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the-cosmic-teapot · 4 months ago

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To Be Loved By Nanami Kento

Nanami x reader

WC: 10,705

TW: Slight age gap (4 years), Canon-compliant, fluff, angst, canon-typical gore, big emotions, Nanami is such a gentleman, drinking, reader gets very drunk (Shoko), kinda steamy but no smut, marriage, family, Not a happy ending (ANGST!!!)

*Not proofread (my husband said his word limit is 5,000)

Summary: The story of how you and Nanami fall in love.

A/N: Hi pals, it's been a minute (like a couple months, oops)! This has been in the works for the majority of that time, but I couldn't bring myself to finish it until now. Let me know if you all like the longer fics or if I should break them up into parts instead. Also, I am looking for more proofreaders, if you are interested message me. As always, feedback is welcome!

P.S- The reader has a cursed technique that is using electrical energy and the gloves are what is used to conduct the energy.

~Cosmic

June 2012

High school graduates are left with difficult decisions to make upon the end of their education. Differing from a typical student, graduating from Jujutsu High in Tokyo meant alternate career options; choosing to become a sorcerer, or leaving the world of Jujutsu for a mundane job. As you pack up your home of the past three years, you ponder this quandary as boxes of memories are put away one by one. On one hand, you were trained alongside some of the best sorcerers in generations, and, if we’re being honest, you’re one of them. Now on the other lives a normal life, and a normal job. One where you don’t face nearly as high a mortality rate. You could find love, have a normal family, and you could live in ignorance of your fellow sorcerers’ sacrifices.

Moving out of the dorms at Jujutsu High was bittersweet, you have a lot of memories with your friends, and even a sparse few with Gojo– as annoying as he can be. You found a nice apartment right outside of the business district in Tokyo and you were even up to get promoted to a grade one sorcerer. Things are looking up for you and your new independent life.

Before you were able to fully get the rank of grade one sorcerer you needed to do a few missions with current grade one sorcerers, which is now what you were being sent to do. Usually, you worked with Mei Mei because your personalities meshed well, unlike your fighting styles, but this time was different. Before you stood a tall, well-built man with blonde hair in a suit. The tan suit was a bit plain, but his bright blue button-down and patterned tie really stands out. Ijichi explained what grade-one curse this man and you needed to eradicate in an abandoned nursing home in Osaka. The man, Nanami, is to pick you up at the crack of dawn to catch a flight as opposed to driving through the night to get there.

As you packed a small bag with a few necessities– the return flight was the following afternoon– you wondered why it took so long to meet Nanami. By the end of your second year, you had met most all of the grade one sorcerers from one gathering or another, but not Nanami. You had a few options now, you could look him up on social media or ask Gojo about the very muscular man. You decided on the former because Gojo would endlessly tease you for asking, plus you could stalk him online from the comfort of your bed. From your extensive research, you learned that there was not a trace of Nanami online other than a post from Gojo a year ago that tagged a deactivated account. Now you either have to ask Gojo or the even more embarrassing option of trying to make small talk with Nanami tomorrow. You were at a loss, was teasing from Gojo worth learning more about the undeniably attractive man? Nanami seems the type to not talk much, so small talk may not even tell you more about him.

Your phone dings as the latest episode of a trashy show’s credits roll. You didn’t have the number saved, but you could quickly tell it was Nanami because of the overly formal language and punctuation of the message. He asked about where he should pick you up and if you wanted him to grab coffee before getting you. As you respond you also internally scream as this man keeps getting more attractive and you’ve met him once. Is it weird to be this attracted to a man you’ve just met? You suppose it doesn’t matter much, it was just a superficial attraction at best now.

The following morning you wake up and get ready as usual, skincare, a little makeup, and finally getting dressed. You grab the overnight bag and your backpack for the trip there and head down to the lobby to wait for Nanami. After doing one final look over to make sure you weren't forgetting anything you finally leave and lock up your apartment. When you get to the lobby Nanami is already there holding his phone, probably about to call you.

“Ah, good. You’re punctual, do you have all of your equipment ready to go?” You give a quick nod knowing you placed your sleek black gloves in the front pouch of your backpack. “Good, let’s go then,” Nanami said. He was in another suit, not a hair out of place. Without another word, he took the overnight bag and began to walk out to his car.

He placed your stuff in the trunk of the modern black car and got the passenger side door for you. God, he truly is a gentleman. The interior of his car is clean and smells like a new car scent. You noticed a pastry on the middle console and two coffees in the cup holder after getting comfy for the quick trip to the airport.

“I got you a strawberry Danish, as well as the coffee, I hope you like it,” Nanami says as he buckles in and starts the car. He adjusts his glasses, and checks before backing out of the 20-minute parking spot.

“Actually, I’m allergic to strawberries… but thank you for the coffee and thinking of me!” You said with an awkward, tight-lipped smile, feeling bad that he wasted his money on you. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nanami spoke. “I’ll keep that in mind next time” You give him a small ‘hump’ as acknowledgement.

The drive to the airport is quick, the bright lights of Tokyo pass by in a blur together in a rainbow of color. You wonder what this mission will entail, this was a grade-one curse, so Nanami could handle this alone if needed; theoretically, you should be able to do the same. Being this close to Nanami was strange, it felt almost intimate in the dark morning. You could smell the cologne he was wearing and the heat coming off of his body. He smelled amazing, woody and smokey, with notes of whisky.

Soon enough you notice Nanami pulling into a parking garage and getting a ticket and finding a parking space. Getting out you go to grab your overnight bag but Nanami already has it in hand with his.

“I can get my bag if you want.” You said quickly. “You really don’t need to.” You say to the back of the tall man as he walks away.

“It’s fine, it’s not heavy.” He said plainly, walking towards the walkway to the check-in desks. His steps are quick and driven by efficiency. You could tell he will be much more professional than Mei Mei, and way harder to get a read on.

As the plane lands you listen to the flight attendant about the typical unloading procedures, you worry about the mission and whether you will make a fool out of yourself in front of a grade-one sorcerer, especially one as attractive as Nanami. You remember this feeling when working with Mei Mei for the first time too. After you get your backpack from the floor you reach into the overhead compartment for your other bag but Nanami already has it in hand.

“I told you I’ve got your bag, '' Nanami says, bending down to get his bag on the floor. You shivered at the thought of him being so close to you.

“Okay, if you really don’t mind,” you say blushing slightly, moving to get off of the plane trailing after Nanami.

When you leave the airport the sun is shining and there is a small breeze. It ruffles Nanami’s hair making him look even more divine than he already does. He hails a cab to go to the hotel so you can check in and go over what intel you have on the cursed spirit. The cab ride was uneventful at best, but your anxiety was through the roof. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat and the sweat covering your palms.

You zone out sitting on one of the chairs with your and Nanami’s things while he checks into your rooms. Suddenly, he appears in front of you with a disgruntled look across his sharp, perfect features. He explains that the hotel screwed up and only has one room (and one bed) available at the moment, he runs a hand through his pristine hair and sighs.

“We can look for other hotels in the area if you are uncomfortable sharing a room, or I can sleep on the couch,” Nanami says in his usual tone. “The woman at the desk said that the former may be unlikely because there are a few conventions in town.” He runs a hand through his hair again, staring down at you through his glasses.

“I don’t mind staying here, but I can take the couch.” You say it is not fair that he has already done so much for you. “I can sleep almost anywhere.” You say, which was a little lie, but it’s one night. Plus, you are considerably smaller than Nanami, he towers over you and he is broader than you because of the bulk of his muscles.

“We can talk about sleeping arrangements when we get settled tonight.” He says after a moment of silence. Nanami walks away back to the desk and finishes checking in.

He comes back with two keys in hand and moves to get your bags. You look up at him and take the cards so he has his hands free for the bags. The walk to the room was silent, as was moving around to get settled into the nice room. There is a sort of living room then a small hallway with the bathroom on one side and a closet on the other and finally, the bedroom section was at the back. The bed is massive, most likely a king, and there is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the foot of the bed. You stand at the window taking in the view of the city and ponder how this mission will go. Taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves you move back to the living room area with Nanami sitting on a comically small couch.

“So, the nursing home isn’t far from here, we can walk there,” Nanami said, looking at the packet with all of the information gathered for this mission. He moved over and motioned for you to join him on the couch. As you sit next to him you realize how small the couch really is, it’s more of an oversized armchair. “The curse shouldn’t take too long to exercise, but there are bound to be more, lower grade curses.” He adjusts his glasses and hands the packet to you as he moves to get up.

You look over the packet and see that the building has been abandoned for a few years after the owners were convicted of selling deceased residents organs without the families’ knowledge or approval. The building has recently been the site of the disappearance of teens, which has made more teens want to break in and do whatever teens do when they break into buildings. The local police have put locks on the doors and tape up to discourage more teens from entering, but this did little to dissuade them. This is why Nanami and you were called here, the 10 missing teens were concerning and the confirmed presence of a curse made this case a top priority for the higher-ups in Jujutsu society.

Nanami lowered the veil over the condemned building and you slipped your gloves on, as you both took in the large structure. It was at least three stories high and there was mention of a basement for laundry from the packet. The smell of mold and mildew hit you in the face as soon as Nanami opened the door. There was graffiti all over the place and vines and weeds sprouting up from the cracked concrete and broken windows.

You mention splitting up to make the search go quicker, Nanami told you to focus on looking for the missing kids while he looks for the grade one curse. Of course, this is not how the mission goes, you run into a horde of grade three and lower curses in the basement hallway. As you fight them off you begin to hear the sobs of a few girls. You make your way to a locked door where you very clearly hear crying, knocking on it, and saying you were here to help. When the door opens about five girls no older than fifteen are trembling and latching on to you for dear life.

You introduce yourself to them and tell them that your partner and you will try your best to get them out safely. They all mention seeing some of the others they were with being dragged away but not killed in front of them. You shoot a text to Nanami about the girls you found and begin to lead the shaking, but not crying, girls out of the basement and to the outside of the building. Nanami joins you a few minutes after getting the girls out and mentions how you did well.

Going back into the buildings after talking to the girls a bit more to gather more information about the groups they came from. After another hour of searching you find the bodies of three of the boys, all drained of blood leaned up against a wall on the ground floor. It was shocking to see that a curse did not mutilate the young boys. You move on to the next floor where you run into Nanami and he mentions finding two boys on the verge of death that he brought outside and tended to their wounds.

Wandering around a bit more you finally come across the grade one curse, its cursed energy was intense. The spirit looks like its melting bodies together, one pile of flesh with multiple eyes and appendages. The largest of their eyes is brown and vertical in the center of the mass and quickly takes notice of Nanami and you and begins to attack, flailing arms and legs towards you and Nanami. You were first to strike the curse with a zap of your cursed technique directly to the center eye. Nanami, quick to follow, slashed a few limbs off with his blunt sword. Flowing through the motions of a fight, zaps, a few punches, and maybe a kick to the curse was the easy part. The more difficult part was knowing if you were doing enough to impress Nanami or at least not look like a complete idiot in front of him. With a final right hook into the curse imbued with your technique, the curse jolted back and collapsed into a disintegrating heap on the dirty floor.

“Good, you did well,” Nanami says calmly while swiftly dispelling the blood from his blade in a singular smooth motion.

The walk back to the hotel is significantly less awkward for you mostly because you were actually talking now, and not weird small talk. This was an actual conversation, about what you enjoy, what books you like, and so forth. You had a lot in common with the stoic man, you both enjoyed cooking and reading, much preferred over going out. You were beginning to toe the line between a schoolgirl crush based on superficial attraction into a full-blown crush, born from knowing his brain. There are a few outcomes, all but one of which will fragment your heart into millions of pieces. This is dangerous territory you are beginning to tread.

Back at the hotel you shower and take time to get the sweat and blood off of you. The hot shower felt like heaven on your sore muscles and the steam began to fog the mirror. You wash your hair with your shampoo and conditioner while you think about the day. The thoughts quickly drift from the nursing home and the teenagers you saved to the dashing man sitting outside. He is hard to not fall for, he’s charming and his looks could rival that of a man sculpted by the gods. In addition to his stunning looks his personality seems to be a perfect fit for your own. The list of Nanami’s attributes just seems to grow with the amount of time you spend with him.

Meanwhile, the blonde man sitting outside on the couch begins working on the report for the case. He begins recounting the day’s events, typing it all out in the correct format. All of the events from what was known to the final death count of the curse. Once again, Nanami’s life became mundane; getting sent on missions, exercising the cursed spirit, typing up a report, and repeating. When he got off of work he would make dinner, maybe try a new wine, most nights were the same for him. Being sent away from Tokyo was a nice change, but not much of one, now he would just have dinner out. However, now there was someone else with him. Someone who he wants to get to know, someone who he can see as a friend.

He has thought of dating, but with his re-entrance into the world of Jujutsu that will be difficult. There is no way for him to have a “normal” life when he faces death every day. He cannot put someone he loves in a position to mourn him, he has been down this road before and it hurts. Honestly, part of the reason Nanami left after graduation was because he didn’t want to see more of his colleagues fall; moreover, he did not want to see his juniors fall even more so. Despite this, he found himself back in the world of Jujutsu; sitting here with you in the shower.

When Nanami was told he would be paired with a semi-grade one sorcerer he thought the person would look more intimidating, not the small, cute form he met the day prior. He was pleasantly surprised this morning when you were right on time when he came to pick you up. In the car, he could smell your hair products– vanilla and jasmine– as well as notice how you anxiously fidget with your hands. You were efficient in the airport, which he admired very much, as opposed to Gojo, who would stroll in an hour before his flight with little care about missing it entirely.

Nanami finishes the report and he hears you step out of the shower. He stands, stretches, and then heads for his bag to gather his clothes to get ready to shower. As he makes sure he has grabbed all of his necessities– underwear, pants, and a top– his phone dings. Sitting back on the bed with his stuff sitting neatly on the dresser he reads a text from Gojo asking about how you both were getting along. Nanami opted to send a short, nondescript text on how you performed today.

When you finally leave the warm, steamy bathroom you see Nanami sitting on the bed tapping away at his phone, presumably texting. You move your stuff into your bag as your stomach growls very loudly. In your squatting position, you make eye contact with Nanami who now has his clothing in hand to shower and clean up for dinner.

“I’m going to excuse myself, I’d suggest looking up where you want to eat,” Nanami says standing to his full height, making you feel smaller as he has to tilt his head further down as he does.

“Okay, I can do that,” you say, zipping up your bag and grabbing socks and your bag with your wallet and other necessities to go out.

As Nanami stepped into the still-warm and steamy bathroom he could smell your lotion and perfume. Everything smelled like you, even the other towels that are folded under the sink; it’s a smell that is just as intoxicating as the most expensive bottle of wine he’s sampled. He peeled his blue shirt off his body and began the shower, the hot water and steam fogging up the mirror again. Slipping out of his trousers and underwear he steps into the shower with a sigh. He could smell you even more in the shower, the hot steam lifting the remnants of your hair products to his nose directly.

Nanami thought about the day and Gojo’s text. As with most things, Gojo most likely had another intention than the one Nanami initially interpreted. Nanami could not let himself wonder what it would be like to pursue you in any capacity other than friendship; not even for a moment. There is no denying you are attractive and he could tell that you shared a lot of his interests. He pushes these thoughts of what can never be out of his mind so he can finish his shower and get to dinner.

You go with a small sushi place with good reviews online and Nanami truly did not mind you picking. Initially, you had given him three options and he was indifferent to all of them. This was new to you because when you went with Gojo he would insist on going to his pick, given he always paid so you had no qualms.

Walking alongside Nanami was strange, his muscular frame towered over yours and looked ten times more intimidating than you with just his resting face unobscured by the armless glasses he wore. The evening air was cooling down from the high temperatures of the day and a soft breeze flowing and it made Nanami’s hair flow slightly from its perfect position atop his head. He was in a light green sweater and light-wash jeans, which was such a change from his typical suit and tie. Casual suited him, as well as his scent without cologne, it was fresh and kind of minty.

Getting to the restaurant you seat yourself at a nice table near the window. A server stops by to give you menus and welcome you to the establishment. As you look over the menu you fail to notice how Nanami looks at you. Your hair was pulled back with a few strands falling out around your face, framing it nicely. He thought about what a normal life would be like, how it would be to be in a relationship without the threat of death, and most of all what it would be like to be loved by someone. He once again found himself pushing these thoughts out of his mind.

The night flows seamlessly from dinner to a little cafe for coffee and dessert. Conversation hardly stopped from when you sat down for dinner to now, in this cute little cafe with cat-themed decor adorning the walls. You were the last two in the cafe with the barista cleaning the counter and display case. This is a night you didn’t want to end, everything has been amazing, from conversation to food, and finally Nanami. The more time you spent with Nanami the more you wanted to spend with him. His presence is intoxicating.

