say anything about us being in trouble over it." Giving a small shrug he rubbed circles on the back of her hand, "If anything he understood that it was something that neither of us could control. He said that we are now bound to one another, that we are mates and nothing can be done about it."

Thinking on his words you bit your lip, your eyes focusing on his hand holding yours. "S...severus I never meant to place you in this situation, that's why I hid what I am... I didn't mean to... to trap you... to take away your chance to... to be with someone you l..love.... I... I'm sorry that you're stuck with me as your mate..."

There was that clenching in his heart again. Looking to her he saw her head hung low, her voice soft sounding. When he watched the tear fall from her eye and onto the blankets covering her lap he frowned, his brows furrowing together. You fucking idiot, you made her cry. Shaking his head he let go of her hand to cup her face with both his hands. "Oh Y/n no. No I... I did not mean it like that. Forgive me." Seeing those blue eyes still sad looking he brushed away her tears with his thumbs. Taking a deep breath he scooted closer to her. "You said that you did not want to take away my chance of finding someone I love but the thing is I have already found the one I love." Feeling his heart hammer in his chest he looked into her eyes and gave a nervous smile. "It is you Y/n, I love you. You are not trapping me, I am not stuck with you and if I am well then I am perfectly happy with it." Huffing out he felt his own insecurities taking over. "If anything it is I who needs to apologize for trapping yo..mmmm"

Shutting him up with a kiss you felt as more tears fell from your eyes but these were happy tears. He loved you. He said he loved you. Pulling away when you needed air you gave a large smile and laid your forehead on his. "I love you too Severus."

Smiling with all the happiness he felt he wrapped his arms around her in a hug, turning to kiss her head. He had someone that loved him. This beautiful, funny, kind, caring girl loved him and now she was all his and nothing was going to change that.

.........................................

Siting next to Severus you giggled at Lily's grumbling about her upcoming O.W.L.S  in Arithmancy  "You're getting worried over nothing Lily, you know you are going to pass with flying colors."

Letting out a long sigh she looked to her friend and smiled. "Perhaps you are right Y/n." Glancing to the bandage still on her neck she tilted her head a bit, "So how are you feeling? That place on your neck sure is taking a while to heal. Didn't Madam Pomfrey give you any Dittany?"

Stiffening up at his best friend's observation he looked at his female through his curtain of hair and saw her hand move to the bandage covering his claiming mark.

"I am sure Severus could brew you a potion or even make you a salve to help...."

"No need. It's almost healed up I just don't want to chance my robes or hair rubbing it to irritate it."

Clever little liar she was. Still though he wondered what she would tell people when she finally removed the bandage covering the mark, the human bite mark. He had yet to get a chance to see it since the incident but he had planned on asking this weekend when they went for their date in Hogsmeade. Even though she might not approve he had managed to make some money off of Avery and Lestrange by brewing them some Polyjuice potion. While he didn't ask what they planned to use it for he had a feeling it wasn't going to be something good. Either way he was happy just to have some money to take his love out on an actual date.

Nodding to the female's response she perked up when she heard owls.

Seeing most of the students get their mail he thanked Lily when she handed him her newspaper to read while she read the letter from her parents no doubt. Wonder if Petunia was whining about Lily being a witch while she was only a normal muggle again? Seeing Y/n's owl, Sin land by her he grinned and stroked the birds chest. He was happy to say the male had warmed up to him rather quickly and if he was sitting with Y/n when he landed, which he normally was, then the bird was quick to lean forward so he could pet him.

Glancing to his dear he rose a brow at the sight of her lip bitten between her teeth as she read her own letter. That must be her parents responding to him claiming her. He couldn't lie the thought of them not liking him or even worst disapproving of him made him nervous to his core. As foolish as it was before all of this the thought of him one day meeting her parents hadn't crossed his mind. Now though he knew it would happen eventually and he found himself constantly trying to think of ways to impress them.

