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amiedala · 4 years ago

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Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 3: TO TRUST

Rated: Explicit (not this chapter, but future chapters will be)

Warnings: descriptions of violence

Summary: “What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you.

The baby is in your face. You startle awake to a sea of green. He babbles as you jolt up, clapping his tiny hands together in celebration. He’s all swaddled up in his own robes, but he’s so much warmer than you are, and you groan as he hops up against you, fingers beating around your arm as you bring him in closer to your chest, hoping to leech off his warmth. Slowly, painfully, you push yourself off the ground and push on your neck to make it crack, the pain shooting up behind your eyes like starfire. You don’t want to see what shape your belly’s in.

“Good morning,” you slur through sleep, as the baby giggles and pushes into you. You just stay there, half awake, slouched against the wall of the ship, when suddenly the baby is being plucked from your arms and you’re staring into beskar.

It’s not lost on you that you’re at eye level with the Mandalorian’s crotch, and while you try your hardest to not let your gaze linger there in an obvious way, your eyes stutter once or twice looking up to where the helmet is.

“You’re awake.”

“Barely.”

He kneels so that you’re almost at eye level, and he’s dangerously close to you again. You feel your cheeks flush, the rush low in your belly, deeper than your injury, deep down somewhere warm.

“I need to see you.”

“Huh?” You manage, and hope it’s not as croaky as it seems.

“Your stomach. I need to make sure you don’t need a shot or to get checked out by a professional.”

You nod as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, going slow, giving you a chance to stop him if you want. You want to sit on your hands and just let him take it all the way off, but you try to focus your brain elsewhere. Literally anywhere else. You fail. His hands are just as large as last night.

“You’re telling me you’re not a professional?”

“I know how to take care of injuries. I mean… a nurse droid, or something.”

“Last time I checked, this was an injury,” you pressed, a smile breaking out of your face faster than you can control it. “And you hate droids.”

“The injuries I usually take care of are my own. I can gauge how bad the pain is, how deep the cut goes. I’m not inside you,” he says, and it’s so fast that you think you imagined it, “so I can’t tell how bad it is.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. Your heart is so loud and fast you’re terrified he can hear it. In the background, the baby is staring at you with his giant, magic eyes, and you know he can hear it, the little womp rat, the way he’s smiling at you. “Not bad.”

The Mandalorian taps your stomach, not enough to really hurt you, but enough to startle the bruise. You wince. “Bad,” he says, simply, point proven.

You let him check you out and argue about how it wasn’t that bruised, and it ached but you could move, and finally, very begrudgingly, he let you stand. You tried to gesture him up the ladder to the cockpit, but he shook his head, arms crossed.

“You first.”

You squint at him, shocked by his brazenness, shocked that he’s insinuating watching below you as you ascend the ladder, and your tummy does full back flips before you realize that he’s probably waiting to make sure you have enough working muscles in your abdomen to keep yourself upwards as you climb. You’re thankful you’re going up first, now, with the way you’re blushing again.

The ladder is a beast, but you’re up, and you’re not hurting that bad, so you make your way over to the chair where you usually hold the baby and fall into it. The ship is hurtling through hyperspace, smoother than the X-Wing did, but still shakily, and you have to avert your eyes from the rush of it because it’s starting to make you dizzy. Something brushes your leg, and you realize it’s the Mandalorian’s cape, worn and tattered, but fluttering past you even in the cockpit, and you bring a knee to your aching chest to hide your smile as he breezes past you to the pilot’s seat.

“Are you hungry?”

You can’t tell who he’s talking to until the baby looks at you, bug-eyed and questioning. “Not really.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I will. I can’t eat too soon after I wake up or I get sick. I don’t think vomiting would do my stomach any favors.”

He cocks his helmet back at you and you smile again, jutting your chin into your hand. He’s silent, but it isn’t an unsettling one. After sleeping a foot from him last night, you don’t think his silence will ever make you feel unsettled or uneasy again. It’s just there, permeating, surrounding both of you. You want to ask him a million things, and you don’t know which one to pick, but you also don’t want to force anything through the quiet.

It feels like hours have passed by the next time you open your mouth. You want to ask him where you’re headed again, but what falls out instead is, “Do you even know my name?”

He looks back at you, swings his helmet back to center, and then spins the entire chair around instead. “What?”