As you walk back to your hotel there is a light air between you both. The moon is bright and shines on the pair of you. He is close, very close, his arm is close to brushing with yours. To an unsuspecting eye, you looked like a beautiful young couple.

Getting back to the hotel room faced you with the dilemma of the one bed. Nanami initially said he could sleep on the couch, but seeing how large he is compared to the overgrown armchair that had to be out of the question. You could take the couch, but something told you he would never let that happen.

Nanami once again let you take the bathroom first. You dug through your bag for your shorts and oversized tee shirt to get changed into. When you open the bathroom door you see Nanami’s toiletries on the counter opposite your own. What would Nanami be like to live with, being able to see your things with his? He seems like the type of person who has a solid routine and rarely deviates from that. After washing your face and undressing you fold your pants and top neatly to put on for the trip home. The silky shorts felt nice after your legs had been confined all day and the tee shirt fell over the hem of them perfectly.

Nanami is waiting on the bed with his sleepwear folded neatly beside him. When he looks up at you his hair falls away from his face, most likely from the lack of product. He is so handsome in the dim lighting of the hotel room. You both begin to speak only to stop when you realize the other wants to say something. You smile slightly at the usually awkward situation.

“You can go first,” Nanami said, standing to his full height. His hair shifting subtly with his change in position.

“Oh, um, I’m all done in the bathroom,” you said, fidgeting with your clothing you still have in hand.

“Ah, I was going to say that you can take the bed because I really don’t mind,” He said in that deep voice. The voice that could make angels weep.

“That couch is too small for you, if anything I can actually fit on it to sleep,” you say as you move to place your clothing on the dresser opposite the bed. “We could also share the bed if you really won’t let me take the couch,” you say without thinking of the implications of what this fully means.

The air seems to stand still as you both process what you just said. Nanami is a man you just met no more than twenty-four hours prior, and you mentioned you could share a bed. If this were anyone else you would call them crazy for how risky that is with a strange man. Given, Nanami is not entirely strange, he seems to have some set of moral compass given how he is dead set on taking the couch. Your face is completely flushed red and Nanami is sporting a light pink blush as well. Why did you have to say that?

“I, um,” he paused, coughing a little, “I don’t mind taking the couch,” Nanami says, slightly blushing at the thought of sleeping next to you. The smell of your soap and lotion still stuck in his nose and mind, the sweet notes of vanilla and the floral ones of the jasmine would keep him up all night. Nanami also knew he would be too stressed trying to be respectful of your space that he would not sleep at all if he had to share a bed with you. “The couch will be okay for one night, I promise I will be okay there.” He finishes still sporting a faint blush across his sharp cheeks.

You take a breath trying to calm down. “Are you sure?” You asked for a final time, still feeling guilty he will probably not get any sleep on the couch.

“Yes, I would not have said so if I didn’t mean it,” Nanami says firmly, looking at you directly.

You both hold eye contact for a moment, the air thick between your bodies. It feels like you both want to say something, but words don’t come to either of you. His hazel eyes are intense as they still don’t leave your face. You feel your heart rate spike from being under his gaze. Your face could rival a prize-winning tomato for how red you are; Nanami is faring better, at least on the surface. All of his thoughts from earlier, all of the thoughts of a normal life were flooding back into his mind and he couldn’t shove them away fast enough. You are dangerous because there is something about you that makes Nanami feel like he could be with you in that way.

The moment is ruined by the phone ringing in the other room, flashing with the extension from the front desk. Nanami takes another second, keeping your gaze before he answers. You are not paying attention to who is on the other end because you are trying your hardest to calm down. It feels like you’ve just run a mile without prep with how you need to catch your breath.

“That was the front desk,” Nanami cuts through your thoughts with his clear, stern voice. “Another group canceled their reservation, so a room on the second floor is now available,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I need to go to the front desk to sort everything out, but now we both have a bed,” he says walking to put his shoes on.

Nanami is gone for twenty minutes, but it feels like an instant. You try to resume your nighttime routine while he is gone, but you keep getting distracted by your thoughts of that moment. Your flushed cheeks and his intense stare seared into your mind as if it were branded there with a hot iron.

When Nanami comes back into your room he silently packs his things to move into his own room. You observe him, being as still as you can, scared to move too quickly as if he will disappear like a stray cat. Once all his things are packed he stands tall in front of your seated position on the bed. His posture is impeccable, as he tells you his room number and how the hotel comped one of the rooms because of the inconvenience. As you look up at him his hot gaze is already on you, as if he were studying for an exam. You quietly respond with a soft ‘okay’ and ‘Good night’.

When you wake the next morning you feel calmer, more at ease than the prior night. You were so warm up last night that you took another shower just to try and calm your buzzing body and mind, not that it did much. Nanami was not much better, he was thankful to whatever deity granted him a room away from you. His thoughts were muddled and the clarity he was used to was gone. As he finally drifted to sleep he thought of how the atmosphere shifted in that instant before the phone call.

Nanami let you know he would meet you in the lobby around 8 to catch your 11 o’clock flight. As you leave for the airport you do a swift look over of the room to make sure you didn’t forget anything. The room felt so much more empty sans Nanami, his large frame taking up physical space, but his aura taking up infinitely more. His presence is warm and calm, much unlike your own anxious one.

The morning trip to the airport, as well as the airport itself, passes by in an instant. Now you sit at the gate waiting for your flight home; Nanami is on the hunt for coffee, as the hotel only had drip coffee. You are wasting time staring at the pages of a book you weren’t reading, too lost in thought. As a hand with a take-out coffee cup impedes your view and the smell of fresh pastry hits your nose.

“I got peach this time,” Nanami says with a small smile, handing you a bag along with your coffee. He is back in his jeans and sweater from last night, much as you are in the same outfit.

You take the coffee and bag and give thanks to the man now eating his own. The rest of the morning goes much like this, quiet and at ease. There is no tension between you, and you wonder if this is what it is like to date Nanami. Are all of his mornings quiet and tranquil?

Nanami drops you off at your apartment and, as the true gentleman he is, gets your stuff out to hand to you. As you walk away from him you can feel his warmth leave you. This trip was a whirlwind. Nanami is attractive and his personality is unmatched by anyone you’ve met, but he is a coworker now. Plus, he gave no indication that he is interested in you, outside of that moment. That moment could have been anything and he is hard to read so you chose to match his level of professionalism. At this point, the best you can do is friends, which is okay.

April 2014

So much has changed in the past two years after graduating high school. You’ve gotten to know yourself more, honed your fighting techniques, and become better friends with former classmates and coworkers. Soon after your mission with Nanami, you were promoted to a full-fledged grade one sorcerer, you gathered from Gojo that Nanami’s recommendation was glowing.

Currently, you are sitting opposite Gojo in a cafe as you both talk about your plans for your upcoming birthday. The lanky man sitting across from you suggested going all out, after all, you are now an actual adult who can drink. Your speed was more like a small group of people and dinner, not the rager Gojo was already planning. Try as you might Gojo is truly an unstoppable force, and his party planning is quickly getting away from you.

“Gojo, I am not having a massive party, my apartment is only large enough for a few people,” you sigh. “I’ll have dinner with a few friends, but nothing more,” you sternly say to the white-haired man.

“But that’s so boring, we did that last year,” he whined as if your birthday was supposed to entertain him.

Most of your afternoon went on like this because Gojo is, well, Gojo. On the bright side, he did pay for your coffee and treats. You have some paperwork to finish, but other than that you are free for the weekend. Gojo drops you off at your office muttering something about leaving it for Monday.

As you quickly work through the sparse papers on your desk you hear a firm knock, clearly Nanami. Gojo would just burst in and Shoko’s knocks are short and quiet. In the nearly two years you’ve known Nanami, and in that time he has become one of your closest friends. He is the one you go to new museum exhibits with and the one you try new cafes with after said museum outings.

“Come in,” you say, not looking up from the last form you needed to fill out. You sigh for a moment as Nanami’s footsteps enter your office.

“Hey, I saw you were still here and I wanted to see if you wanted to leave together,” Nanami says, looking down at you with a peacoat draped over his arm. “That is if you are almost done.”

“Oh, umm, yeah,” you say, still not looking at him. “I just need to sign off on this and submit it,” you say sighing as you stand to get your stuff. “Where were you wanting to go?” You ask, finally meeting his eyes.

“I was thinking of that new ramen place near yours,” He says holding his hand out to take your bag, “but I am up to suggestions.”

“Great, I just need to run by Yaga’s office to turn these in,” you say smiling at him as you turn off the lights and close your door.

The walk to Yaga’s office is the same as it always is, hallways blurring together. You are looking through the papers making sure everything is in order and Nanami is lost in his own mind. In the time Nanami has known you, you’ve nestled yourself into his life seamlessly. After that first mission in Osaka, the pair of you worked on a few more local missions until you were a full-fledged grade-one sorcerer. Even after that, you made a point to spend time with Nanami, to be his friend. That is something he admires about you, you put so much effort into everything you do; sometimes to your own detriment.

You have an aura to you that draws him in, something that makes Nanami want to know everything about you; not just the superficial things anyone can figure out, but the more intimate things like what your nighttime routine is and how you look when you first wake up. These things are small, but he wants them; he wants you in your entirety, mind, body, and soul.

Nanami came to these conclusions one night after drinking with you, Gojo, and Shoko. He initially turned down Gojo, but when you asked he couldn’t find it in him to decline when he looked into your bright, beautiful eyes. While going out is not his preferred way to spend a night, especially on a Thursday, he thought your presence made it bearable. Especially when you would join in on teasing Gojo with Shoko after a few drinks. After that night Nanami vowed to keep his feelings to himself because you didn’t deserve him, he is a broken man who cannot promise you tomorrow. In his mind, being your friend was better than not being in your life at all.

You were finally able to talk Gojo out of a big party at a club in exchange for dinner at your favorite place and a few drinks afterward. Music is loudly blaring from your phone as you get ready in the bathroom, hot water running over your figure. You think of what to wear, taking into consideration the temperature and the cute-to-comfy ratio of your outfit. When you step out of the shower, you go through your normal routine, taking more time on makeup and hair. Now you stand in front of your closet wondering what to wear. You could go with jeans and a sweater, but that’s what you wear when you normally go out; this is a special night, so maybe a little discomfort is okay. You pick out a short, light pink dress with poofy mesh sleeves and a flowy skirt. You also opt to put stockings with a criss-cross pattern on them under your dress. As you situate the stockings at the top of your thighs your phone dings and lights up.

‘Hey, I was thinking we could head over to the restaurant together so you don’t have to walk alone’ read the text from Nanami. It is not unusual for Nanami to pick you up to go somewhere, but it doesn’t happen as much as you’d like.

After that first mission with Nanami, you were thankful he seemed to want to be friends too, but never anything more. In the past two years, you’ve only grown to like the tall blonde more. He makes sure that you don’t overwork yourself, but rather that you get paid for the work you complete. When he can he also delivers coffee and a pastry. With every coffee delivery, you felt yourself fall a few more meters, you have yet to hit the ground.

You shoot a short ‘yes’ and go about finishing your look for the night. Thinking of Nanami makes you heat up, more than usual that is. There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason being you’ll look like you’re going on a date walking to the restaurant together. That thought alone made you squeal like a schoolgirl.

A curt knock rings through your apartment, signaling Nanami’s arrival, and pulling you out of your head. As you answer your door you notice Nanami has a gift bag in hand, presumably for you. You signal for him to come in and greet him, mentioning something about not being quite ready yet. Digging through your jewelry box for a necklace you ramble about your day to Nanami, who responds with grunts and nods, not that you could see him as he is in the living room.

Nanami fills you in on how his day has been as you walk side-by-side to the restaurant. He is self-conscious, something he has not been since high school, because you look amazing, and he just has a dark grey sweater on with nice pants. The dress is just short enough to see the upper parts of your thighs, but not so short that it is immodest. Nanami tries to not stare too much, but he really can’t given how well the stockings hug your things. The plush fat of them bludged slightly from the restriction from the stockings. This outfit is driving him insane– you are driving him insane. Just for a moment, Nanami allows him to wonder what it would be like to have you look this good for him, and him alone.

As you reach the restaurant you stop Nanami just shy of the entry, so as to not obscure the entry. He gives you a questioning look, and you just stare back at him with wide eyes. Words fail to escape your mouth as you look into his dreamy eyes. You try to start a sentence multiple times, but nothing ever reaches your mouth. Of course, he looks amazing, the sweater with the collar from a button down underneath. As you finally find the words to say Gojo begins yelling from down the block. You break away from the moment with Nanami and turn just in time for Gojo to pull you into a hug. Shoko is not far behind the lanky man as she holds two gifts, one hers and the other probably Gojo’s.

The host seats you all at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and lights dim for the atmosphere. You slide into the space next to the wall and Nanami follows suit, sitting close to you at the smallish table. Gojo is directly across from you and Shoko is across from Nanami. Conversation flows, as do some drinks with dinner, and the food comes and goes. You feel a light buzz from the two drinks– one from Gojo and one from Shoko– as you prepare to pay your bill. The waiter comes back to divide up the bill and you all hand in your cards and discuss where to go next, as the drink portion is to appease Gojo.

The bar Gojo chooses has soft music playing and comfy sitting areas, the best for conversation. Nanami offers to get you a vodka cranberry, your drink of choice, while you find somewhere to sit. Shoko, being the woman she is, kept getting round after round of drinks. You are certain that you are mostly alcohol now, you cannot see straight and you didn’t want to try walking, in fear that your choice of platform boots will make you fall over.

Nanami can tell you are out of it, your eyes are not focused on anything in particular, and you are no longer talking in more than one-word answers. He closed out at the bar and told Gojo and Shoko he was taking you home, so as to not cause you more harm in the morning.

As you focus on Shoko complaining about some of the new changes to her duties from the higher ups you feel Nanami’s warm hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern, not that you can particularly tell right now. His deep voice is calming and rich, like the most decadent chocolate as he bids Gojo and Shoko goodbye. He makes sure you have everything, including the new mug from Gojo and the two wine glasses from Shoko.

When you step outside with Nanami still holding on to you the cool April air hits your face, causing you to shiver slightly. Nanami opts to hail a cab, mostly because he is not sure how far you can walk. As one pulls to the side Nanami puts you in the back and walks around to the other side for himself. You cling to him as soon as he sits, and you are not wanting to let go. He tells the driver your address and just lets you cling to him as if he is your lifeline.

This is nice, your hair smells just how it did when he first met you. Nanami once again lets himself think of what it would be like to have this all the time; you pressed against his body while you go to a shared home. He thinks back to what you were trying to say before dinner, before Gojo ruined it– typical.

The ride to your building is quick. Nanami pays and tips the driver and practically hoists you to stand. He can tell you are close to crashing, your body heavy, and your movements lethargic. At this point, he thinks about carrying you, as it may be easier than standing at an awkward angle holding you up, but decides against it so as to not cross any boundaries.

When he opens your door you struggle to take off your shoes and leave them in a pile on the floor, a problem for later you. You drunkenly stumble through your apartment with Nanami in tow as you try to undress. The zipper on the back of your dress seems infinitely further than when you zipped yourself into the dress. You break down and ask Nanami, who is standing outside as you change, to help you because you just want to go to bed. As he opens the door he sees you sitting on your bed swaying slightly. He unzips your dress and turns around to give you more privacy, but your perky butt and back are displayed in the full-length mirror he is now facing. You stand still for a minute, in your stockings and lacy pink panties with a matching bra before stumbling into the bathroom. A red-hot blush expands across Nanami’s face as he tries to not stare like a pervert, but there is something about how your ass looks in the lace panties that makes him insane.

Nanami leaves to sit on the couch, so as to not invade your space, trying to calm down from seeing you in such a state of undress, after all, he is just a man. For a third time tonight, he finds his mind wondering what it would be like to see you like this for him. What would it be like to undress you and feel how your soft body would squirm under his touch? What noises could he pull from you? How would you sound moaning his name? He shakes his thoughts away and busies himself with getting aspirin and water for you in hopes of getting rid of his little (massive) problem.

As you reemerge from the bathroom you have no more makeup on and are now in an oversized sweatshirt that reaches the tops of your thighs. You move to lie down and get comfy as Nanami has water and some aspirin in hand for you in the doorway. He gives you the pills first, then the water and you mutter a thanks while yawning. Making sure you don’t need anything more from him, Nanami heads for the door when he hears you, in such a soft voice, ask him to stay. In his tipsy state, he almost misses it, but not quite.