Reading over the letter you let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding. Ever since Dumbledore had come to visit you and told you he had written your parents you had been nervously awaiting their reply. While your parents were pretty laid back you still knew how they were about this particular subject. At least you knew they weren't disappointed in you, that they weren't bringing you home and that they were willing to give Sev a chance. Although your dad had written a few heavy handed sentences about the things he would do to the alpha you loved if he ever hurt 'his baby girl'. No all in all you knew your parents would absolutely adore Severus, your mom's words of at least he is a fellow Slytherin' making you grin. Finishing the letter you did as they instructed, placing the paper on the table you gave a flick of your hand and ignited the paper.

Starring at the paper he snapped his eyes to the omega beside him and looked at her in shock.

"Y/n... did you just..."

Humming you looked to Lily and then to Severus when you noticed him staring as well. "What? What did I do?"

"I... did not know you knew how to use wandless magic." he said in a low voice.

"Oh. Well yea but really only a few things... mostly elemental. It's nothing special really.... I'm sure the both of you can do it as well." you spoke quickly, wanting to play off your little show of power.

"Well I slowed myself down from falling when I was little... and made a flower grow faster."

Smiling you looked to her, "See I'm not that special.... Sev? you asked, looking to him but Lily spoke instead.

"He made a branch fall on my sister."

Scoffing he rolled his eyes, "Would you let that go already."

"You didn't even apologize."

"I was eight and she deserved it...stupid muggle.." he spoke, growling the last part under his breath.

"She is my sister and she isn't stupid."

Curling up as the two argued you looked down as Lily quickly grabbed her things and got up from the table before walking off. Noticing Severus's stiff shoulders and hearing his low growl you wrung your hands under the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to..."

"Don't." he spoke, his voice still rough. Seeing her curl up more and feeling that sting in his chest he took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He had read in that book that those sensations he got was their connection informing him of how his omega was feeling. It was taking time but slowly he was deciphering them and he knew that stinging was bad. Closing his eyes he grabbed her hand from under the table, bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "You did nothing wrong. Do not apologize." Watching those blue eyes look up to him in uncertainty he gave her a small grin. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Hearing the clock chime he took a deep breath and stood. "Come on, time for Defense class, do not forget that trick I taught you to remember the difference between the Iguana behaviors today on the test." Seeing her nod he threw both their bags over his shoulders, not wanting her bag to put strain on her healing mark.

Tag List: @once-upon-an-imagine​ @dope-shit-bro

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers Part 8 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.7k

tw: dark content (self-harm)

masterlist

a/n: By no means do I condone self-harm or want to glorify it in the light of this chapter. As a person who struggled with physical self-harm in her early teens, I know the destructive nature of this type of activity. However, as my characters are not perfect and complicated, I see this particular mode of action as something she would try to do in order to alleviate her pain and confusion. If you have questions or concerns, my inbox is always open to having a discussion about it.

If you so wish, you may skip this chapter altogether. There will be a recap on the next one if you choose to skip for your mental health. Take care of yourselves and see you soon. (ALSO, I know I promised smut but I gotta give y'all a raincheck this go-round. SORRY PLS DON'T KILL ME)

You're on your forty-seventh file of scandals, coverups, and secret dossiers that you finally feel it. The fabric of your identity begins to unravel right before your eyes.

Everything you've known is a lie.

The CSB has covered up so many things. So many lives lost. So many people forced to flee. So many families ripped apart--

An email makes its way over to the server, and you open it, the words across the screen coming from Suguru.

I know it's late, but send over Yu Haibara's files when you can.

You hit the reply button and begin to type out: "You mean the boy you killed?" but you stop yourself, deleting the words rapidly. Instead, you attach the files and send them over, not even bothering to look at them. You can't do it. Not another file could be stored away in the annals of your brain.

Nothing is as it seems anymore. The lies... they pile up in your mind, flooding the spaces where you used to hold what you thought was true, what you thought was real. Now, they're overflowing out of your brain and into your heart and soul, plaguing you like the nightmares that face you down night after night, more like demons that lurk in the corners of your mind than full file cabinets.

You always wake up in a tangle of sheets and sweat, one of your various enemies' faces hovering over you right before you stare down the barrel of a gun and --

You stumble out of the chair, eyes wet with tears, and go to the sink in the bathroom to wash your face. After you splash water on your skin, you look up at your reflection, anger rolling through you at the way you look. Weak.