“I’ve been living here for almost a month,” you realize, counting the days on your fingers. “I babysit your kid. You trust me with your ship,” you say, looking up at the stars flying past the Crest. “Do you know my name?”

He stares at you. The helmet is obscuring his vision, but you know he’s staring at you. You can feel his eyes on your face, looking how your lips are parted, your hair still piled in a mess on your head.

“Of—” he starts, and then both of you are thrown sideways. Something on the dashboard is blaring, and before you can haul yourself off the floor, the Mandalorian is extending a hand to you as he navigates the ship out of hyperspace. You scramble back to the chair and buckle in, grabbing onto the baby’s floating cradle so that he won’t get knocked around either. You want to ask if the Mandalorian needs your help, but as quickly as the ship fell into disarray, the beeping stops. Your heart is hammering.

“What was that—?”

“I forgot about the shields,” he muttered under his breath, and then you look outside the window, and you realize where you are. You swallow, looking out at the planet in front of you, wide and purple and all-encompassing. You fold your legs up under yourself, not focused on anything except where you’re headed. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, hungry and roaring.

“Hey,” his voice filters back in, and it’s sharp, and you look over at him, trying to look neutral. You can tell it’s not working. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell again?”

“No,” you whisper, and then repeat it louder, “No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to…be back here anytime soon.”

The Crest pulls through the planet’s atmosphere, and you breathe a sigh of relief that you aren’t anywhere close to the heart of Galactic City, that wherever the bounty’s new coordinates were, it was on the opposite side of where you had been the last time you were here. Besides, you were staying on the ship, and you didn’t have to breathe any of the air of the planet if you didn’t want to. You swallowed, and as he pulled into a landing bay, you realize the Mandalorian’s helmet is still trained on you.

“You’re not a fan,” he says. It’s not a question. “Of Coruscant.”

“No,” you say, and you don’t elaborate because you’re not sure if you can without your voice shaking.

He keeps his visor trained on you, and you try to smile, but you’re afraid it’ll come out looking more like fear. “I’ll be quick,” he says, and his voice is low, honest. It reminds you of the way he talks to the kid, not to you, but you’re too shaken by being thrown out of hyperspace and landing on the planet you almost died on to understand the significance of his cadence. “Come downstairs with me.”

You follow him, aware of his gaze on your body as you descend the ladder. In any other circumstance, you could feel it burning straight through you, but you were too focused on trying not to fall. Silently, you match his footsteps as he walks over to the armory. His body is so large, so present, that you focus on the beskar and try to keep moving. The Mandalorian pushes a lever and the armory opens, and you blink at all the metal as your eyes adjust.

“Pick one.”

Hazily, you remember he told you to pick a weapon last night, and you let your eyes survey all the glinting metal before you settle on a small blaster, one that looks like a cousin of the one you lost in your crash landing. Similar enough to be strapped to your thigh in the same belt you still have around your waist, and you fit it in there triumphantly. You give the Mandalorian a half smile, and he nods, shutting the case.

It’s dark in the Razor Crest, even in Coruscant’s glitz and glamour. You rest your head against the wall, suddenly exhausted.

“I’ll be quick,” the Mandalorian repeats after prolonged silence, after you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to say anything else. “You stay here, with the doors locked. Sleep more, if you need it.” He tosses you something, and you don’t catch it in time. You bend down to grab it, but his hand is already around it, glancing off your hand for a second too long as he presses it into your palm. “This is to be used for emergencies,” he says. You stare at it. It’s a commlink, a new, fancy one. You nod. “If… if something happens, or if…” he trails off, cocking his head at you, “if I need you to come get me, you just press this button, and you can talk to me.”

He lingers for a second longer and then descends the gangplank, and it isn’t until he’s gone that his words fully register.

If you have to come get him? That’s new.

“Hey!” you call, and you know he can’t hear you anymore, but you can’t help yourself, “what constitutes as an emergency?”

Hours pass. One, slowly, and then two, and then three. You finally eat, you make sure the baby has too. You think about showering, but you haven’t been able to lift your arms above your head since you got your stomach bruised yesterday, so you lay spread eagled on the floor babbling halves of songs and whatever random thought runs through your head. You do everything you can to not look outside at the planet around you, to ruminate on the sleek buildings. You haven’t been on Coruscant for years, not since you were first out on your own when you were still a teenager, and you’ve tried everything in you to forget what happened the last time you were on the planet’s surface.