“What was that?” He asks, making sure his ears are in working order. His eyes intently search yours as you answer.

“Can you please stay with me?” you ask again, this time a little louder. “You don’t ha–” He cuts you off with a very quick acceptance and begins to make his way to the other side of your bed.

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and unbelievably dry throat. You reach for the water on your nightstand and gulp what’s left down in a hurry. Taking a breath, you take in your room, and the large man still asleep next to you. He shed his sweater and button down and is now in a form-fitting white undershirt. Sitting up next to this god among men you take a moment or two to admire Nanami’s form; his massive arms holding one of the cutesy stuffed animals you keep on your bed. Oh to be that stuffed cat.

You get up to get more water and scrounge something to eat from your sparse pantry as your memories trickle back. Your face heats up when you set the tea kettle on the stove as you remember practically begging poor Nanami to stay with you. Given, he wouldn’t have done something unless he wanted to, that much you knew. Does this mean he sees you in a romantic way? Or was this more of him wanting to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit?

Nanami wakes up and quickly realizes he is not in his home, but rather your home. He also realizes you are not in bed with him, but your spot is still lukewarm. The smell of toast and tea wafts into the room as he sits up in bed. As he looks around he sees the stuffed animals strewn about the room, most likely his doing as he slept, as well as the cute white cat he currently holds. You consume his thoughts, millions of them racing in. Why did you ask him to stay? Why did he stay? Could this mean you wanted him too?

Sitting at your small table you have tea and toast, with a cup and plate on the counter waiting for Nanami. You have to talk about last night, but more so how you feel about the typically stoic man. There is no going back to before he slept in your bed, his warm body feeling like the missing puzzle piece in your life. He looked so peaceful sleeping with the sun peeking through the curtains of your room and landing on his sharp features.

Nanami walks into your main living space in his light blue boxers, looking like a Calvin Klein ad. You offer the tea and toast on the counter to the god of a man standing in your home. He takes the seat opposite yours and just looks at you. Your hair is pulled back with a clip with a few pieces near the front falling out, framing you in such a beautiful way. The sun softly shining into your home makes you look ethereal, your beauty outshining Aphrodite.

“I’m sorry,” you say as he takes a sip of the tea. “For last night that is,” you finish avoiding his eyes. You take a deep breath before continuing, “You should know, I like you,” another breath, “in a more than friendly way,” you say, feeling the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes. The weight of your words and emotions sit on you like a stone as you await Nanami’s rejection.

“Can you at least look at me when you tell me you love me?” Nanami asks with a small smirk on his pink lips. His eyes meet yours, which are full of sorrow.

“What,” you respond, taken by surprise at his comment. Your brow furrows as you ponder what he could mean. Your sorrow is replaced by confusion.

“For such a smart woman you’re quite dense, aren’t you?” He said still teasing you. “I want your mornings, afternoons, and evenings.” Nanami stands and moves to stand in front of you, his large body looming over you. “I want to be the man you look for in a crowded room, the one you get all dressed up for. I want you– all of you.”

You stare up at him, confused at his sudden burst of affection. His usual stoic demeanor was gone, now replaced by a soft expression on his sharp features. He holds your eyes, waiting for your response.

“Nan-” you stop yourself, now would be the time to use his first name, “Kento, I do look for you in every crowded room, you’re the one I want to give all of my time to.” You stand, still dwarfed by Kento’s massive frame.

Neither of you says anything for a moment, rather just processing what just happened. He leans closer to you and you meet him halfway, having to stand on your toes. The kiss is tentative as if you are both scared that this is some form of a cruel dream. Once your lips touch his everything feels at peace, you have no thoughts other than Kento and his soft lips on yours. As you pull away from the short, but sweet, kiss you both cannot stop the smiles that threaten to break your faces.

He goes in for another kiss, this time with more assurance and passion. His lips are hot and needy as his hands begin to roam your body. Kento’s kisses get more needy and his hands pull at you more and more. Large hands grab at your plush ass as he lifts you to his hips, instinctively, you wrap your legs around his muscular waist. You continue to make out while Kento carefully moves the both of you to your bedroom.

The next few weeks are filled with getting to know Kento in a deeper, more romantic way. As time passes with him you fall even deeper in love, as does he; the only difference now is that you are not scared to hit the ground because he’s there to catch you. You get to see him, who he is at his core, what makes him tick and it is a true honor. There are so many things that are uncertain in your life, but you know Kento will be a constant.

Kento does not believe in soulmates, there is no reason this cruel world would give people that luxury, but you are the closest thing to his. He never thought he would be allowed to have you in the ways he wanted you, but here you are in his arms. The Morning sun shines through his blinds causing you to snuggle closer to his chest. Kento debates getting up and making you breakfast, but decides against it in favor of holding your naked form against his own, just for a little longer.

August 2016

Kento finishes tying his bow tie and does a final look in the bathroom mirror before turning off the lights and leaving to find you. You are in the bedroom sitting at your vanity in a pretty white dress, something shorter because of the less-than-traditional wedding celebration. The dress has short sleeves with lace detailing at the ends that match the lace on the rest of the dress. You look up at Kento as you finish putting your makeup on and smile at your soon-to-be husband.

“The car is almost here darling,” Kento tells you, offering you a hand, a smile matching yours. “You look stunning,” He says, leaning down for a quick kiss.

“So do you my dear,” you say drinking him in, his white form-fitting shirt and light gray suit make you drool at the thought of taking it off of him later tonight. “Ready?”

“More than anything else,” Kento says, the smile still not leaving his perfect features.

The ceremony is short and intimate, just what you and Kento wanted. Nothing too extravagant, but still filled with love. After the ceremony, you and Kento go to a late lunch at your favorite restaurant and just enjoy the day as a married couple. You both sit in a cute little cafe with coffee and dessert. Every once and a while there is the soft clink on Kento’s mug from his ring, the one that matches yours. With each clink, your stomach does flips because you actually got to marry this man.

The rest of the evening is something out of an old film, the couple strolls through the city streets, lit by the moonlight and shop lights. Kento’s hand in yours, you talk about something while he looks like a lovesick puppy. He has an uncharacteristic soft smile across his features because of you. The walk back to your shared apartment is serene and feels right. Nights like this are what you live for, they are simple, but it’s the small moments that make you fall even more in love with Kento. The way he makes sure you have at least two meals a day that are nutritious or the way he makes you feel like you are the most important person in the world– because to him you are.

November 2017

Nights with Kento are quiet and beautiful. On this particular night you lie on his bare chest post-coitus as he strokes your hair gently. You fidget with his wedding band that matches yours, just content to be with him at this moment.

“Hey” Kento says in a soft voice to grab your attention, “how would you feel about having kids?” He asks, looking down at you. “Mine specifically” he clarifies.

“I would love to have your kids, but do you really think we’re ready?” you ask not knowing if you were ready for such a big change to your life. “I mean, we would need to get a bigger place and work seems to never stop.” You ramble on for a little about your anxieties of parenthood and Kento just looks at you with admiration.

“We have enough to buy a townhouse or condo if that is the biggest concern,” Kento says, softly petting your hair.

October 30th 2018

You are abruptly awoken by a loud cry from down the hall of your pristine townhouse. The noise is not foreign to you, as it once was, but more of a routine, a signal to get up and prepare to feed or change the small girl, Yukie, lying in her crib. Kento usually handles the random 3 AM cries, but he has been so worn out recently because he has been training another student, as per Gojo’s request. As you get out of the warm embrace of your husband he grunts and moves to his stomach.

Just a few doors from your own is your daughter’s, who is in the cutest pink and green flower onesie. You pull her from her crib and get situated to feed her in the comfy chair in the corner of the obscenely pink room— Kento’s doing. The monotony of feeding pulls you into your own thoughts now that your bundle of sunshine has quieted down.

Having a kid with Kento has made you want more because of the attentive husband he was during your pregnancy and how amazing of a father he is. He never complains about getting up in the middle of the night or having to do his errands with her strapped to his chest (seeing him in the baby bjorn for the first time almost made you jump him in the middle of the kitchen). Kento is truly the ideal man to have your children with because of his evercalm disposition, which you saw crack when he held your daughter for the first time in the harsh lighting in the hospital room.

In the morning you feel light and airy, as if you are floating a few centimeters off the ground as you are making eggs and toast. Kento and your daughter having tummy time in the living room; her bright laugh and babbles are followed by Kento’s soft chuckles and coos encouraging her. Mornings like this are the ones you live for, even if you are exhausted and have bags the size of checked luggage under your eyes. The quiet mundane life is all you need to feel complete, to feel at peace with yourself and the world.

Kento’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “Love, I have to work tomorrow night.” He says strapping your daughter into her high chair. “I know you had some cute costumes and plans for Yukie’s first Halloween, but this is unavoidable.” Disappointment evident in his voice as he runs his hand through his hair.

“Is everything okay?...” You trail off wondering what is so important that they would call Kento in when he’s supposed to work less because of his daughter. “I mean, I know there are more curses active around holidays, but do you really have to go in?”

“Yaga said almost everyone active is needed, not much else though.” He says looking at you while Yukie plays with his fingers. You can’t help but feel anxiety creep up in the back of your mind.

Thoughts are coming in from all over the place, what’s going on that Kento needs to work? Of course Kento is one of the best sorcerers, but is this a mission he needs to be on? What is going on?

The following evening you make a quick dinner so Kento has something on his stomach for what will probably be a long night ahead of him. As the rice noodles are finishing Kento walks into the room with his suit and tie on. He looks as good as the day you met him all those years ago. Kento gets two plates down with utensils and glasses for himself and you, as well as mashed peas and carrots for Yukie.

This domestic bliss will return after this mission, at least until the next year, when Kento needs to go back full time. Yukie is giggling as Kento is tickling her on the floor before getting her into her chair for dinner. He is her favorite person in the entire world, she will always reach for him when he comes home, drop everything the second he comes into her line of sight.

As you set the plates down on the small dining room table Kento comes with Yukie’s bib and food in hand. The rest of dinner is filled with babbles from Yukie and light conversation as you and Kento dance around the elephant in the room. Kento brings up wanting to take the last two weeks in December off to finally travel to Malaysia; which you fully agree with because you could both use a change in scenery.

Kento starts to gather his equipment and leave after Yukie is put down for bed. The house is silent, and you are stuck in your head again. It is highly improbable that Kento will get seriously injured or killed, but that is always a fear you have given your shared line of work.

“I should be home by tomorrow morning, dear.” Kento says, bringing you back to Earth in his calming smooth voice. He pulls you into his chest as he holds you close for a little while, planting kisses to the top of your head occasionally.

“Just come home to me Nanami Kento.” you say looking up at him with a small smile playing on the corners of your mouth.

“I love you.” He says before letting you go.

You fill the rest of your night trying to not stress over the mission Kento is on, but most of your attempts of trying to relax are futile. The one thing you find does help is propping up with your laptop in Yukies room with a small lamp giving off a soft yellow light and looking up Malaysia hotels and tickets to surprise Kento with when he gets home.

As the hour shifts to around 3 in the morning you feed Yukie one more time before heading to bed. Knowing Kento he will be upset if you screwed up your sleep schedule just for him. You quickly shower and change into a silk pajama set before lying down and falling into a dreamless slumber quickly.

You wake up around 9 to the sound of your doorbell ringing. Kento is still not home, but maybe he is getting ahead on his paperwork so he can spend the rest of his time with you and Yukie today. The house is cold, as you slip a robe on to answer the door. When you get down the bell rings again as you open the door to Ijichi, who is already fully bowed down.

“I’m very sorry to inform you…”

87 notes · View notes

dilutedconfusion · 9 months ago

Text

A Moth to a Flame

Eustass x F!Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Y/N is living on a small island in the New World. This takes place during the 2 year time skip, only a week after Kid has lost his arm to Benn Beckman. In need of supplies the Kid Pirates make their way towards Y/N’s island.

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Word Count: 2.8K

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Something strange was happening.

Or moreover you could tell something strange was going to happen.

The island you lived on was simple. People came, people left, and very few stayed. A pit-stop for the adventurers. A home for the sullen and normal.

You lived with your parents still. Tucked away in a relatively normal house in the more rural area. You could move out but money wasn’t something that flowed freely into your hands. You worked a decent job, had small little hobbies, and tried your best to fill your days with something that didn’t feel forced.

Forced.

That word pressed against your skin and into your ribcage. A strangulation of necessity, expectations, and lack of will. Even the things you loved to do were hard to do. Your brain is a whirlwind of outcomes desperately clawing at you to mean something. Like a single dandelion seed floating over the ocean. Looking for some place to land, hoping the wind will carry it long to find ground. But you supposed that the wind was starting to die.

Even still you reminded yourself of something deeper. The way the wind would trace lines through your hands and hair. Clothes flush with your skin as you stare out onto the ocean. Heels and rear digging into the sand as you watched the blue and green hues of the ocean churn.

Everything felt right. Everything felt like there was something more. Some kind of escape just out of your line of sight, far off into the horizon.

You sifted around in your bag lined neatly at your side. Unlatching the small buckle before flipping it open. Pulling out a bright green apple for a simple little snack. Your canines snapping through its smooth skin before sinking into the soft grainy texture. Sour juice spilling on your tongue and even dribbling a bit out of the corners of your lips. You wiped off your chin with your sleeve. Tucking your torso into your bent legs as you take a moment to just relax.

Something is calling me out there. You thought to yourself. Feeling that all too familiar sense of longing in your core. I just wonder what it is.

__________

It started off as a deep chill up your spine. Goosebumps spread greedily across your skin. Making your hand pause, clenching around the pencil a bit tighter. You shot your head up from your sketchbook. A maze of doodles and scratched out drawings not good enough for your taste. The sun was still relatively high in the sky. Blue tugging at the corners of your vision as you looked up at the fluffy clouds. They were floating so idly but right now you wanted to be anything but idle.

You shoved your sketchbook and pencil into your bag in a sudden rush. Slinging the satchel over your shoulder before haphazardly standing up off the shore. With your legs feeling rather numb and the sand not helping much you stumbled along. Trying to close the gap between you and the little town you lived in.

There was a trail through a less dense patch of forest. Despite this, the trail was covered in ferns and even some logs laying on their side. You made quick work of walking through the trial. Keeping your gaze downwards as you let out a little annoyed huff. The tree roots seemingly trying their best to trip you.

“What am I even doing?” You muttered to yourself. The forest of course was not responding so you continued on. “What the fuck do I think I have? Some sort of sixth sense?” You rubbed your face in annoyance. Brushing your hair back you let out an annoyed groan. Knowing that this tendency you had to let even the smallest intuitive feelings lead you was a way to spice up your life. To find danger or something new. It had led you to trinkets stuck in the earth, caves, and a hidden oasis. But you’ve scoured this island hundreds of times. Nothing was new anymore so why was your intuition freaking out?

Another deep crawling sensation prickled at the back of your neck. Your body trembling as you slowly made your way closer to the edge of the forest. The dark shadow of leaves and branches spread across your face before your skin touched the sun once more. Heels clicking against the makeshift cobblestone trail you made your way towards the first signs of town. Grain fields on either side of you crawling with loud crickets and cicadas. A bright red farm house and a big rickety looking windmill turning at a decent pace.

You lived in the New World but from the looks of it most would’ve thought it was some unnamed island in one of the many blues. It had a noble city, up on the north end near the island's cliff edges. But you resided in the south, though unlike other low income areas across the sea yours was managing its own. Even if parts of it were…less than safe.

Bounding down the trail you kept your senses on high alert. Almost expecting some sort of uproar in the village or a huge explosion to send the ground trembling. That sense of danger and adrenaline sliding down your throat as you swallowed hard. A bit disappointed to find nothing.

People were walking through the relatively clean streets. Children running in groups and bumping into passersby’s. Stalls with shopkeepers smoking underneath their canopies. The rough scent of smoke was only a trace in the air as the hot grills cooked up an assortment of dishes. Each leaving a puff of steam huffing out and into the endless sky. Savory and spicy scents lapping at your nose as you briskly walked through the street.

You managed to weave through the crowd, watching peoples faces and almost hoping for them to be filled with some sort of surprise. Shock? Maybe even fear? Just something to indicate that this feeling, that was telling you something big was coming, wasn’t wrong. Grabbing onto the strap of your satchel slung around your shoulder a bit tighter.

Well…if it's not here yet. Then it must be coming soon. You thought trying to convince yourself this wasn't a waste of your day off. Just another measly attempt to make this life of yours interesting. You made quick work and slid into an alleyway. Taking the quick route towards the docks. By the first signs of seagulls flying high in the air you knew you were getting closer. Their annoying squawks followed by the sounds of thumping hammers from the shipyard.