You're fucking weak.

The voice in your head that usually told you that you were doing okay, that you had it all under control, is now turning on you, spitting nasty words that stick in between the synapses of your brain a muddy your rational thoughts.

The voices rise to a fever pitch, and you suddenly see red, the entirety of the world descending into blood-colored madness. The shattering of the glass mirror only becomes a reality when you're standing above the sink, chest heaving as your thoughts silence one by one, like shutting off lights in a house.

But only one stays behind as a shard of the mirror clinks into the sink.

Escape.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

You could get rid of the feelings here. You could get rid of the thoughts. You could escape. Why hadn't you thought about this before?

"Do it."

Your fingers grip the jagged shard of glass carefully, and before you can stop yourself, you drag it across the inside of your wrist, end to end, leaving behind a red line of blood that immediately blooms. Crimson dots drop into the sink, and you stare at the color, mesmerized by the way the blood runs down your arm and into the porcelain bowl. But there's no relief.

No sense of freedom.

Maybe you didn't do it hard enough?

Maybe you didn't--

The door to your room slams open, and you turn your head just as Suguru comes rushing into the bathroom. The shard of glass is still in your hand, as well as the blood running down your arm, and Suguru catches this immediately.

"Fuck," he breathes, and you turn to him, shard extended.

"Don't come any closer."

"Y/n," he calmly whispers. "You don't look so good."

"I wonder why that is," you reply, and Suguru stares back at you, hands raised in surrender.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like, Suguru?" you state in a trance. Your bullet wound begins to throb dully, but you ignore it, just like you're ignoring the blood dripping onto the tile flooring.

"Y/n, let's think about this."

"I don't want to think anymore!" The shrill scream is loud enough to make Suguru flinch, and you softly repeat, "I don't want to think anymore," over and over again as tears run down your face.

"I know," Suguru whispers. "I know. Will you let me help you?" You hiccup and drop the piece of glass to the floor, dissolving in a heap of tears and moans. You feel hands pulling you up from the floor and into strong arms, your head being cradled against a broad chest you've felt before. "Go ahead," Suguru encourages you. "Cry it out."

He carries you to another room in the building in silence, laying you on a firm bed and disappearing as you heave painful sobs into the sheets.

"Everything... hurts..." you gasp, and when Suguru reappears with a white bundle of cloth, a bandage roll, and some water, he nods.

"We're going to make it better, don't worry." He takes your injured arm and carefully wipes away the blood, examing the cut slowly. "Doesn't need stitches, thankfully." He turns to open the water bottle and hands it to you, silently telling you to drink while he bandages your wrist.

You drink the water greedily then lean back on the headboard, eyes closing down as Suguru works diligently on your wound. And then you remember the first time he did this for you and the mistake you made in your pridefulness.

"Thank you," you murmur, and Suguru looks up at your face, finally seeing some form of clarity cross your tear-streaked cheeks.

"You're welcome," he replies tenderly. "I have to keep you safe, remember? I promised you that I would." You don't answer him, but he finishes at that exact moment anyways, standing and placing the remnants of the bandage roll on the nightstand. The wound is now covered up completely, with no sign of blood seeping through the cotton and staining the white cloth dark red.

You watch as Suguru crawls into the bed beside you, sighing deeply as he runs his fingers through his locks. "Should I stay awake with you or do you want to try to sleep?"

"Sleep," you answer - albeit not confidently - and the black-eyed man obliges, pulling the thin sheet over you.

"I'll be right here," he affirms, but you reach out your uninjured arm and touch his hand. He instantly turns his palm up to let you grab his fingers, and you pull him closer to you in the king-sized bed.

"Hold me." A second passes with no movement, and Suguru whispers,

"Are you sure?" You nod, and he wordlessly scoots closer, wrapping an arm around you as you nestle into his side with your bandaged hand resting on his chest. His fingers rub a soft pattern up and down your skin, soothing you to the brink of sleep. "I've got you. We'll deal with everything else in the morning," Suguru murmurs as you slip off into a dreamless - and nightmare-less - sleep.