The baby coos at your feet, and you prop yourself up on your forearms, still sore. It doesn’t ache as much as it did this morning, and your bruises have turned this ugly yellow color around the edges, but you can flex without agony, which definitely means you’re just banged up.

“Hi bug,” you say, and he giggles, climbing up onto your sore belly, and you groan. “Hi. What’s up?”

He makes a series of noises, and you can’t understand him like his father clearly can, but you can gather the gist of what he’s saying. He’s babbling away, now pointing his tiny finger up to the ceiling, and you pretend you know exactly what he means.

“You’re absolutely right. Mhm, yep, I know. Is that true?”

He claps his hands together.

“You’re right, again, you little womp rat. Excellent point.”

He giggles.

“You’re much cuter than a womp rat, you know.” You pause. “I gotta tell you though, buddy, I don’t know what a womp rat looks like.”

He gasps, all awe. You look at him. There’s something about the kid, something magical, something that feels…elevated. You look into his big eyes, and you see yourself. You know that it’s because the things are huge, but it’s that same gnawing intuition in your belly that you had when you first met the Mandalorian, the same one that told you to crash land on Nevarro instead of trying to make it somewhere else, the same one that got you out of Coruscant the last time—you shake your head, trying to clear it from your head. You softly touch the baby’s nose, just once, and he giggles and climbs into your arms.

It doesn’t take long until you start itching for something else to do, so you peel yourself off the cockpit’s floor and start cleaning, using part of your torn shirt to dust off the dashboard and the pilot’s seat, humming ancient lullabies under your breath. You stop short when you realize you’re singing, and you double check the air locks, making sure you’re safe in here. You don’t dare to put on the radio, and you don’t sing louder than under your breath, because even though you have the new blaster strapped to your hip, the memory of yesterday is still too recent in your head. It isn’t long until you find yourself in the tiny room where the fresher is, looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time in days.

Your eyes are wild, that’s the first thing you notice. Frazzled, on edge, the kind of gleam that you used to get flying in the Alliance, but without the pride and the adrenaline. Your hair is a hot mess. You touch the lock of hair the Mandalorian pushed behind your ear last night, reverently, softly. Your shirt is ripped and stained to hell, and your necklace is hanging at a strange angle, the chain link touching the insignia, totally off kilter. You see the small blaster on your hip catch the light, and you pull it out of its hold. It’s shiny, sturdy, and much newer than the one you lost in the fire. You’ve never been a perfect shot, but the gun fits in your hand as well as the old one did, and when you hold it, you feel confident enough to know how to cock it back and pull the trigger, and you think you probably hit the target.

You look forlornly at the shower, and before you can think about how sore you are, you strip the rest of your clothes off, leaving the gun and the commlink on the small counter beside the mirror. You’re planning to be quick, just a rinse and scrubbing soap off of the leftover blood and grime from the night before, but when the water hits, it’s warm and inviting and it envelops you. You let it unfurl your messy hair from your head, let it permeate into your sore shoulders and all the way down your spine, temporarily washing away the years of nights spent sleeping in uncomfortable positions on makeshift beds. You touch your fingers over your belly, following the scar straight down to where it drifts off on the left side of your stomach. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the bruises resist your fingers. You reach for the soap, and it’s blindly, and you don’t realize until you’ve been scrubbing for a minute that it’s very much not the subtle lavender scent you picked up a few bounties back, but the Mandalorian’s. It smells like clean wood and leather and strangely, cinnamon, that amalgamation of freshness that fades off skin slowly. You push the full bar up to your nose, and when you breathe in you can almost see it lathering into his skin, can almost feel your tongue licking clean up against it if he was in here with you—you catch yourself. Again. It’s there again, the arousal and want that had been long dormant before you ever met the Mandalorian. He’s infiltrated everything. You shake water out of your hair and think of anything else while your hands slip down the rest of your body, trying and failing to forget the way his voice got low when he found you hurt, how he touched you, how he held your throat with a singular hand—

Something is making noise, and you force yourself out of your fantasy to the sound. “Hey,” comes a disembodied voice, and your wet hand fumbles for the blaster before you realize it’s coming from the commlink. You sigh, turning off the water, tripping out of the fresher, scrambling to pick it up.