You made your way down one of the few docks. They were old, green and rather damp at the bottom. Having been built before you were born so they’ve collected quite a lot of kelp and green slime. The top rows of wood creaked loudly as you walked across them but held strong regardless. Your eyes set on the ocean ahead before a voice stopped you.

“You come down ‘er to watch the sea again?” An old man, one you knew pretty well, popped his head out of his small fishing boat. Walking along its deck with a hammer in hand and looking down at you on the dock.

You halted and looked up at him, a distant but pleasant smile on your face. “I suppose. Got a feeling.” You mumbled to him, eyes drifting back to stare at the ocean. The sun was a lot lower than when you had last paid attention to it.

“Another one of those aye?” He said, almost with a bit of judgment but his tone immediately brightened up. “Well hopefully you’ll find what yer lookin for. Can’t have a young lass like you just sitting at the docks her whole life can I? Gonna get ya hypothermia doing that.”

You rolled your eyes a bit at that but he gave you a big smile. Though you could tell behind those fluffy eyebrows and small shadow of his hat he was worried about you. “I’ll be fine. I won’t get hypothermia or scurvy just sitting by the dock will I?” You said, cocking your head a bit and giving a little smile.

The old man gave a sweet little chuckle, his chest rumbling as he laughed. “Sure hope not.” He replied, wiping the tiny line of sweat across his brow.

You gripped your satchel strap a little tighter taking tiny steps forward. “Well I have a jacket and plenty of vitamin c so I’ll be off. Don’t go staring at me as I work. I don’t sketch well under pressure.”

The old man gave a fake little pout at that. “Not even a little peek? Ya know I love em. What you make.” You gave him a warm smile and waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Maybe when I’m done. But not now. Plus by the looks of it you have something to work on anyways. Keep slacking and I’m going to tell your boss.” You said with a bit of sass before briskly walking down the long dock and away from the small man's boat.

“Whaddya mean?! I am my own boss!” He yelled back at you giving yet another hearty laugh. That warm chuckle ringing in your ears but eventually faded off. Leaving you with nothing but the smooth rhythmic sounds of waves and the rather annoying seagulls.

This was something you did often so getting into the perfect position was almost as easy as breathing. The wood nearly carved into the shape of your rear right where you sat on the edge of the dock. You took your shoes off. Tucking the socks delicately inside each shoe so as to not lose them. Before letting your feet hang and sink into the deep and brimy water below. Cold spikes slamming up your legs from the sudden change in temperature. You’d hiss just a tiny bit to force your feet and calves to deal with it. Succumbing to the cold until finally it became more manageable.

Grabbing out the same sketchbook and pencil form before you propped it up on your lap. Taking one foot out of the water and placing it on the dock as you bend your knee. Making the perfect easel in your case.

As you chewed your lip you thought about what to sketch. You didn’t feel like continuing what you had already drawn. A new page for a new feeling felt better. So you just glanced down at the off-white page. Hoping and willing something would just pop out at you.

Eyes rolling up to land on the sea ahead you felt another breeze whip at your hair. Sure you spent almost every waking moment of your free time staring out at the sea. You had just come from another spot on the more secluded shoreline. But it seemed to you that you could never stop staring.

Drawn out whispers talking of a wide eyed girl staring longingly at the sea. Rumors that you had a lost love who floated away. Others thought you were yearning for a life out at sea. Or even just calling you airhead so lazy you’d rather just waste your time than use it. But none of that was true.

Because it wasn’t a lover you were waiting for. You never knew love. Or at least never dabbled in it despite your past yearnings. So being alone wasn’t a problem. It was all you knew. But at the same time a life at sea, though something you fantasized about, was not your reason for spending hours at shorelines.

You knew you would most likely get sick in a bad storm. Even the thought of trying to succumb to sleep whilst the ship thrashed was nauseating. You would probably get homesick or at least crave solid land. And…you were well…weak. Stronger naturally due to your more chubby and sturdy body. Taller than short women but shorter than very tall women. Yet nothing about you screamed prepared to put your life at stake. Which was exactly what the sea promised. It's a stakes game out there. You knew that.

And to be honest you enjoyed the simplicity of your life at times. The fact that you were safe, well fed, and had a roof over your head was a blessing. It’s much more than others who were from more impoverished islands could expect. You had the time to let your mind wander. The time to sit idly or explore. The quiet life filled with mostly solitude was a comfortable blanket you had sunk into a few years ago.

So people would whisper. Frankly, you didn’t give a shit. Let them believe you were sick for a lover that you’ve never had. Or that you were a lazy woman bound to live in her head rather than in her life.

You knew what you wanted.

Or at least you knew you wanted to want something and whatever that something is was out there.

An image randomly popped in your head. Making you tilt down to stare at your paper distantly as almost if you were drawn in by a trance.

A tulip. You thought, hand tightening around your pencil. I’ll draw a tulip.

__________

“What’s this island's name again?” Heat asked, hand absentmindedly tracing the scars running across his cheek.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Kid grumbled in response, his single flesh hand clenching the banister as he stood underneath Victoria's jaw. The helm clasped in Heats hand as he stared at the Captains back in front of him. That distinct red coat billowing in the breeze. The waves splashed up periodically giving the two of them a nice balmy spray.

Kid’s sharp eyes narrowed on the blurry and slightly indistinct line of the horizon. Knowing full well a small patch of an island would soon spring forth. A port for his men to take rest and restock the boat. A chance to breathe.

It had been only a week since Kid lost his arm. Ever since that day things were tense beyond belief. The crew was struck with perpetual fear and even anger. Kid was so reserved and distant he chose not to speak the moment he woke up on the medical table after it happened. Ever since then each response was short and harsh. As if he was forcing himself to talk.

Forced.

Kid thought. He wasn’t forced. By no means did he regret what he had done. He didn’t think he would lose. He was aware of the risk he was taking the moment he laid eyes on Ben Beckman. Willing to give an arm and leg just to take his dream by the balls.

And give a limb he did.

But it wasn’t exactly the phantom pain or the lack of a limb making everyday a harrowing experience. It wasn’t relearning how to do things on his own or feeling nearly hopeless holding his beloved tools now that his limb was gone. That he scolded himself for needing help. That the pain each day was something he’d grunt and deal with. What made everyday so perfectly harrowing was the way the crew viewed him.

Forced pity.

Was a better way to put it in Kid’s mind. Sure they cared. Sure they wanted Kid to feel better and get back up from this. But he was already up. In fact the second he woke up without a limb in his ship's medbay was the minute he got up. No qualms. No quarries. Just up and at ‘em. Another day to make his dream come true and nothing was stopping him.

Even if he suddenly didn’t have an arm.

But the pity felt grotesque. His swollen and bandaged stump was rugged with scars. Just a bleeding reminder of his own failure. He had spent every waking moment slaving away at a prosthetic arm. It was nearly done despite the many chairs and walls Kid had kicked in during the process. A permanent sheen of sweat lining his forward since the moment it happened.

His mind? Blanking it out. His body? Barely able to wake up in the morning.

This island would be the first island they docked on after the incident. Their ship in desperate need of supplies and more medical equipment. After reapplying countless bandages, gauze, and ointment for a week straight it seemed none was left for the other crew members.

So they needed this. Scratch that. KID needed this. To get away from his crew for a little while. To feel some solid ground underneath his feet.

Finally a small speck of something broke free from the horizon. Kid having stood there staring out onto the sea for a concerning amount of time. Almost lost in a trance that Heat was too afraid to break.

Kids' eyes narrowed once more. Taking in the small island from a distance and the smallest hint of relief washing over him.

He didn’t know exactly what would help to get over this but he knew whatever it was, was on that island.

A/N: I realize the reader character is a bit…wallflower like I suppose? Sorry if that’s not your cup of tea but I promise there’s more to her then meets the eye later on. The exposition of this story was really there to just let you understand her longing. Hope it worked and thank you for reading <3

#eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustasscaptainkid #one piece eustass #x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #kid pirates

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vibratingskull · 5 months ago

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Hello ☺️

I love your work, your stories. They are absolutely amazing. 🤍

Could I request a story with Samakro x reader (female)? Something about the way he falls in love with her.

Thank you my dear, have some Samakro the ride or die man ❤️

art by @jun-c

Samakro x F!reader

“You are a human, you are feeble, you are weak.” Samakro hisses.

“I am... not weak.” You respond back, completely out of breath, sweaty, and hands on your knees.

“You are weak. You cannot even last a training session.”

You straigthen your back and crack your neck, getting back into position.

“I am not weak!” You repeat with more force and anger in your human eyes.

“Prove it to me.”

You launch yourself on Samakro again, punching and kicking his gloved hands as he showed you too.

“Harder!” He orders.

You increase your strength, hitting away as hard as you can, as fast as possible.

“Keep going.” He demands, “Harder!”

You feel your lungs burning and your muscles screaming in pain. You are not used to such intensive exercises. You are a civilian, not a military member. But the rules are simple: adapt or get debarked on the first planet you come by.

You don’t know why Captain Thrawn is imposing such rules on you, but since they found you wounded and drifting in space he dictates your life and you have no choice but to abide by his rules. Mid-Captain Samakro is now your new tutor on the Springhawk, spying on what you do at all hours of the day and night. He is merciless, imposing the strict Chiss military lifestyle no matter how tired you appear.

“Again!” He hisses.

You give him two powerful punches and a spin kick right into the targets he’s holding. He seems taken aback for a split second before recovering his hard expression.

“Better. Give me more of that human.”

You throw your last strength into it until you hear the liberating timer.

“Time out.” Samakro announces to your relief.

You fall to your knees, drenched in sweat and without any more breath. You cough painfully, feeling on the verge of passing out after such intense exercises.

“Hey!” Samakro calls for you.

You raise your head towards him only to receive a towel in the face.

“Do not stop like that, it is recovery time. Go on the treadmill.”

You groan, painfully raising on your feet and leaving the ring to hop on the treadmill. You feel your pounding heart pumping blood furiously and painfully. You hold the two bars on the side so as not to fall as Samakro hops on the treadmill beside you.

“You did a good job today.” He lets you know after five full minutes of complete silence.

“Thank you, sir.” You nod.

“Do not forget to take out the electrodes and the monitor once you’re done.”

You nod again. You jump off the treadmill and take off the monitor's electrodes off your chest and stomach. You turn to Samakro for further instructions.

“You have the rest of your day.” He simply announces not even looking at you as he keeps walking on the mill.

“Oh... Thank you sir!” You answer joyfull and heads toward the communal showers.

Samakro keeps walking rapidly on the treadmill until he hears Thrawn’s steps pattern entering the gym of the Springhawk.

“What are the results today?” Captain Thrawn asks evenly.

“Let’s discover it.” Samakro responds.

The two men approach the laying monitor and plug it into a questis, running the data on the screen.

“This is her results on her first session and here is her progression’s curb.” He explains to his Captain.

Thrawn remains mute, observing the data on the screen, detailing every high and low, the picks and the depressions.

“Fascinating.” He finally lets out, “Almost the same as a Civilian Chiss curb.”

“Indeed, the results are uncanny.” Samakro adds, scrubbing his face with a towel.

“And what of her mental? Her dispositions?”

“She did not understand the necessity of the exercises at first, and I think she still does but she submits to it.”

“Do you push her to her limits?”

“Yes. She doesn’t like to be looked down upon, it gives good results.”

“Do not destroy her mentally. I have more tests to run on her.” Thrawn advises.

“I am careful, she seems to hold on well.”

Thrawn looks back at the results with interest in his inquisitive red eyes.

“Humans... Fascinating.”

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

Samakro silently looks at you over his questis. You are fully focused on your test on your own questis.

Obviously, you don’t know Cheuhn, but you are proficient in several trade languages and writing systems the Chiss use outside of their realm and displayed your polyglot talents early on. He concocted a series of tests to measure your mental plasticity and I.Q. And you’ve been going at it since 6 am.

Some maths and logic problems with dissertations in different languages, a philosophical question, and a moral dilemma.

It is actually an IQ test that the entire Springhawk crew had to take at some point in their career, he simply translated it into a trade language and script and took the liberty to take out the General Knowledge questions about Chiss culture and literature for obvious reasons.

He is already checking your responses from this morning, comparing them to the average Chiss responses.

Your I.Q. is average, nothing really special to note, but your way to the responses is truly... alien. You are coming from a completely different thought system and it shows, you are creative in your responses in a way that the Chiss test has difficulty measuring. Your responses to the philosophical and moral dilemmas are completely misaligned with Chiss values but are terribly interesting if they are standard for your human species.

When he thinks back Chiss and Humans used to trade and exchange millennia ago and everything stopped after the supernova explosions, erasing all hyperspace lanes of the Chaos and cutting all communications.

How did humans evolve deprived of the wisdom of the Chiss?

“Five minutes left.” He announces.

You grumble, taking your forehead in your hand, he can almost see the smoke of focus escaping your ears. He should compare your responses to the archives about humans they have, Captain Thrawn will also be interested.

Samakro wonders for a second what was his results for those tests, they never communicated them to the candidates. If he reached the rank of Captain it means he must have done good.

You would never reach the rank of Captain. You are not made for war, neither in body nor in mind. You would surely be a good historian or archivist, a scholar career where you classify data seems perfect for you.

But on a Chiss warship, you have little to no value. The only civilian job in it is caregiver for the skywalker and they surely won’t let an alien approach their precious little girl any time soon.

He keeps looking at you discreetly. He remembers lying to you, telling you that if you didn’t obey they would debark you on the first wild planet they found and leave you to die there.

Which is obviously false for several reasons. They are not barbaric monsters and mostly Captain Thrawn and the UAG are terribly interested in meeting a Human after so many millennia. All your test results are sent to the UAG for them to get a foretaste of what they will work on once they send you there.

But you refused to obey and sit down and he had to resort to menace to force you to submit. Are all humans that rebellious? Do you all have problems with authority? A Chiss would have never posed such problems...

If the current mission wasn’t capital for Chiss security, Thrawn would have ordered the Springhawk to go back to Csilla to offer you to the lab as his new catch. But fortunately for you, they must keep going, you escaped the rat lab existence.

But for this time only.

The scientists of the UAG are drooling at the idea of studying a human after so much time and they keep sending them new tests and procedures to experiment on you. Samakro doesn’t understand this fascination for aliens, for him they are all the same:

Not worth his time and attention.

But Thrawn thinks differently and locks himself with you in his office for long discussions every day. He is learning the maximum he can on this “new” species, evaluating the level of threat you will pose or not. He is less invasive in his questions and remains courteous with you but you shouldn’t get used to it.

“Time is over.” Samakro says.

You sigh and fall back in your chair with a defeated look. Visibly maths is a serious adversary for you.

“May I go now?” You ask, visibly tired.

“No. Remain.” He orders sternly.

He looks at your new results while you are forced to wait in silence. It is obviously another test, how well do you do when things don’t go your way?

He takes is sweet time comparing the results with the archive and while he isn’t a scientist something is very clear to him.

You’re going to be a problem. All humans will.

You are unruly and disorganized, messy and libertarian, prone to rebellion.

He hardly sees what good would come up for the Chiss to align themself with humans.

You’re just going to be a pain in more ways than one.

He now knows how humans evolved without Chiss’ wisdom...

“Senior Captain Samakro? (Y/n) (L/n)?” Thrawn enters the little conference room, “I need you.”

Samakro jumps on his feet, ready for action while you look put out, only wanting to enter your bed for a good night’s sleep.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Samakro inquires.

“We crossed paths with new aliens. I would like to have a word with them to test the water.”

Samakro frowns turning his head to give you a look.

“Is her presence necessary?” He asks in Cheuhn, earning a bad look from you.

“Indeed. She is more fluent in their language than I am and I would like to observe their reaction to a near-Chiss individual.” Thrawn responds in the same language, “Who knows, maybe humans already are in contact with this species.”

Samakro nods obediently.

“Follow us (F/n)” He orders you.

You sigh but obey.

“I need your talents in a specific language.” Thrawn lets you know in a trade language.

“Other humans?” You ask, accelerating your pace to place yourself next to Thrawn.

Samakro fights the urge to grab your shoulder and yank you backward. Nobody walks alongside a Captain, even his bodyguards remain two steps behind. But Thrawn doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

So Samakro remains silent but mentally adds “Impertinent” and “unable to follow protocols” to his list of cons about humans.

“Unfortunately no. A group of alien nomads of whom our archives are incomplete.”

“Nomad? Are they numerous in the region?” You inquire curious.

“Indeed there are a few clans. Most of them are bounty hunters and mercenaries, selling their services to the most generous.”

“Oh... I mean... Should I really be here?” You worry.