_____________________________________________________________

Morning comes and goes.

Midday arrives, and you awaken from your terrorless sleep still encased in Suguru's grasp. Your eyes flick up to his face, which is peaceful in the midday light streaming in from the windows. The Leader of the Fallen Sun District is asleep and dead to the world around him, but the sound of his breathing lets you know he's on the brink of waking up.

Part of you doesn't want him to. You want to lay there without any responsibilities to him, without any concern, or further harm to either one of you. Maybe if you continued to sleep, all of this would become a distant memory. All of this would go away, and you could go back to living in ignorance.

But Suguru's stirring makes you stiffen, and you feel his arms tighten around you before sliding away.

"You're awake."

"Yeah," you whisper, and he sits up, pulling his knees to his chest.

"We need to talk about last night." You sit up as well, staring at the edge of the bed blankly. "Why didn't you tell someone about your declining mental health?"

"I didn't realize it until it was too late," you admit, looking at the bandage on your wrist. "But I won't be doing that again."

"Doesn't matter," Suguru interjects, looking over at you. You choose to avoid his gaze and stare at your feet, inhaling deeply. "I have to have someone watch you now. I want you to be safe, and now I'm not sure if I can ensure that without some oversight on my part."

"No," you exhale quickly, looking over at him in fear. "I'm better now, I promise."

"I'll have someone move a few of your things over here. That way I can keep an eye on you, just in case." Suguru continues, standing from his position on the bed. "I won't bother you. But I made a promise to you, and I'm going to keep it at all costs." He turns back to you, stating, "Today we'll take a day off and go into the town. I've been wanting to show you around for a while anyway."

You conclude the argument is over when he places a kiss on your temple, then walks into his bathroom, shutting the door and leaving you on the bed alone.

_____________________________________________________________

A car picks both of you up from the building, and when you slide into the backseat, Suguru points to the expanse in the distance.

"Take us to the marketplace." The driver nods, scars running up and down his pale face and his blue eyes looking up at you in the rearview mirror. Does this man even know that he's sitting next to the leader of the Fallen Sun district? Or is Kenjaku a faceless man, hiding behind walls of ones and zeroes?

The scenes that pass by you look identical to those of the city you know and love. There are children playing on the sidewalks, people carrying groceries, life carrying on as if the majority of their names aren't on some rejected list of people who defected from their previous society. Suguru notices your awe at the way things are, and looks over at you, smiling brightly.

"You'd be surprised what you can build from ashes, y/n."

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23 @rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on @sammytamaki @meena-in-a-nutshell @falling-through-pages @naoyasdarling

[chibsytelford]

Bullet For My Valentine

requested by - @adela-topaz-caelon  - Hiya, can I get a Chibs x Female reader fic, where they both like each other, but never gotten together for varying reasons. She's the younger sister of Opie, but a ferocious addition to the sons, despite her bubbly demeanour, and one day she takes a bullet meant for Chibs and that leads to a fluffy confession. Is that okay?

warnings - gunshot wound, swearing, blood.

The gunfire outside woke you up from a dream you were having about a certain Scotsman. At first you thought it was part of your dream, but the shouting outside was unmistakeable and too close to home to be in your head. You threw on the closest things to you which was a pair of joggers and a black hoodie and you lifted your gun from the night stand, tucking it in the waistband.

You were Opie's little sister which meant you were automatically a part of the Sons. They took you in under their wings when you left home and wound up at Teller Morrow, and that was 3 years ago now, and you wouldn't change it for the world. They didn't let you have a gun straight away, but when you showed them that you could easily handle yourself, they immediately knew you would be a great addition. You didn't go on runs with them, or have your own bike, but you did get a say in decisions they made, a dorm and a friendship with each and every one of the guys, so you could hardly complain.

Creeping towards the clubhouse you made sure to check around the corners and doorways. Years of you playing Call of Duty came into practice in times like this, although it hardly compared to the real life shooting happening around you at the moment. You rounded the corner and dived behind the bar, peeking up slightly to see if you could see any of the men.