“Are you okay?”

“I need you to come get me.”

You stare at the commlink, then at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t have clothes on. Come to think of it, you don’t know if you have clothes to change into, and you’ve suddenly been promoted to getaway driver.

“Can you hear me?”

Even through the modulator, his voice is deep. You startle yourself out of your reverie.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I need a minute—”

“I’m going to give you coordinates,” the Mandalorian says, and then there’s a huge blast, and silence.

“Hey. Hey! Mando—”

“I’m here,” he says, but it’s gruff. “Dank ferrik. I’m hit. Here are the coordinates.”

You scramble out of the fresher, looking for clothes. You can’t find anything, and your bag must still be upstairs in the cockpit, so you shove open the alcove where the Mandalorian sleeps in a desperate attempt. There’s a shirt, just a shirt, but it falls to your knees and you make your compromise with the underwear you stepped out of before the shower. “I’m coming. Please hold on. Pleaaaaase hold on,” you whisper, low enough that you hope he can’t hear your wheedling, and then you’re up the ladder, your hair wet and wild, dripping on the cockpit floor.

“Do you have your blaster?”

“Um,” you say as you navigate the Crest out of the landing bay—hell, this ship doesn’t know how to move. “Yes?” You scramble down the ladder and back up again with your blaster in hand. You punch in the coordinates and let the ship go into autopilot as you scramble back down the ladder and grab the gun, wrapping your wet hair up in a towel.

“Grab the kid and put him in his cradle,” the Mandalorian says, and you do, and the wild look in the baby’s eyes makes you give him a quick kiss before you shut the crib and push him into the darkest corner.

“I’m almost here,” you say, and you can see what he was talking about. You’re still not near the hustle and bustle of Galactic City, but Coruscant has layers, each of them grittier than the last. The Mandalorian is attached to what you hope to the Maker is his quarry, lugging the conspicuous body up a hill, blasting at what looks like twenty other men. “I’m here. I’m gonna land—”

“You need to get out of sight,” he manages, and the commlink goes quiet. You do your best to land the ship—it’s not handling well at all—and then scamper down the ladder for the third time in wet feet. You grab the baby’s floating egg and your blaster, strapping the commlink to your wrist, and scrambling into the little alcove that holds the Mandalorian’s bed.

There’s a minute before he enters the ship, and everything is quiet. You huddle at the back of the chamber, the baby next to you with the blaster in your hand. Your towel has come loose and there are wet chunks of hair in your face, and you wait in the silence before he comes in. The cot is tiny, and not that comfortable, but this small space smells like his soap and the dirt he carries around, and despite it feeling lumpy in all the wrong place, you could absolutely fall asleep here, surrounded by him. It distracts you, and you hum lowly in your throat before you hear the hiss of the gangplank and you swallow all the air.

You’ve been seen by bounties before, they’ve made comments about you, and then they’ve been frozen in carbonite. A few looked dangerous, a few were just creepy, but the Mandalorian always let you handle yourself around them. This is the first time he’s ever told you to get out of sight, and you don’t know if it’s because the events of last night are still fresh in his mind, or because whoever he captured was dangerous. You wait with bated breath as you hear blows land, and when it’s been quiet for what you gauge is long enough before you peek out of the alcove. The Mandalorian is on the ground, and you can’t tell if he’s just resting after a fight until someone peeks back at you and you pull the trigger the second the alcove doors fly open. You rocket up on your knees, punching one arm out at a swaying body before he hits the ground, and the Mandalorian comes to. The man on the ground is livid, swinging at your bare feet, and you kick him backwards, not gracefully, but powerfully enough, and he collides with the carbonite gas, and before the Mandalorian can get to his feet, you press the button. The blue faced bounty is frozen, instantly, and you gasp in air as you sag back on the Mandalorian’s bed.

“What did I say about getting out of sight?”

“I did,” you manage, between gasps, “and then you got knocked out.”

He trains his visor on you, and you smile victoriously for a full second before you realize his hand is bloody. You follow it down to the slip in the beskar and see that there’s a nasty gash under where his hand is pressed.

“You’re hurt.” You scramble forward, grabbing the towel off your head. Your hair falls in your face, and it definitely smells like his soap, but you’re not sure if he’s conscious enough to notice. “Hey. Hey you. Mando. Stay awake.”