“Everything is going to be fine. I simply need you as a translator no harm will come to you.”

Samakro remains silent. A group of mercenaries with whom the alien they happened to have rescued and helped can speak with? The timing is a bit suspicious. He received the orders to tutor you but he also had to honor his duties as Mid-Captain, who knows how efficient the officers he gave you to were in their surveillance?

Did they invite a snake in?

Thrawn must also have these suspicions and take the opportunity to test you.

You all enter the new conference room where the Aliens are waiting. Samakro remembers reading some archives about them but they are quite obscure, but he remembers them being known to undergo heavy surgical operations to make their entire bodies a weapon.

And evidently, Thrawn lied to you. He mastered this language years ago, Samakro heard him use it so many times as he is himself quite fluent in this one. It allows them both to fact-check what you are translating to them and to the Aliens.

Hum...

Up until now, you have diligently reported the correct info, not trying to subtly twist Thrawn’s words or veil info from the aliens... But that is not enough to erase suspicion.

As for the aliens’ pretense as to why they are on Chiss territory, it is clearly a lie. Those have something behind their minds. Samakro subtly caresses his charric at his hips. They took out the Aliens’ weapon but something in his mind was telling him to be cautious.

“They ask if you could draw them a safe route for their travel. Their navigator died.” You explain.

Bullsh...

But Thrawn takes out his questis where a map of the Chaos appears. He hands it to Samakro to give it to the Aliens that are on the other side of the room, a long table separating them from the Chiss. Samakro takes it and heads toward the group.

Suddenly, when he is mid-way through and away from Thrawn the aliens jump on their feet with their hands in their mouths, dislocating their jaws in an impressive fashion, to take out hidden miniguns off their throats.

And fires.

And in a flash, it is over. When Samakro recovers his senses he has his fuming Charric pointed at the now-dead aliens, the questis now exploded on the floor.

A suicide commando. Surely the Grysks.

A good chance Samakro and Thrawn’s bodyguards are fast.

He spins towards Thrawn to see if he is all right. He discovers him kneeling with you in his arms.

“What happened?” He asks kneeling next to his superior.

You have been hit, the smell of burning flesh rising to Samakro’s nose. It is not pretty. They both lay you down on the ground, Thrawn taking his comm to call for the medics while Samakro applies pressure on your bleeding wound.

Warrior, if they lose the UAG’s new toy...

If they lose you...

“She took the fire for me.” Thrawn explains.

Samakro freeze.

You what?

He raises his eyes to his Captain, incredulous.

“An alien did that?”

“Apparently. Keep applying pressure Mid-Captain.”

Quickly the medics comes to take you away in the medbay, leaving Thrawn and Samakro to investigate the scene.

But Samakro’s mind keeps coming back to you.

Why did you do that?

It doesn’t make any sense.

Why would an alien risk its life to save somebody else? He wouldn't have taken a fire for an alien.

“Mid Captain, you are not listening.” Thrawn’s voice calls Samakro back to reality.

Samakro shakes himself.

“Sorry Sir, you were saying?”

Thrawn lets go of the alien’s shoulder he was holding to get a closer look at their face.

“Go to her.” He simply orders.

Samakro raises an eyebrow.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you are evidently disturbed and unfocused on your task.”

“I am mostly disturbed I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“You shot them. You did your job.”

“An alien had to protect you and this is a failure.”

This time it is Thrawn who raises an eyebrow.

“After all this time you are still calling her an ‘alien’?”

“This is what she is.” Samakro responds, not understanding his superior puzzled expression.

Thrawn tilts his head.

“Is she now?”

Samakro opens his mouth to close it back immediately. Where is Thrawn going with all of this?

“How curious... I thought your relation deepened after all this time.” Thrawn ponders.

“She hasn’t been here long.” Samakro argues.

“She has been with us for 8 months.” Thrawn informs him.

8 months?!

No.

Impossible. He feels like they discovered your ship three weeks ago, how has it been already 8 months?

Samakro remains mute in shock, taking the info in.

“Time flies in charming company, does it not?” Thrawn notes with a tight smile.

Samakro exhales though his nose. Ridicule!

Absolutely ri-di-cule!

“She is a task you gave me, nothing more.”

“I asked you to look over her not send me an extensive list of her food’s likes and dislikes.” Thrawn says almost mockingly.

Almost.

“I thought you would have appreciated to learn humans’ nutritional habits.” Samakro defends himself.

“I would have simply asked her, Mid-Captain.” The Captain tries to gently guide him to the obvious conclusion. “I also heard you kept deterring colleagues from her.”

“I was not going to let them defile themself with an alien sir!” Samakro explains like his outrage made sense.

“Why immediately assume they had a romantic or sexual interest in her?” Thrawn asks more and more amused.

This is a new side of his Mid-Captain he is discovering, and he is terribly curious.

“Because she....! Because...” Samakro tries again to justify himself only to have no sound arguments.

Indeed, why his first fear was that his Chiss colleagues would be interested in her? For what possible reason? Why did it displeased him so much he had to push everyone, male and female, away from you?

Samakro stretches his lips in a thin line at that bomb, trying to make sense of all the moments he had with you.

Could he...?

“Go see her Mid-Captain. I can investigate the scene by myself.” Thrawn finally says, turning his back to Samakro signaling him that his words are final.

Samakro bows and leaves the room.

He entered confident and exited it in shambles.

Obediently, he goes to you, trying to silence that little voice bugging his mind. Of course, he isn’t smitten! That’s ridiculous! What does Thrawn even know about love anyway?!

He enters the med bay ready to chastise you for merely existing and being in his way but he looses all of his energy seeing you in this state.

You are dressed in bandages, lying on a bed with a painful expression on your face.

Maybe... this is not the right time for chastising. Later. Yes... later.

Surely...

You wave at him forcing you to smile through the pain. He comes close, sitting on a stool next to you.

“Why?” He asks.

“Why what?”

“Why protect him? Why not let him die?”

You look at him confused.

“Isn’t it your job too to protect him? Why are you mad at me?”

“I am not mad. I am trying to ... Understand.”

You shrug like he isn’t making any sense. That’s the second person looking at him like that today and one was already enough...

“Do I truly need a reason to save someone in danger?” You ask him, genuinely confused.

“We are not the same species. You had no interest in protecting one of us.”

“I don’t need to be part of the same species to empathize. Captain Thrawn is an honorable man, it would pain me if he died.”

“Really? Would you have done the same for any of us?”

“Why not?”

“Even... me?”

“Yes. Every life deserves to be protected, alien or not. Do you not think the same?” You look at him with a clear gaze.

He purses his lips. No, he doesn’t think the same, he is a warrior, a cannot fodder meant to die in battle, Thrawn too.

But you’re a civilian.

You’re what they die for. So why put your own life on the line for them? The roles are reversed.

Does he have to add ‘selfless’ to his list of pros for humans now?

“We are soldiers. Dying is our job.”

“Your job is to protect, not die.” You counter with a soft voice.

“Easy for you to say.” He grumbles.

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it with a contrite smile.

“Yes, I would take a hit for you, Mid-Captain Samakor.” You repeat.

He snarls a scoff, incredulous.

Why would you do that? Since the first day he had the bad role, ordering you around, forcing you to obey him, imposing you a lifestyle different than yours, prevented you from forming meaningful relationships with others. He is a jailor, your torturer.

You must hate him. And he is fine with that, Thrawn ordered him to look over you and he will do it even if you despise him.

And then...

Your hand releases his to cup his cheek gently, inviting him to raise his head and look at you.

“Come on now. This is not you Mid-Captain Samkro.” This time your smile is wide and franck, “Where is your Chiss attitude?”

He can’t help but chuckle before quickly hidding his mouth.

“You call that an attitude? I call this honor.”

“Meh. I’m not big on the military things. Call it what you prefer.”

He should push your hand away, not tolerating a single act of promiscuity or even friendliness.

But he likes the warmth of your palm... It is incredibly soft and smooth.

When was the last caress he received, and when was the last tender act toward him? Long ago in his childhood.

Maybe he will not add “selfless” to the pros human list, but yours.

And this one is longer...

@bluechiss @Thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe

#samakro #samakro x reader #samakro x f!reader #ufsa'mak'ro #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn #fanfic #vibratingskull

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tequila-solar-storm · 2 months ago

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Natlan trio is soo wholesome!!! I find the idea of Mualani and Kinich dumping their grainfruit on Kachina's plate extremely hilarious HAHAHA

Speaking of Kachina I personally hc kinich being surprisingly good with kiddos. Just smth smth about how doting he is in the web event. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew how to knit. Seeing that the girls don't seem morning people I can picture kinich helping braiding their hair if he's around in the morning. Also his in game lines scream mom friend. Which is honestly adorable.

I too hc kinich as being affectionate in a quiet way but if he's directing his affection towards someone, there won't be room for doubts. Elder Leik as his father figure is absolutely canon in my heart and kinich being affectionate with him is such a sweet addition! I can definitely see it, kinich crashing at his house maybe helping with the cooking so they can enjoy a meal together. I am surprised there aren't actually fics about these 2 yet.

Also Leik knowing his son habits and just looking away is SO hilarious xD I wonder if he ever tried talking to Kinich about it and ultimately giving up (he doesn't need to know any details thank you very much)

Thank you author for answering had a blast reading your hcs!

—🌻

Kachina realising that she’s the real adult among the three:

Jokes aside, thank YOU for sending these lovely asks!! Answering them has been incredibly fun!!

Response under the cut! Spoilers for Kinich’s character stories + mention of ‘Kinich’s Deal’ from the Yupanqui's Turnfire Tribal Chronicles!

You’re so right about Kinich being the Mama of his group!! His relationship with the two especially so! Why stop at just braiding their hair? He’ll be helping them brush it too!

Since Kinich is canonically good at housework and other domestic jobs (Out of unfortunate necessity 😭), I won’t be surprised if he can knit as well! I can picture him knitting stuff for his friends, like new gloves for Kachina or a little pouch for Mualani! The possibilities are endless!

I do think he’ll be great with kids! Provided they’re not too intimidated by his seemingly cold demeanour + badmouthing from the adults HAHAHAHA Evidence of this is Huni and Toba, despite not having spoken to him before, calling him ‘big brother’ in CN! Which is super cute! Though it might just be a cultural thing, since Natlan in particular is pretty liberal with all their ‘big brothers/sisters’ and ‘aunts/uncles’ in CN. EN didn’t translate most of it over and I’m not sure about JP and KR…

With what he said to the Traveller at the end of the ‘Kinich’s Deal’ quest, it’s safe to say his affection for someone can’t be more obvious when it’s there!! He’ll definitely cook for Elder Leik, but looking at Kinich’s specialty dish, let’s just hope Leik can handle his spices! I definitely want to write something about Leik and Kinich in the future, but I’m drowning under a whole bunch of WIPs. So I think it’s best if I don’t start anything new until I’m done clearing through them HAHAHA

I don’t think Leik would feel the need to have ‘the talk’ with Kinich since Kinich is beyond mature for his age. He’ll probably just do the ‘ur an adult now so u make ur own decisions but remember to stay safe and yadayada’ song and dance but otherwise won’t bring it up. He’s covering his ears and closing his eyes at all the crazy rumours getting flung around. He doesn’t need to know. It doesn’t exist if he doesn’t perceive it HAHAHAHA

#got a drink?#🌻 anon #genshin #genshin impact #kinich genshin #genshin kinich #headcanon #headcanons

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

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🦐 to recognize my post

Am I the asshole for asking my grandmother if I can move in with her?

This’ll be one of your classic reddit-style family dramas, I think. Back in late 2019 just before COVID, I (freshly 18 at the time) had run away from home with my mom and moved in with my best friend (R, 17 in 2019) and her (60s, deeply depressed) dad. Her dad and I were on good terms for a long time, but respectfully, he has a tendency to repress any issues he has with someone until they build into a bigger issue. Near toward November of 2020, he kicked me out on account of ‘not keeping a job and not doing anything around the house’ (I washed stagnant dishes often, took care of their several animals, and took out trash whenever I could, R and I think he was projecting his shitty roommates from when he was 20 onto me), so I needed a new place to move.

My own beloved father lives ten hours away, and offered for me to live with him. For months, I was preparing to pick up my entire life from the hometown I had lived in since I was 2 years old to move to a new state, and in the last month, I got cold feet and said I couldn’t make such a large change like that. My dad completely understood, and I went to look for a new place to stay, still living with R and her dad at this time.

During this period, I was getting closer with my grandmother on my mom’s side again. She was one of the few family members I felt comfortable with, and we often went to Panera for lunch dates to catch up on things. I won’t go super deep into why I’m so anxious about the rest of the family, because that would require an entire several page google document to explain (especially now that we’re actively banned from holidays).

It was around this time I asked my grandmother if I could move into one of her five or six spare rooms upstairs. My grandfather had died in the last couple of months, and I was confident that if she needed any help (she’s in her mid eighties) moving things upstairs or cleaning the house, I would be beyond glad to do it for her. She then hesitated and said it may be a better idea for me to move in with my dad after all (which was odd, because she hates my dad’s guts, as does the rest of my family), and I let it go after that. I didn’t push, I would just need to find a new place.

Well, word got around, and she told my aunts and older cousins in passing. I don’t remember if I got sent anything in specific, but one of my aunts (mother’s older sister who I'm genuinely terrified of) absolutely fucking exploded on my (54 at the time) mom, giving her a several paragraph long shitstorm of a message saying she was a terrible mother for letting me take advantage of my grandmother, calling her horrible things, slurs, and insulting her wife, and it got back to me somehow. I was fucking shredded apart emotionally.

Since then, I have moved back in with my mother out of necessity and we have totally reconciled our relationship in the three or so years I’ve been home, and my entire mother’s side of the family- aside from my grandmother- has completely cut contact and don’t invite us to holidays anymore, for significantly more ridiculous reasons than me asking my grandmother what I did.

My mother’s side of the family ostracized her, myself, and my sister since my mother first married my dad 25ish years ago, and has just never treated her the same since, which explains some of the hostility (I want to specify, I’m confident that my mother did nothing outright wrong for this, my family is extremely far-right and EXTREMELY judgemental, and my mom bore unnecessary vitrol for everything she went through), but I need to know if I was actually the asshole for asking to move in with my grandmother, who even now still cares about me as family and lives alone. I could give less of a shit what my aunt thinks now (she lives an entire day’s drive away, in a different state as well), but I can’t help but shake the fear that I was actually taking advantage of her kindness or something of the sort. Was this a wrong thing to ask? Was this actually too much, and should I not have bothered?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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mcromwell · 10 months ago

Note

Ayo! New follower here. I love your art and your mind set of just messing around to make cool stuff. but I’ve also seen you love been to at least one convention (I didn’t scroll far enough to see more about conventions) and I wanted to ask. How you did it? I really enjoy making art and I would love to make it a career so this boils down to :

how did you do it? And how can I do it too?

not just like first steps but what happens after that? I’m young enough that if this doesn’t work out I have plenty of time to look into other careers before worrying about paying for rent or necessities with money from my future occupation. I know that everyone’s experience is different but I still hoping you can give me a somewhat clear answer.

thank you for inspiring me

(sorry this ask was so long)

Hello there! Thank you for your message.

These questions are large and hard to answer. Being more specific in your questions helps. "How I did it" is very... large in scope. That question could be answered just by saying, "I did it by never wanting anything else and never losing sight of my goal." But that doesn't help you much. So I'll just try to touch on some key points and contexts.

I'm 32. Only in the last couple years has my practice been enough to make a living doing it. I've always wanted this and literally everything I've done in my life has been to get here. I've worked two jobs my entire working life (age 19-now): retail/customer service and art stuff on the side. Because of the pandemic, I got double unemployment and stimulus checks, which became my initial investment into merch and savings safety net to get started. I started therapy to address my fears of asking for help, my negative self-talk, and catastrophic thinking. (Therapy has helped me with my art so much.) Then I was laid off for real in 2020 and hit the ground running with art. I split rent with roommates, I live very very cheaply, and art is my passion. If art for a living is what you want to do and you're happy to make lots of concessions to get it, this career works. It takes a while to get momentum and regular sales/attention-- just don't quit. The more stuff you do the more people will recognize you and like your work.

It would be dishonest to not address my privilege here, too. My parents have always emotionally supported my practice, my friends too, and I got to go to art school with no debt. I did outside of school art mentorships. My art education experiences taught me a lot of art techniques and self-employed skills and that only happened due to the support of my folks. I had resources a lot of people don't. (Which is why I want to help new artists learn this stuff as much as I can; not everyone is as lucky as I am.)