You spotted Jax and your brother just outside the doors so you leaped over the bar and ran over to them, ducking behind one of the many cars in the parking lot. “Who the fuck are they?” you asked out loud, not aiming your question at anyone in particular.

“People that clearly don't know who the fuck we are” Jax answered with a slight smirk on his face, standing up and shooting a few bullets in front of him.

You looked to your right and saw Chibs hiding behind one of the bikes with barely any cover. “Oi, Scotty, get your arse over here!” you shouted, using your nickname for him. Chibs looked at you and gave you a slight nod of the head before running towards the three of you. Just as he was about to get behind the car, you saw that one of the men from the charter shooting at you had managed to sneak up behind you all. His gun was aimed at Chibs and before you could think about what you were doing, you jumped in front of the Scotsman taking the bullet meant for him. As you lay there looking up at the sky, you heard a few more shots before there was total silence.

“Fuck love, what did ye dae that for?” Chibs asked discarding his gun beside him and putting his hands on your shoulder to try and stop the blood that was coming from it.

“I just woke up today and thought fuck it, I wanna get shot” you laughed but immediately regretted it as the pain hurt more when you did.

“Don't move, you'll make it worse” Chibs instructed as he ripped a bit of his vest off and tied it around your shoulder. He then picked you up bridal style and led you into the clubhouse, placing you down on one of the tables and walking away to find a first aid kit.

Happy handed you a bottle of whisky from behind the bar and you took a few big gulps, welcoming the burning sensation in your throat for a second instead of your shoulder. Chibs came back and opened the first aid kit, placing it between your legs. The movement had you shuddering and he didn't even touch you. “I've got it” he said to the men and they all took the hint and gave you some space.

“Yer a lucky lass” Chibs said, untying the makeshift sling and throwing it behind him. He then got some scissors form the first aid kit and cut your t-shirt, exposing your bra strap. Chibs looked at you and you nodded, knowing he was asking if it was ok for him to cut your bra strap too. He then gently washed the wound with hot water and dabbed it with some cotton wool. Chibs lifted your hand and placed it on his own shoulder. “Feel free to squeeze me to help ease the pain” he instructed you. Chibs finished cleaning the wound and he ripped open a square bandage and placed it over the bullet hole before putting a bit of tape on it so it stuck to you. “There, all done” he said admiring his work.

“Thanks Scotty” you said, not moving your hand from his shoulder.

“It's the least a can dae, ye did take a bullet fur me after all” he answered, packing away the scissors and the tape. “Why did ye jump in front of me anyway?” he questioned catching you off guard.

You shrugged. “I didn't want to see you get hurt” you whispered, taking your hand of him and picking at a crack in the table.

“Y/N” Chibs spoke, “Hey, look at me” he gently lifted your chin with his fingers and you looked into his eyes. They were full of admiration. “That's the kindest thing anyone has ever done fur me”.

“I wouldn't have done it for just anyone Filip” you admitted. The look in his eyes made you continue “this wasn't the way I wanted to tell you, but I love you, I have loved you for a while now, and when I saw that bullet I didn't even think, I just knew that I couldn't bear to see you in any pain so I took it for you”. You finished your sentence and let out a deep breath. Still staring at Chibs you couldn't gauge his reaction.

Just then Opie walked over to the two of you. “My sister is a badass, right?” he remarked, aiming his statement at Chibs.

“That she is brother, but I suggest ye walk away because I'm about to kiss her” Chibs said not waiting to see if Opie took his warning or not. He placed his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him so you were now sitting on the edge of the table with Chibs standing between your legs. His lips were on yours immediately and frankly it had been a long time coming.

After a few seconds you pulled away, leaning your forehead against his. “I've been waiting for you to kiss me like that for months now” you admitted to him.

“Would ye believe me if I said I've been waiting to kiss ye like that for months?” He chuckled, placing both hands on either side of your face. “I just wasn't sure the feelings were reciprocated, but for the record, I'm in love with you too” he admitted with a huge smile on his face. You put your hands on his cheeks and ran your fingers up and down his scars.

“It's just a shame I had to get shot for you to admit you loved me” you teased him.

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