“’M fine,” he slurs, and you want to pull the helmet clean off his head and look into his eyes when you tell him to shut up.

“Definitely not fine,” you say, pulling him down to the ground with you. It’s messy, you know that much, and you know he has some bacta patches hidden around you, but you need the bleeding to stop. “Hey. Listen to me. I have to take this off,” you say, gesturing at the plate at his midriff. “You’re hit, I think it was a blast, but I need to make sure.”

“No,” he says, and you grab his visor and drop to your knees on his left side, pushing your palm flat against it.

“I’m not going to look at anything except the cut. You weren’t hit in the head, were you?”

“No,” he repeats, and you nod.

“Okay, then I’m not gonna see your face. I won’t look at anything else except the cut. But you’re losing blood, fast, and there’s definitely people shooting at the ship, and I need to make sure you’re okay before I get us the hell out of here.”

He nods. It’s small, but you catch it.

You inhale sharply when you lift the small piece of armor. He’s bleeding, but the wound is small, and you’re able to shove the towel on it to suffocate the blood while your hand flutters around in the small hold behind you until you can find ointment and the bacta patches. “Hey. Mando.” His hand finds your free wrist, and you stop investigating the ointment to look at him. “What?” you ask, your voice softer.

“Cauterize,” he manages, and you look back and forth between him and the wound, and you shake your head.

“It’s not that bad,” you promise, checking to see if the blood has started to clot around the wound. “Look, it’s gonna hurt for a few days, but the bleeding is slowing down, and I can give you this ointment and then put the bacta patch over it, and you’re going to be okay.”

He flails at your arm again, and before you can realize what you’re doing, you straddle him, one hand on his abdomen against the stifled wound, and one reaching up to touch his helmet, as lightly as you can, in some desperate attempt to soothe him, “I promise, I know when a wound needs cauterizing.” You point at your own stomach, hoping he’ll remember the scar. He nods again, and you exhale. “I swear, I’m going to fix it right now, okay?”

You pull the towel away and press the ointment into his skin. You can tell it stings, he hisses and groans through the modulator, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with trying to save his life, your brain would have fixated on the noises he was making as you straddled him. Once the bacta patch was secure and you were sure that it held, your fingers grazed over his bare skin. It was golden, soft to the touch, such a stark contrast to the shiny silver beskar exoskeleton that you stopped just for a moment to stare at it. You touched as lightly as you could, and once you were positive that he had stopped bleeding, you pulled his undershirt down and reattached the armor, sliding sideways off of him, resting against the same wall for the second time in two days.

It took a few minutes and lots of nervous babbling from the baby, but the Mandalorian finally eased himself back into consciousness, and when you heard him stir, you whipped around.

“What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“I know,” the Mandalorian says, and you inhale, hoping you didn’t just unintentionally say all of that out loud.

“What?”

He sighs, and it comes out through the modulator, but he’s not annoyed. You can tell that much through his filtered air—you know when he’s exasperated, and more and more lately, it hasn’t been directed towards you.

“Your name.”

You swallow. “Say it.”

He does. Perfectly. “It suits you. Names…Mine has only been shared once since I became a Mandalorian. I was on my deathbed, and that’s the only reason. I haven’t named the kid. He might already have one, but I don’t know it, so I don’t use it.”

You nod against the visor, your head touching his helmet. The beskar is surprisingly warm, and you pause there for a second, not wanting to move it away.

“Names don’t hold significance to me,” he whispers, and it cuts through the darkness of the hull of the ship. “I don’t need them to trust someone.”

You want to say you understand, even if you don’t entirely get it, but he sighs again and then you think he’s asleep, his helmet sliding down to the crook between your head and your shoulder. If you reached with your pinky, it could interlink with his gloved one, and you wait a few minutes to be sure he’s okay. When you hook his pinky with yours, he breathes, cinches it at the knuckle, and fades off into sleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin fanfiction #star wars #fanfiction #i hope y'all enjoy!!!!!#see you all next saturday for the next chapter update!!!

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drabblers · 3 years ago

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A New Day

Prompt: Sunlight Fandom: Bleach Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo, Kuchiki Rukia Setting: Sci-fi AU; Continues Awake (All instalments under the IR Timetravel AU tag) 1001 Words

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Sunlight tickled Ichigo’s eyelids. He groaned and pulled the pillow over his face, hiding from the unwelcome morning light. He wanted to turn in his bed. Go right back to sleep. But then he remembered the woman in his room.