My advice for you if you want to do what I do, which is being self-employed making and selling art and art merchandise for a living:

Get used to making concessions right at first. Your art career will probably not start out gangbusters, so get used to low sales and saving money and working hard. Make things within your means and grow from there.

Fuck around and find out. Try making merch, try making videos, try things you see other artists doing, try everything and see if it works for how you like to make stuff. I learn so much from YouTube, to be totally honest. Artists are good sharers.

Follow a shit ton of artists and see what works for them. Join artist groups and ask thoughtful, specific questions to learn from those already doing it.

Learn how to write about your art. Write about why you make it. It helps make it more compelling to others. "How to Sell Your Art Online" by Cory Huff is a good book to read for tips on this.

Develop a healthy relationship with art-making. If you sit down at a blank page and it terrifies you: address that first. Don't try to start a business if you're still struggling with making art regularly.

In fact, don't start a business until you're really ready. Art comes first. You can easily do art and build skills and do commissions and run an online shop along with working a job that pays bills reliably while you grow into the artist you're meant to be.

Don't pigeon-hole yourself into only one channel: don't JUST apply to cons, try street fairs too. Don't JUST sell online, get your work into cafes as well. You'll see which routes are more profitable/worth the time as you try them out. Eggs in many baskets, you know.

There's probably a whole essay I could write on this. And you're right--mileage varies between person to person vastly. The part of the world you live in, your access to transportation, education, your mental health, what type of work you like to make, etc. Art careers almost never look the same 1:1 even in fandom spaces like furry/anime. If you're self-made, it will reflect that.

I recommend the YouTube channels Rafi Was Here, Robin Sealark, Cat Graffam, and the website The Abundant Artist (again by Cory Huff) for more resources.

Don't be afraid to take leaps of faith. Try everything. Be true to what works for you and what doesn't feel sustainable. Be authentic with your art and stay true to your interests. And good luck.

#art career #freelance artist #independent artist #art job #self employed #art

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marivoid · 6 months ago

Text

Another day in the G.U.I.D.E…

And I have some great news for once! Yesterday was my 17th birthday! Meaning I got to speak to our Admin about my job in the future. There are a lot of jobs to do in the G.U.I.D.E, I know, but I want to do something great! Something good for the people in the G.U.I.D.E! I’ll ask our Admin about becoming his apprentice! Maybe then I’ll be able to make our home even better for the future generations to come!

Yours Truly

MLW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day in the G.U.I.D.E

Coming at you with another update! I got to speak with him the day after I last wrote here and would you believe it! He needs an apprentice to take over when his time passes. And who better than the kid who has been helping around the G.U.I.D.E ever since he was a baby! I start my training tomorrow- Heck! He will even tell me what G.U.I.D.E means! Its not something that is taught during schooling because we need to be at least Green Names, but with this apprenticeship? I’ll be even higher than a Green Name! A purple name! One of the best ranks a G.U.I.D.E member could ever get their hands on! Of course I only want to use this position for good! I want to make this G.U.I.D.E better for everyone! Increase production of food and water, maybe expand our farms to allow for more cattle and slaughter animals- Heck! I may be able to speak to the Watchers themselves! Ask them to help us out! That is what they are meant to do as the founders of the G.U.I.D.Es!

I’ll update this as soon as I can.

Yours Truly

MLW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day in the G.U.I.D.E…

It has been one hell of a busy week! Our admin, TinFoilChef (TFC for short) showed me so many things that I had never thought possible! We have huge computers running the G.U.I.D.E and keeping up the production of our bare necessities- Oh! Right! G.U.I.D.Es! I know what the acronym stands for! It sounds a bit silly (And the way TFC explained it sounded even weirder) but it still is pretty cool!

Government

Units

In Case Of

DIsastrous

Events.

It sounds silly, huh? Government Units? What, was there some sort of world outside of the G.U.I.D.Es before my time? Psh, please! They would have taught us those sorts of things! The Watchers would want us to know absolutely everything we possibly could to better the G.U.I.D.Es! I mean, what would be the point in hiding that kind of information?

Anyways- Back to TFC! He’s absolutely amazing! He reminds me of my own grandfather. Kind heart, big beard, long white hair always pulled back in a bun or braid- He’s also really smart! He’s got this huge office filled to the brim with all these cool books and journals. When I asked him about it, he said I could read them in my free time when I was done with my daily training!

I’ve also been officially promoted to a Purple Name! I get to go practically anywhere in the G.U.I.D.E! And my friend, Scott, he gets to stick around with me! I think he really likes that I’m including him on my exploration of the G.U.I.D.Es. I mean, why wouldn’t I? He’s been my best friend for years now! I’m not about to leave him behind just because I’m a Purple Name!

That’s enough for one night. I really got to rest up or else I’ll be exhausted tomorrow- Not a good look for TFC’s apprentice to have bags under his eyes!

Yours Truly

MLW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day in the G.U.I.D.E.

Sorry it's been a month since I’ve last written here. I have been… Learning a lot of stuff. A lot more than what I thought was possible.

There is a whole world outside of the G.U.I.D.Es. A destroyed, broken, contaminated world that just wants to kill everyone- But a world nonetheless. A world that had people! It had buildings and farms and transportation, things we all have down here, but on a huge scale!

TFC is happy that I am willing to learn so much! He says he’s never seen a more eager student. But.. He said that I have to be careful with telling people this stuff. That it can overwhelm people in the G.U.I.D.Es and that we have to keep their faith in the Watchers- But surely he does not mean to hide it from Scott! There’s no way he could. I do not want to hide such knowledge from him. He is one of the only people I can truly trust!

I will have to speak to TFC in the morning about it. I… I need to have my best friend by my side. I don’t know what I’d do without Scott. Hell I don’t think I would be alive without him- Let alone be sane!

I’ll see what happens tomorrow.

Yours Truly

MLW

Another day in the G.U.I.D.E

TFC said to not let Scott know. That I have to hide this from him.

To lie to his face.

I don’t know what to say.

MLW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day in the G.U.I.D.E…

No. Fuck that.

Log 1

It has been exactly three months and twelve days since I have wrote a log. Training to become an Admin is difficult. There are so many things to learn, things that I must keep hidden away and tell nobody.

Scott noticed within the first week. And yet I cannot tell him the truth. I have to keep quiet. I cannot tell a single soul.

But his face… He knows I am lying to him. He looks so hurt every time I have to tell him that he can’t visit my quarters. That we cannot hang out because of my training. I… I missed his 17th birthday. I missed him getting assigned his job. I missed everything. What the fuck kind of shit friend misses a 17th birthday?

Me. I’m the shit friend.

Tonight I need to get to him. I need to tell him I’m sorry. I need to let him know what is going on. I can’t keep hiding this from Scott. If I am allowed to know about these kinds of things, then he should be allowed to know. Scott’s my best friend. I can’t imagine a world without him by my side and keeping me sane.

End Log - MLW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Log 2

He kissed me.

I don’t know what to think right now.

He’s sleeping in my bed right now as I write this. He seemed drunk off of something. We don’t have beer or alcohol down in the G.U.I.D.Es so it may just be his emotions? I don’t know.

At first Scott was so happy to see me! I managed to sit down with him, congratulate him on his new job and celebrate the way we were supposed to! We had the music blaring and even made a really shitty cake… And then the next thing I know he’s kissing me. I don’t think he meant it. Not with the way he jumped back and began to apologize over and over again. That was when he got really upset. Started crying and telling me how he missed us being together. Missed our late nights watching horrible G.U.I.D.E films and pretending to chart stars. How he hated seeing me turning my back to him and hiding everything from him.

I can’t say I don’t feel the same. I miss those dumb activities and laughing our asses off until five am… By the Watchers what am I getting myself into? Do I chase this? Let that little moment become more? I wouldn’t… I don’t think I would be entirely against that idea. He’s my best friend! Would allowing us to be more really be all that bad?

What would TFC think? Would he be proud of me? He said to keep this information close to my chest but Scott is close to my chest! He’s got a spot in my heart that I can’t ever get rid of.

I just have to hope TFC will understand in the morning… But right now, I have a bed to get back to. And a friend I need to be with.

Maybe something more than a friend. Who knows?

I’ll update in the morning.

End Log - MLW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Log 3

He’s gone.

Scott is missing.

He left.

TFC won’t look me in the eye.

What have I done?

End Log - MLW

#hermitblr #hermitcraft #the crash #the void speaks #hermitaday #tinfoilchef #tfc hermitcraft #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #smajor1995 #mcyt #martyn itlw #martyn inthelittlewood

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shai-manahan · 8 months ago

Text

Hi! It's been a while since I've talked about the upcoming updates, but I finally had a chance to actually sit down and make plans! (the life of a corporate slave, am I right? 🙃)

It has something to do with the changes I will be implementing on my patreon, though. I've thought for a while how to give content that's worthwhile of subscriptions while also making sure I can be comfortable with them, and in all honesty, I had a tricky time doing it. HM is too personal for me, as I used to talk about before, and some of the patreon benefits I promised before eventually felt too revealing - of my own thoughts and people whose lives were a huge inspiration for this story.

I will be talking about these changes and the update schedules as well below the cut.

UPDATES

I aim to finish at least half of HM's Book 1 this year. It seems to be a more realistic goal than forcing myself to finish everything right away (which tbh may have been a huge pressure I put on myself the past few years), though admittedly, things are unpredictable in the field I'm in; my job is full of overtime hours, and I spend most of my weekends trying to recover (or sick).

Still, I gotta finish it one way or another, and it's not going to write itself (though I wish it would!), so yeah, set realistic deadlines, pull out a few all-nighters, and maybe I'll actually get through it, who knows?

I do hope I'll have steadier finances by the time Book 2 starts so I can put more focus on writing and have sufficient energy for it, but that's a conversation for another day.

Changes in Prologue - Chapter 2

Okay. I know I promised not to make revisions until I write more chapters, but changing how some game mechanics work and reworking the stats made it a necessity, and I underestimated how much rewriting I'd have to do. A few scenes ended up not working well anymore, and I couldn't resist from revising a few clunky sections while I was at it.

Dialogue options were one of those that were significantly affected by the stat changes, but no worries, nothing is changed in the story -- meaning Wesley still fucks with the Ripper's life (oops), Richard still goes off doing whatever non-sus thing he's doing, you can still punch Bale (it's even a lot funnier this time), Bertrand remains a bitchy cop, and you'll still have your sad flashback with your former best friend/lover/crush or whatever they are to your MC.

The plan is to release the updated version of Prologue and Chapter 1 to patrons by the end of March (I will have a few days off work that week) and release it to the public once the new content is also ready, which I presume will be available next month (I will keep you all posted but I really hope I can get it done by then because it's been forever 🥲).

I might tweak Chapter 2 a little so the available portion can stand on its own rather than be divided into two parts, because it's just too long lmfao and is harming the pacing as I keep worrying about the length. I'm also incorporating a few suggestions a few folks gave me these past few months.

Succeeding chapters

I've probably said this before but things are bound to get more insane in HM once we're past the first three to four chapters. But also quicker to write in a way. They're the kind of scenes I thrive in, and while they have bigger variations, they're a lot more fast-paced, characters start being manipulative little shits, and the threats are more prevalent than ever. Your Ripper will not have a good time, but I certainly will (I say as I look at my outline and get sad doing it). There will be a few "breaks" in between, but this is not and will never be a light-hearted story. Anyway, I'm inclined to believe I'll be more consistent with updates when that time comes, so bear with me for now :')

PATREON CHANGES

This is getting long, so I'll just list the updated tier benefits and end the day with it. I'll be posting a schedule that I will be committing to (here and on patreon tomorrow morning), with the below details as well (so if you wanna stop here that's totally valid) but for now, here's the tentative list:

Tier 1

Early access - 4 days before a public update (this month will be an exception and you'll get the update as soon as the other tiers get it, too).

Sneak peeks and deleted scenes - I included the latter because apparently I delete a lot of great scenes

Hints for future revelations in the story - the categories will depend on results of polls; the hints may be about Bale's death, about Ripper's family, Pharos, Cyro, the ROs themselves, or the nightmares that the MC is getting, etc. Might be in form of vague conversations/dialogues between unknown characters, might be me dropping subtle info about those involved. Either way, it will be fun :). The polls and these hints will be given monthly.

Tier 2

Early access - 1 week before a public update

all the other benefits for Tier 1

monthly RO snippets - I'm still experimenting with this, but I might simply write MC x RO snippets (with different kinds of MCs for different scenarios because I deeply hate writing blank slate MCs, sorry)

a choice to see the POV of a character, decided through polls, for every chapter/update.

Tier 3

Early access - as early as it's available and goes through testing stages

all other benefits for previous tiers

Non-RO short stories

Previews on unintroduced characters :)

That's all for tonight! I am so tired lmfao but I hope you all are having a great weekend so far! See you tomorrow :)

#patreon #patreon changes #updates #hollowed minds progress update #interactive fiction #hollowed minds series #hollowed minds #wip #writing #hollowed minds book one #if wip #interactive novel

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queen-of-deans-booty · 1 month ago

Text

Dark Dynasty: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, explicit murder scene

Summary: Rowena and Charlie work tirelessly to decode Nadia's codex to get the cure for the Mark. Meanwhile, you've stopped looking for your kids because you have a new agenda. Sam and Dean can't decode the book without Charlie. Kill their nerd kills all chance of getting that cure.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

Justin told you he got one of the Styne's numbers and handed it over to you immediately. He went back to looking for your kids while you set up a meeting with one of them. You're sitting inside a restaurant in the back waiting for one of them to arrive. A single man walks in and sits directly across from you in the booth.

"Scarlet Witch."

"Styne. I'm assuming you're not here alone?"

"Call me Eldon, and you'd be right to assume. Are you here alone?"

"I am. Don't try anything. You know I'd kill you in a second if you do."

"I'm not here to do anything. I'm here to talk."

"So talk." You shrug out of your jacket and Eldon notices the Mark on your collarbone. He chuckles at the irony of the situation. "What?"

"I see you have the Mark of Cain. My sympathies. I get now why you want the book. You want to remove it."

"Quite the opposite. The only reason I want the book is so I can tap into its power. The problem we have--yes, I used we--is that the Winchesters are hell-bent on getting this thing off me. They don't want you to have the book because it's their mission in life to put guys like you out of business."

"Let me tell you something about my family's business. My family is spread out all over the world, and that power that you mentioned doesn't come from the book. It comes from intelligence and will. The book facilitates. Stock market dive, recession, 9/11... Does any of them ring a bell?"

"Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

"Well, you got to be in it to win it. You see, chaos breeds fear. Fear breeds panic, and panic breeds desperation, and there's always profit to be made from desperation. Since we've been in the fix-it business for a thousand years, business has never been better. Now, for the last eighty years, we haven't had the book. With the book, we're unstoppable."

"I like what I'm hearing so far. I'm a bit of a junkie when it comes to chaos and fear. So, answer me this. Why did you take that poor girl's eyes when you killed her? Yes, I make it a habit to know everyone's business, especially when people like to keep things from me."

"Yes, that whole situation was unfortunate. We normally never leave a body when we harvest."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a family specialty. Bioengineering. Surgical enhancement. I'm not talking about nose jobs. See?" He leans back and lifts his shirt to show off his long vertical nasty scar. " I have two hearts in here and a bunch of extra muscle, especially in the legs. Every man in the family has a little something. Pretty much what you'd expect, though, given the family tree."

"The Stynes?"

"The real family tree. The name was altered out of necessity. You have chanced upon a lineage with a long and proud tradition and some unwanted notoriety. One of Europe's oldest families. The House of Frankenstein."

"You're saying Frankenstein is real and not just a bedtime story?"

"Yes. Unluckily for us, we had a family friend named Mary Shelly who spent a few nights in Castle Frankenstein, stumbled upon our secrets, and forced us to change our name and go underground."

"Why didn't Shelley go public?"

"She did. She wrote a book. It doesn't get more public than that. Doesn't matter because no one believed it just like no one is going to believe you."

"That's funny you think I actually care enough to spread your family secret around town."

"Which brings us to why I agreed to meet you here."

"Yes." You pull your shirt down enough to show off the Mark. "See this? This connects me to the book. I can feel like it like it's pulling me toward it even if it is hidden away. I bet you'd like something like that on your team."

"What do you want? Help like that doesn't come free."

"Smart boy. See, Eldon, I like this Mark. I want to keep it. They want it gone. You want the book. If I help you get the book, you take it as far away from them as possible. Let me indulge in the chaos you bring every once in a while. Magic like mine doesn't come easy but it does come in handy. So? What do you say?"

He reaches across the table with his hand out. You shake it.

"Deal."