In the morning stillness, he could hear the soft, even breaths from across the room. She seemed peaceful, at last. Ichigo was glad. He’d spent half his night awake and instead of rested he felt groggy and confused and severely out of his depth. How did one help a time-traveller find their way back home? Where did one even start?

They needed to have a long talk, sometime soon. Try to figure out if she had any idea what had happened; if there were any clues as to how she’d managed to slip through time. But one thing was for sure – Kuchiki Rukia would be staying at Ichigo’s apartment for quite a while. Which meant he’d need to get used to sharing his space. Ichigo scowled at his ceiling. He also needed to go shopping. Rukia would need clothes. They’d need more food.

The thought of food had Ichigo’s stomach stir with a rumble and with some reluctance, he rolled out of bed. He crossed the room in silent feet, running a hand through his sleep-messed hair. He wandered into the kitchenette and put the coffeemaker on. Exhaustion weighed on his sluggish brain and he rubbed his hand across his face. For a moment, Ichigo simply stood in front of his fridge, drawing a blank. Then, his stomach rumbled, jolting him into action.

Ichigo rummaged through the cupboards, trying to keep his movements slow, careful and most of all quiet, so he wouldn’t disturb his houseguest. He made toast. Boiled water for tea. Sliced a couple of apples. And all the while his thoughts whirled around Kuchiki Rukia.

She was lost – and not only in the physical sense of the word. It showed in her demeanour. Shone in the dark depths of her violet eyes, like two bruises. It pulled at his heartstrings until his chest ached. Ichigo wanted to help her to acclimate herself, how to navigate this new world that to her was so strange and different.

Ichigo tried to imagine being suddenly and inexplicably stranded in the warring states period. Probably, he would not last very long. Rukia was made of sterner stuff than he was.

Ichigo was setting the table when the soft pad of feet alerted him. He looked up to see Rukia stand a few yards away, wearing his hoodie and clutching her sheathed sword.

“Good morning,” he told her, pouring himself a big cup of coffee. He almost asked her if she had slept well, but thought better of it. He doubted either of them had got enough sleep last night.

“Good timing,” he said instead. “Just got the breakfast ready.”

“Good morning,” she answered, her voice soft.

Even with the sword she kept holding onto, the picture she presented now was miles away from a samurai warrior. He really needed to get her some proper clothes, as his own threatened to swallow her whole.

She sat at the table and reached for the tea he’d poured her. Ichigo sat down and hit the coffee.

They ate in silence, stealing glances at one another across the table. The morning seemed to highlight the awkwardness of their situation and the sleepless night had done them no favours. Ichigo was on his second cup of coffee, watching Rukia niggle at her toast, when he finally broke the stretching silence.

“I need to go out today. Get us some things and food and the like.”

Rukia put down the toast and nodded slowly.

“Will you be all right on your own? I mean – you can come with if you want but I figured you’d be more comfortable staying here.”

“Yes, I would rather stay here,” Rukia agreed. “I think a moment of solitude will be welcome.”

Ichigo nodded. He could understand that well enough. Going out alone would do him well, too.

Ichigo felt marginally calmer and a whole lot better after his two cups of coffee. The awkwardness had abated with their short conversation and they finished the rest of their breakfast in peace, though Ichigo scowled at Rukia’s eating habits. He couldn’t blame her for not having much of an appetite, but small as she was, she really should eat more. He’d have to get something tasty today from the supermarket. Buy all kinds of snacks for her to try.

After breakfast, he cleared the table. Rukia insisted to help. She told him that guest or not, she ought to contribute in some way and not just sit there and be catered to. It took some getting used to and a couple of times of accidentally bumping to one another before they got the hang of it, navigating the small confines of the kitchenette together.

Perhaps, over time, they would find that rhythm in other areas as well, unlock that secret for coexisting. Ichigo hoped they would.

Ichigo went to the bathroom to change his clothes, was ready to get going and almost out of the front door when he stopped. He’d been so busy running over the shopping list in his mind that he’d forgotten to consider Rukia.

He came back and gave her a tour of his small apartment. He showed her how to work the electric kettle and the microwave in the kitchenette and encouraged her to explore the cupboards and the fridge to find whatever she might need. He showed her the bathroom and tried not to squirm while explaining how the toilet worked. He showed her his comic book collection and old hand-held gaming console, in case she’d want something to help pass the time.