Instead of bringing Charlie to another place, he decides it's best if Rowena spends some time in another room. He unchains her from the wooden posts and drags her away from Charlie.

"Alone time? Why does she need alone time? Bit of a Prima Donna, if you ask me." Sam takes her to another room and chains her to the wall, locking it so she can't go anywhere. "The girl is simply out of her league. Without me, the work grinds to a halt."

"Rowena. She needs quiet. She's under a lot of pressure, and it doesn't help that she feels like she's betraying her friend. That and if she doesn't get this, Y/N will literally kill her."

"Ohh. Betrayal. She'll get over it. Once she has children of her own, she'll know all about betrayal."

Sam rolls his eyes and leaves her alone in the room only to find Charlie gone along with all of her things.

"Shit," he mumbles.

The church isn't that big so it doesn't take a genius to figure out she left. He takes out his phone and texts Dean about it.

Charlie left. I don't know where she is. I'll find her.

You look at your phone with a smirk once the text comes through. Charlie's out on a limb, huh? The only way the book is going to be decoded is with her. Rowena can try all she wants but Charlie is smarter. Without her, the book won't get decoded. No decode means no cure. If you can't kill the book, kill their nerd. Eldon's phone rings and he answers it with a sigh.

"I know where she is. Now, I can take care of it for you, if you want. It'd be my pleasure."

"No. I need to handle this. Give me the location."

You snatch the phone from Eldon and place it to your ear.

"Scarlet Witch here. You want the book? I'm actually on my way right now to get it for Eldon. You really need to give him a pay raise because he recruited me. Don't worry, you'll get your book. Eldon knows my terms."

"Don't you want the location?"

"Honey, I'm a witch with the Mark. I'll find it. Thanks." You hang up and toss the phone at Eldon. "Come on, I know where the book is."

Eldon drives while you tell him where to go. The book isn't with Charlie but Eldon's friend so kindly text him the address of where she's staying at. Blackbird Motel. Such a silly girl leaving like that when she knows you're after her. Eldon parks and you two get out. You're here for one thing and one thing only. Eldon will look for the book that won't be inside while you deal with Charlie. You walk closer to the door and knock on it.

"Come on, come out, wherever you are, Charlie." When she doesn't answer, you pound your fist against the door. "Charlie! I know you're in there. You know I can get inside. Play nice, will you? Hand over the book."

You hear a door slam which means she's either in the closet or the bathroom. Not many places you can hide in a one-bedroom motel room.

"What do you want to do?" Eldon asks.

"You can go look for the book. She's mine. You're not going to lay a finger on her, okay?"

"No problem."

You use your magic to blast the door in and Charlie jumps in fear. She can feel it. She knows she won't live to see the sunrise. She hates that it has to come to this but she will make sure her last thing on this Earth is to get you back to normal. She fumbles with her phone and calls Sam.

"Charlie, where are you?" Sam answers.

"The Blackbird Motel," she stutters. "Sam, Y/N is here with someone. They think I have the book."

"If you have the book, give it to them."

"No, I don't have it. I have my notes."

Charlie uploads everything she has onto a single file. She looks at the closed bathroom door and waits for it to upload.

"Them give them your notes, Charlie! Give them whatever they want!"

"I can't do that, Dean. She's gonna kill me," she cries. "I know she will. You guys need to promise me something. When you get her back, tell her I forgive her and that this wasn't her fault, okay? I need her to know that I don't blame her."

As soon as the file is downloaded, she sends everything to Sam's email. When she confirms the email has been sent, she takes the iPad and smashes it on the corner of the bathroom sink so no one can get to it. The bathroom door opens and you stand there with a smile on your face.

"Hi, Charlie." You use your magic and fling her phone into the wall, shattering it and ending the call to the Winchesters. "You've been a pain in my ass, haven't you?"

"You're not going to win this one."

"Maybe not but you're sure as hell not going to be around to see it, will you?"

She grabs a knife and holds it out to you but you don't make a move against her. You walk over to the toilet and sit down while keeping an eye on her.

"It's not here, Y/N!" Eldon says.

"Keep looking for it! It's here somewhere," you lie. "Nice knife you got there. Do you know what I want you to do with it? I want you to stab yourself in the leg." Your eyes shine red as does hers. "Now."

Charlie cries but she has no choice in the matter. She turns the knife slowly on herself as she tries to resist your mind compulsion. She stabs the knife into her right thigh and cries out in pain. She falls into the shower, taking the damn curtains down with her.

"Do it again," you say and cross your legs.

She does and she cries more from the pain. "I forgive you, Y/N. Just know I don't blame you."

"That's a nice sentiment. Really. Again."

She brings the knife down on her a third time. Snot comes out of her nose this time and she tries sniffling it back up but to no avail.

"When the Winchesters find your body, I want them to know just how hard you didn't fight me. You're pathetic, Charlie. This time, I want you to stab yourself in the gut. Really go slow so you can feel every inch of the blade."

Charlie yanks the blade out of her leg and positions it at her stomach. She drives the blade in slowly, and you smile at her screams. Blood is everywhere in the bathroom, all of it Charlie's. She isn't going to last long if you continue this so you stand up and walk over to the tub.

"Now I want you to take that blade and run it across your throat. Ear to ear, and as you're dying, I want you to know how much of a failure you are. Hell's gonna be pretty hot when you get there so make sure to bundle up nice and tight. Say hi to Mommy and Daddy for me, yeah?"

Charlie looks at you dead in the eyes as she slices her neck from ear to ear. She's dead within seconds. You walk into the main room and grab a sticky note from the bedside table. You write a little note and paste it on the shower wall right above Charlie's body.

"It's not here," Eldon says. "I tore this place apart."

"I guess it was never here to begin with. Oh well, I'm sure you'll find it some other time."

You leave the motel room with a smirk. Sam and Dean show up ten minutes after you and Eldon have left the place. They see the toppled furniture and broken vases. Sam rushes to the bathroom and stops short when he sees the mess you left behind.

"Oh, God," Sam gasps. "Charlie."

Dean rushes over and stops in the doorway when he sees Charlie lying in the bathtub with her throat slashed, a stab wound on her abdomen, and three stab wounds on her thigh.

"Charlie?" he whispers.

"What's that?" Sam asks and points to the note. Dean can't move an inch so Sam steps around him and tries not to look at Charlie. He grabs the note and reads it. "It's from Y/N."

You should have listened.

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usmsgutterson · 3 months ago

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Achilles Heel - Givenson

okay!! I posted an excerpt from this initially more than a week ago now and it's just evolved ever since. I was gunning for angst and landed somewhere in hurt/comfortville instead but I'm happy with that so I'm posting this!

Fic type - the tone of this one is kind of hard to explain--it's like if angst and comfort had a child of neutrality

Warnings - there's a couple things--alcoholism and it's adverse affects are discussed a bit (for context, heart attacks, seizing and liver failure are mentioned, with heart attacks being a focal point in every single chapter of this fic and also just generally) and Tims time in the military is discussed at least a little. There's one offhanded mention of a psychotic break, and cigarettes and smoking are also semi-present in this chapter and will make a few minor reappearances throughout the fic in it's entire. This bad boy is also really long (with a word count of a bit more than 5k for this chapter and a minimum of such in the other chapters as well.

When Tim hears the words: "I never woulda pegged you for a smoker. When'd you start?" it's 7:30 am on a morning in early October. Kentucky is falling into autumn while simultaneously riding out the last coattails of summer, and he's sitting in a coffee shop parking lot with fifteen minutes to go until Rachel wants him in the office on a new case.

He recognizes the voice instantaneously without meaning to, but—how could he ever forget that voice, really? Even a little more than a decade gone by, that voice is one of the most distinctive voices Tim has ever heard.

"When the fuck did you get into Lexington?" he asks a Raylan that is eleven years older than he was when he left. His hair is a lot lighter than the medium-dark brown Tim remembers, and the beard he's sporting is a shade of grey that looks almost white, but he looks good. Too fucking good for a guy of 56. He asks the question while he taps out the last of his cigarette, takes the last drag of it before flicking it off into the nearest empty parking spot with a nature so careless it almost seems natural instead of practised.

The remark makes Raylan laugh. "Last night," he says. "Rachel wanted me in nice and early. I’ve never much made a habit of waking up before even the sun, but—”

"She's Rachel," Tim nods. He's worked with her since he started with the Marshals. They've been working together for a whopping sixteen years now, and Tim loves her more with every day that passes. She’s like a sister to him at this point, which does come with working with someone for more than two thousand days, but she knows him as well as Art does and she's always just been innately good at her job and easy to work with. Letting her in was easy and he's not lived to regret it yet, doubts that he ever will. “I get it.”

He remembers, and does not miss, the early mornings that came with being the office newbie, but he’s been a chronic morning person since he first got out of ranger school. The only beef he has with early mornings in correlation to his work is that he doesn’t really have time to go for a run, unless he plans on skipping breakfast or waking up earlier.

He’s up for six thirty, has been every single day since ranger school, no matter how much or how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, and he usually just goes for his runs in what he sleeps in—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that’s not usually more than a size or two too big. He runs for five or so miles in the usual half an hour-ish it takes and then runs back from whence he came, showers, gets dressed, has coffee and a decent breakfast in him by the time he’s leaving the house at 8:30 so he can start for close to nine.

He’s been up since 4:30 on the dot today, though, and the coffee is such a necessity that it hurts somewhere deep in his chest, although coffee has tended to bring out chest pain lately anyway.

“You doin’ all right?” Raylan asks. “You’re lookin’ a bit faint there. Late night?”

A smirk crosses Tims face in the last half a second before memories of one of the only gay bars in the area and a guy that looked like Raylan but was so painfully mediocre flash across his minds eye.

“Somethin’ t’ that effect, sure,” Tim shrugs. It hadn’t been a late night, per se.

He’d gone to the bar after getting off work at nine even though he’s spent the last six weeks sober as a nun. He had a few cokes and a club soda and eventually softened up enough to let a Raylan lookalike by the name of Mitchell flirt his way into getting Tim to agree to going back to his place. A tad more of the flirting and some off-kilter sex that just left Tim wanting later, it was 4:30 and Tim was waking up after having slept only three hours because he can’t--won’t--let himself let anyone else in, and especially not someone who could, rather convincingly, play Raylan in the lifetime movie about his existence.

He slipped out of Mitchells apartment without leaving his number, or his real name—he'd told Mitchell his name was Justin, for anonymities sake, if his stone cold sober memory serves him right—or much of an otherwise trace behind. He went home, changed out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn to Mitchells place and into a pair of loose fitting gray sweats and a black long sleeved shirt before making himself his first coffee of the day and going for his run.

The run that usually lasted an hour both ways ended up lasting him an hour and a half—he loved to run to clear his head and he ran an extra mile and a half before turning around and running the same distance back home. He made it home for six thirty, took his time with his shower and decided to treat himself to his second coffee from the coffee spot he liked that was close to the office both because he needed more caffeine and because their bagels were cheap but still delicious.

“Never thought you the type,” Raylan says. “I mean—”

“it’s been over a decade,” Tim nods. “You probably don’t know me as well as you used to anymore.”

The only person who he will ever let know him as deeply as he can be known is dead. He died when Colton Rhodes pulled the trigger, and the one person who got as close as Mark did was never meant to have gotten that close to begin with.

Tims words seem to touch a nerve, almost, but Tim decides to be nonchalant. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the parking lot through the front of his car.

“I hate it, but you’re right,” Raylan laughs. “Sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”

Tim looks at Raylan—really looks at him, studies him like he used to study his targets whenever he had an assignment, and sees what appears to be anguish masked poorly by indifference, covered up with a laugh so false that it almost feels like a bullet to the gut.

“So am I,” Tim says. “How’ve you been? Hows Miami?”

“Its Miami,” Raylan shrugs.

“You and Winona work out?” It’s more of a sore spot than Tim would care to admit on an ordinary day, but Raylan Givens is in Lexington. This day is not ordinary.

Raylan laughs nervously. “You were a sniper in the rangers,” he says. “Tact should be a talent of yours.”

“It is,” Tim shrugs easily, grins just a tad. “Just not with you.”

“Well to answer your question, no,” Raylan says it like it doesn’t hurt him to admit, but Tim knows that it bruises his ego just enough to make him close to humble. “What about you? Any prospects?”

“Never,” Tim says. “I’m not really one for relationships. They never work out.”

“They do on occasion,” Raylan rebuts.

“Did becoming a father make you inherently more optimistic or just inherently more stupid?” Tim asks, the sarcasm dripping in his tone in such a way that allows the question to seem like sarcasm was the whole intent of the question, rather than for it to be an insult, which Tim knows it is somewhere deep.

“Ah,” Raylan sighs easily, smirking that smirk that Tim will never cease to find incredibly difficult to even so much as mildly disdain, let alone hate. “You’re still an asshole? Oh, some things just never change much, do they?”

Tim flexes his hands to stop himself from reaching for his pack of Marlboros and his lighter.

He checks his watch, takes another sip of his coffee. “See you at the office, dipshit,” he says. He hears Raylans laugh as he pulls out of his spot and drives away, needing to breathe the air he’s had more than a decade to get used to—air absent of Raylans presence.

He gets to the office a whopping total of two minutes earlier than necessary, heads straight for Rachels office.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Boyd Crowder has escaped the lovely Harlan County Penitentiary and we’re charged with finding him?”

“Precisely,” Rachel says, heaving in a sigh. “Only if he comes down this way, though, which he might if he thinks Ava is still here.”

“Why the fuck would he ever--” Tim starts, pausing to think and just long enough to enter her office fully, shut the door and sit down on the couch across from her desk “It’s Boyd. Even if he’s smarter than to think she’d ever come back ‘round these parts as a goddamned fugitive, he’s at least considered the possibility.”

Rachel smiles, tight lipped, professional but just a touch sarcastic, like always. “I like it when you use that brain of yours to actually think,” she says. “You’re on the lead, Raylans takin’ second.”

Tim can’t help his facial expression—he and Rachel have worked together for a decade and a half now, with Tim having joined the service when he was almost thirty and her having been in the service for fourteen years by the time he was joining. He doesn’t try to hide the mild discomfort he feels at the thought of taking lead or working with Raylan again and she, in turn, has the decency not to stifle her sarcastic chuckle or soften the hardened glare that she sports in his direction for the following fifteen seconds.

“I know you don’t wanna do this,” she says. “I dunno which part you hate more—takin' lead on this case or workin’ with Raylan again, but c’est la vie, Tim.”

Tim shrugs, defensive air coming to him before he can stop it. “I don’t hate takin’ lead on a case,” he says. “Actually--I love it. If you want to put me on lead for the next several task forces we have to pull out of our asses, be my motherfuckin’ guest, I just don’t understand why you’d make me lead and Raylan second when Raylan is the one who knows Boyd the best out of just about anyone in Kentucky.”

He and Boyd have had a limited number of interactions, all things considered—the time where Boyd used Tim and Rachel to save his own ass and then shot a gun while his hands were cuffed behind his back, as well as the time Tim played Scrabble against him and was about five minutes out from losing when Raylan walked back in are the first of their interactions to come to mind—and it makes very little sense to have him on lead when Raylan and his “we dug coal together” shtick know Boyd better than Tim ever wants to.

“I was given a very strong suggestion not to make Raylan lead,” Rachel shrugs. “Manpower in Miami is stretched so thin that losing Raylan to this taskforce is the Miami equivalent of losing 1/3rd of their damn population, apparently. Dan was hesitant to send him down here and doesn’t want him gone longer than a month or two.”

Tim shrugs. “Boyd is a hell of a lot smarter than to risk his own skin comin’ down here, even if he thinks Ava’s somehow holed up here without gettin’ caught,” he says. “Ava is smarter than to come down here, too. She wouldn’t risk it, I don’t think. Too afraid Boyd’d come lookin’ to bother.”

“You might actually be right on that front,” she says. “I hope you are. You remember how much of a damn fuss those two kicked up back in the day?”

It’s not often that Tim reminisces—he hates thinking about the past that is riddled so much with Raylan and Mark that it can induce a hangover unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even absent of booze—but he lets himself reminisce a little bit. The Boyd Crowder case had been a long time coming by the time they finally put Boyd away and Raylan didn’t have a means of screwing it up.

He and Rachel have been getting along like a house on fire since they started working together, back when Art would pair the two of them up before Raylan had even come around, but their bond had strengthened throughout the six years that Raylan and his reign of terror masqueraded about Kentucky. It’s easy to let her see bits and pieces of who he is because she is the closest thing that Tim has to family worth their salt.

“I do,” he says. “Damn it—the Crowders and associates and the fuckin’ Bennett clan. Part of me yearns for those days on occasion.”

Rachels lips upturn in a reminiscent smile. “What, you miss when they were shootin’ people left’n right? I don’t.”

“I miss being busy all the damn time,” he confesses. “Our criminals nowadays ain’t like they were back with the turn of the 2010s.”

“You’re sayin’ you want a Boyd Crowder wannabe runnin’ around Harlan like he owns it?”

Tim shrugs. “This Boyd Crowder wannabe had better be more efficient at blowin’ shit up than Boyd was,” he says. “Or at least do it more often. I miss bein’ so busy it was hard to sleep at night, mostly, but bickering with Boyd was entertaining on the rare chance he wasn’t directing all of his verboseness at Raylan.”

Rachel laughs, dry and easy. “You’re so lucky I love you enough not to transfer you down to Arlington,” she says. “I don’t blame you for it—we had very different versions of Boyd Crowders heyday, but I miss it on occasion too. Mostly late at night, after a few too many.”

Tim knows the six years they had with Raylan were vastly different—Tim was drinking his liver into a premature death every night, going to see Dave Alvin with dates or guys from his military days who’d turned into such, then later fucking around with Mark and Raylan and knowing full well his heart would probably not make it through the ordeal.

Rachel was repeatedly hurt—first her ex brother in law turned into a fugitive and had to be arrested while in a pizza joint, then her marriage fell apart and she had to keep it together without losing her entire goddamned mind just so that Art wouldn’t walk back his decision with regards to having her be the chief once he retired, and in between that whole mess, Boyd Crowder and those he kept in his employ or worked with shot at her repeatedly. Even if they missed, being shot at still fuckin’ sucks.

“Yeah?” Tim laughs. “I thought since you became the chief, you’d be like all chiefs before. Take up a taste for Pappy Van Winkle.”

“I’ll take my fridge cold Modelo over Pappy, thank you,” she says. “Time check?”

Tim glances up at the clock, high up on the wall behind Rachel. “Time check says quarter to eight,” he says. “You see Raylan?”

“Late, as usual,” she laughs. “Missed him, but I didn’t miss that. Assuming we’ve got at least two more minutes til he graces us with his presence, if you don’t tell me you’ve been to the VFW this week, I will use my gun and shoot you my-fuckin'-self, right here in this office.”

Tim hasn’t been in a few weeks if not a full month, but Rachel, decidedly, does not need to know that. He nods.

“I’ve gone twice a week since the incident,” he says. “Meet with a therapist every Wednesday and Friday.”

“Good,” she nods. Tim fights a sigh of relief when he finds she believes him, that she doesn’t see through the lie that several of his buddies from his ranger days would see right through in maybe half a second. “You scared the shit out me, you know that? I don’t want that happening again.”

Tims lips form a line before he can stop himself. “I’ll do my best.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not a lick,” Tim says. That, at least, is the truth. “Not since the incident. Too scared to drink after that.”

“Is the booze still in your fridge?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t see the point in dumping it—one day, be it in that week or that month or in the next few months, he won’t be so scared to touch the booze and even if it means going all in right out the gate, it’s an odd little creature comfort that he’s not ready to let go of yet.

“Tim,” Rachel says, tone authoritative and well meaning. She’s weirdly good at it—finding the balance been friend and boss. Tim finds it admirable. “You gotta do somethin’ with it before it expires—don't you dare drink, though.”

“I’ll dump it one of these days,” he says. “Just--not yet.”

“I know you well enough to know you’re not lyin’ to me,” she says. “The minute you start, though? And the minute I sniff it out? You’re going on a leave of absence and you ain’t comin’ back til you’re stone cold sober. I liked you as you were back when Boyd was in the shit with the heroin and the Dixie mafia, but I like you not drunk off your ass or hungover a hell of a lot more than I liked the version of you that drank every fuckin’ night. Don’t make me dislike you, Timothy.”

Tim smiles, gentle and easy and a little more sarcastic than he really means to be. “Yes Ma’am,” he says. “I promise not to do anythin’ out of line that would affect my ability to work. You have my word on that.”

“You’re lucky I know your word means somethin’,” she says. “You scared the shit out of me six weeks ago, and while I’ve tried to forget about it, it ain’t happened yet. I don’t let myself do it often—you're a big boy and if you can’t take care’a yourself at forty-five with a decade of military experience under your belt? There is not an ounce of hope left for you—but I’m lettin’ myself do it now because I can afford that. You scared me half to death, Tim, and if I ever find you like that again I’m gonna hold you liable for my psychotic break.”

“I know,” he says. “Stop worrying. I’m okay now, and I’m going to stay that way.”

“You’d fuckin’ better, Tim. I don’t take too kindly to being scared like that.”

Like a curse brought down onto Kentucky, Raylan takes that moment to open Rachels office door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he greets. “Tell me what’s what.”

Eleven hours later, it’s seven o’clock on the dot and Rachel, Raylan, and Tim still feel like they’ve gotten nowhere. Apart from the assembly of the task force—which includes the likes of Rachel, Raylan, Tim, Dunlop, and a few newbies that joined the Marshals after a good and long half-decade or so in the Marines—and coordinating a press release that Tim will have to talk in during the following day informing locals about Boyds current escapee status, they have nothing.

No leads as to his whereabouts, no confirmed information from the CI that used to work closely with a few of Boyds buddies, nothing. They’re at a dead end and Rachel tells them to go home, to come back in no later than half past eight, and Tim is grateful for it as he leaves, his thoughts blurrying somewhere between the ride in the elevator and the short walk between the bottom floor of the courthouse and his truck.

He sits in his truck for a long couple of minutes, drums his fingers against the steering wheel because he doesn’t want to go home but otherwise doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He could grab dinner, but grabbing dinner completely alone still feels more pathetic than not. He could go home even though he doesn’t want to and make it worth it by stopping at a grocery store on the way and picking up a pint of Ben and Jerrys, and then eating it in one sitting whilst some western he’s seen a thousand times before plays monotonously in the background.

He could go to a bar, just like he did the night before. He could order a coke or a water and then let someone flirt their way into seducing him, just like he did the night before, but he’d really rather not.

He realizes, as his eyes move to his hands and he finds his fingers still drumming against the steering wheel, that he effectively has nothing.

So he drives for a bit, takes a left turn and then goes straight only to take right and somehow, he finds himself at home anyway.

He checks the landline that he’s had for fifteen years and will probably never give up, is unsurprised to find a message from the counselor he used to see at the VFW twice a week.

“Hi, Tim, this Alexander calling again, just to check in,” the voicemail starts. “I just—your number is still listed and you haven’t come around in a month. I’ve been wondering about you, is all. The VFW will always have your back, as will the people in it. I’m not saying you have to come back, per se—you're a lawman, I can’t force you to do shit—but I’m saying that we’ll be here for you, if you let us or want us to be. Call me back whenever you feel like it, okay? If you ever feel like it at all. If you don’t, that’s just fine, too.”

He doesn’t call back even though some part of him kind of wants to. Instead, he goes to the bathroom, pulls his jeans off of his body and lets the Henley he wears follow suit. He tosses them into the dirty laundry basket that’s been building for a week and bends to get to the dryer so he can pull out a pair of joggers and a Carhartt sweatshirt that’s as old as his time in the Marshals service.

He grabs a towel and a fresh pair of boxers before finally taking his boxers off and tossing them into the dirty laundry basket just as he'd done with the rest of his day clothes.

He showers, keeps the water so cold that it almost turns the tips of his fingers purple and lingers in the shower a little longer than what’s necessary. He stays under the water until he gets sick of it and only afterwards does he step out, reaching for the towel he’d grabbed and using it to towel dry his hair before he wraps it around his waist.

He gets dressed faster than he means to, slipping his boxers and sweatpants on at the same time and not even bothering to grab a shirt to wear under his sweatshirt, just slipping it on over his torso and rolling the sleeves up to the elbows.

He heads back to his living room, checks his voicemail again.

“Hey, Tim—it's Raylan. Are you okay? Rachel seemed on edge with you today, and she told me about an incident,” Raylans voice comes through the speaker and Tim almost hates him for it. “Refused, vehemently, to give me specifics though. I hate it when she does that, but—anyway. Are you doin’ all right? I think we’re due in to catch up about now, how’s dinner sound?”

There’s silence for a beat, one breath in and another out before Raylan sighs. “Look--I know you’re not answering this landline is probably because you’re busy but if you aint, meet me at Magdelenes for eight on the dot.”

For a few seconds, he considers it. He even goes so far as to check his watch, sees that it’s barely half past seven.

He flops onto the couch that is so old now he’s surprised the legs haven’t sccumb yet to dry rot, stares at his ceiling as he considers.

The way he sees it, he has two options. He can go and suffer through a dinner with Raylan for an hour, pointedly avoid the questions about the incident and narrowly beat around the bush by giving Raylan enough non answers that he takes it back to Rachel.

The other option is that he makes the ten minute drive down to the VFW, which is always open til midnight on Fridays. He can see if Alexander has a slot at the time or wait it out until he has one, go to one of the AA meetings across the road in the meantime and then after he’s done at the VFW, he can treat himself to a greasy pizza from Antonios and eat it while he watches a western before he goes to bed a little earlier than normal.

He gets up into a proper sitting position, sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Damn you, Alexander,” he says.

He gets up, shuffles his way into his running shoes and grabs his car and apartment keys.

Between the company of Raylan Givens and a trip to the VFW, for the first time in his life, Tim has chosen the motherfucking VFW. If Art could’ve seen it coming, Tim is sure he’d’ve died on the spot.

“You still drinkin’?” Alexander Moreno is a guy that’s fifty-three, tops. He’s starting to go grey on the sides of his head and his skin is very clearly weathered by the sun, but he’s only therapist that Tims gotten through the VFW that has actually understood him. “I mean—you look sober, and you’re actin’ it, but—answer the question for politeness sakes.”

“Negative,” Tim says. “I haven’t touched booze in six weeks, one day and about fourteen or so hours, even though I do think my math might be a little off.”

Alexander laughs. “Why the fuck’re you countin’ for?” he asks. “Sobriety is usually a choice, but for you, doesn’t seem like it is--no sober person would keep a count that specific. Days, months, weeks, yeah. Hours? never, unless they're at the very beginning. Is it a choice?”

“No,” Tim confesses. “It’s not. I had—well—my boss and I are calling it The Incident.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, normal shit,” Tim shrugs, defaulting back to sarcasm. “Up until six weeks ago, I was bein’ real reckless. I didn’t care about my liver, my kidneys, my heart—none of it, and so I was doin’ as I’ve always done.”

“Drinking your vital organs into the earliest grave you can manage,” Alexander nods. “You’n the booze, Timothy. You have the worlds most devastatingly one-sided love affair. What did all this drinkin’ lead to?”

“Rachel and I were going to do a stakeout the next day, and she’d agreed to come’n grab me from my apartment because my truck was in the shop for the week,” he says. “She found me on the tail end of a bender so bad I’d had a heart attack, seized and gone very briefly into acute liver dysfunction. She found me layin’ in the bathtub with vomit all over my mouth mid seizure. Made me promise to stay away from the booze and to go to the VFW for therapy and meetings.”

“How long had you been drinking when you passed out?”

“I got off of work late—eleven, if I’m remembering right. I thought I could have a few’n then go to bed, but I had to eat and didn't feel like cooking so I had to stop for half an hour to grab food from the pizza place that just opened up. I’d been drinking at midnight and she’d said she come get me for 6:30. I was still drinking at five that morning because I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“What do you think triggered the bender?”

“The--the anniversary of my first kill in the rangers is next week,” he laughs tiredly. “Six weeks ago it was the anniversary of when I first took the ASVAB. Any of those dates trip me right the fuck up, make my PTSD do something awful.”

“Have you been on leave ever since?”

“No,” Tim laughs. “Took a few days’n I was back in the office, but it was really difficult to convince Rachel to let me. I don’t do well with time off and I never have, and recovering from the closest to death I think I’ve ever gotten outside of an active zone of combat is apparently no goddamned exception.”

“Figures,” Alexander says. “Are you okay, since?”

“My liver is workin’ normally again even though drinkin’ coffee makes my chest hurt now,” Tim sighs. “Can’t drink the booze in my fridge but every time I think about it I think about just chugging all of it and then leaving the rest to nature because dumping it feels like a waste of money, and I just—shit, Alexander. Where have I been going wrong?”

“Before I speak my mind, do you want me to sugar coat this or be blunt?”

“Blunt,” Tim says. “Hate it when people sugarcoat shit.”

“Okay,” Alexander nods. “You’re screwed by nature a little, I think—your father died when you were what, eighteen? Because he got so drunk that he’d gone through every single half full bottle of booze in his collection, and then he went and did a goddamn wheely into a ditch. Your mother is currently in a nursing home dealing with dementia and she left the house to you because your brother is just as bad as your father was, and your sister is a criminal defense attorney livin’n working in Miami who hasn’t seen or talked to you or your mother in well over a decade. Alcoholism runs in your family by nature, and yeah, you had a heart attack, sure, but at least dyin’ of a heart attack is less embarrassing than doin’ wheelies on a busy street’n getting your car into the bottom of a ditch, Tim.”

He makes an annoyingly fair point and Tim hates it.

“There are worse ways to die,” Tim says.

“And better ways, too,” Alexander nods. “Yeah. The good thing is that just like death, there are better ways to live than using alcohol as a crutch and I’m thinkin’ it’s time you realized that.”

Tim glares at him, though the gesture is so half hearted it’s obviously so, and it makes Alexander laugh a little.

“Glare at me all you wish,” he says. “You know that I’m right about this. You know you need to keep comin’ to these sessions because you ain’t been in the military for seventeen fuckin’ years now but you walk around with all that trauma fresh as a daisy in your head.”

“It ain’t trauma, Alexander.”

“Fuck me if it ain’t trauma,” Alexander laughs dryly, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You worked infantry from the age of 18 to 21, correct? Then you were a ranger til ya hit 26, then you went through the sniper school and were a sniper til you left at 28. That there is a decade of seein’ combat. You don’t do what we did and come out untraumatized, Tim. That ain’t how it works. You kill as many people as you did, no fuckin’ way to leave without at least a little bit of scarring.”

Tim heaves in a sigh, lets his shoulders slump. “You, Alexander Moreno, are no fun,” he declares.

Alexander laughs. “I had a drinkin’ problem too,” he says. “After I drank, I transitioned from booze to ciggies, which, judgin’ by the pack I can see pokin’ out the pocket of your joggers, so have you. After I got over cigarettes I left that shit behind entirely. You ever take up reefer, though, I ain’t gonna judge you. Lots of the guys here have prescriptions that they get filled because of chronic pain or other issues.”

“That’s comforting,” Tim says. “I just—fuck, you know?”

Tim checks his watch. He sees that it’s quarter to nine and realizes that he’s somehow been sitting across Alexander for a full hour when it barely feels like it’s been fifteen minutes.

“When you were comin’ down here at first, you came down twice weekly,” he says. “I’m gonna do the nice thing and assume this ain’t a one-time visit.”

Tim heaves a breath in. “I’d very much like to stop lyin’ to my boss, so it’s not,” he says.

“All right,” Alexander nods. “Instead of Wednesdays and Fridays like we used to, we’re gonna do Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Forty five minutes Monday because Mondays are inherently disgusting and an hour and fifteen Wednesday and Friday, though I’m gonna put you in my last two hour time slots so that if you need more time, we have it. You finally comittin’ yourself to mental wellness?”

He has a general hatred for that kind of language—therapy language feels superficial, at best, and is agitating at worst, but he nods. He lets Alexander use that language because some part of him believes maybe it does play a role in getting better somehow.

Alexander stands and naturally, Tim follows suit. He extends a hand and Tim takes it assuming he’s just going to shake hands, but Alexander pulls him into a bro-hug instead.

Tim has never really been much for physical contact but he decides that it’s fine because the idea that he wants to get better is sticking for the first time in his life. He’s not just saying it for the sake of saying it but instead is saying it with the intent to keep to his word.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Alexander says. “Eight on the dot, right?”

“Eight should work best with my schedule,” Tim nods. “Thanks.”

Alexander smiles as Tim makes his way to the door, fully intending to go home and knock out until four so he can run for longer than he usually does and get to work on time.

“Yeah,” Alexander says. “You take care of yourself in the meantime, all right?”

“Either get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’,” Tim rebuts, some part of him hating the way that the words sound when they come out of his mouth. “I’ve committed and I really don’t need to piss my boss off again, so I don’t have much choice.”

Alexander barks a laugh and Tim hears it as he leaves, the sound echoing in his mind even after he's left.

#justified #justified fx #raylan givens #tim gutterson #rachel brooks #givenson #raylan givens x tim gutterson

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