It didn’t feel like it was enough, but it was all he could do for her for now.

For a moment, Ichigo lingered in the doorway. Then, swallowing a sigh, he left.

To Be Continued.

#Bleach #IchiRuki #Kurosaki Ichigo #Kuchiki Rukia #IR Timetravel AU #Part 7 #chie drabbles

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sassooda · 3 years ago

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Worlds Away / Chapter 40 - One in the Same 🔞

w/c - 6,476

“Love…”.

As Satoru positions himself back on the bed with a heavy heart, he wonders how long he’ll be without her voice. Elska lies there unconscious, in her own queen-sized bed a few feet away from Naoya who is also in the same condition but in a separate bed. The room Satoru mentioned to everyone before has become their new quarters but with his own personal flare. The five walls are a deep blue-grey, the trim a dark red, all decorative furnishings either that same red or a bright light blue. The sheets both of the sleepers are wrapped in resemble the color of love. This was all designed and put together as a surprise but things haven’t exactly gone as planned.

As he situates himself next to her, Gojo finds that he desires the comfort of her heartbeat. Laying his head on her chest, he relives the horrors of when he and Choso arrived to find them. He’s weighted with guilt, having become too distracted by his mother to focus that day. ‘What did they have to go through?’, he can only imagine having seen the scene himself. Although he wasn’t particularly bothered by the gore, Choso’s reaction said it all as normal people would easily have been mortified. Gojo’s heart also sinks from the sin of dealing with the woman who gave birth to him, even if she was monstrous herself.

“My love…”, his voice is broken from emotion as he whispers to her caringly, “Please come back to me.”. He’s been informed by Nanami and the others that Toji once found her in this same state, taking 6 days to wake up previously. This information doesn’t comfort him however after perceiving the devastation her, Naoya and Toji must have experienced. ‘…and we still haven’t found him yet.’. Satoru knows for a fact that if she wasn’t mentally compromised from the attack, not having Toji will certainly destroy her.

He positions her arms to lay over him, as if she’s wrapping them around his own. Gojo is still reeling from his own experiences that day on top of everything else. The heartache that dwells within him after killing his mother plagues him as if she still existed, only differently. “Love, I didn’t know it would hurt.”. A tear spills from each of his darkened eyes, remembering the vexation that woman caused him for his entire life. There certainly wasn’t any love lost between them but a piece of him died with her and he can’t explain why. In this moment, he only needs to be held by his love. As he listens to the rhythm in which her heart pumps, he feels like he’s brought to a point of necessary, although temporary ease. Bringing her even closer lowers him deeper into security, feeling safe and nurtured by her touch alone. Her and Naoya have only been out for roughly 18 hours at this point, leaving him to also dread how much time he’ll be without her.

**KNOCK, KNOCK**

Without moving at all, Satoru calls for them to enter and sighs as he feels close to losing his composure. He decides to not hide his despair for lack of current ability.

Choso quietly strolls in and takes in Satoru’s depression. He’s apprehensive about how unstable Gojo’s been since coming back to the academy but appreciates how much the man is going through. A slight grin appears across Choso’s face though as he looks over Gojo’s clothes, they’re both wearing their group-matching pajamas. Upon approaching Naoya, Choso pulls back the covers to further evaluate him, wanting to be sure all wounds were healed. He says to his friend, “You are one fortunate man…”, and pulls the sheets up with a smile. He then takes Naoya’s hand with relief on mind, understanding that Naoya will likely be happy at the fact that he was turned. Choso has reservations about this but they’re not strong enough for him to speak on.

Megumi now enters and walks straight over to Elska, on the opposite side from Gojo. He’s still in a state of shock after being filled in on the aftermath. He’s in a foul disposition not knowing where Toji is and is even further upset with how messed her and Naoya looked upon being retrieved. When he reaches out to take up Elska’s hand, his is swatted away, causing him to lower deeper into his anger.

“Leave her alone.”, Gojo growls from Elska’s chest. He immediately feels bad for snapping at Megumi but that was the only warning he was capable of. The hurt displayed on his former student’s face that he catches out of the corner of his eyes prompts him to sit up a little. “I’m sorry Megs, I just… she’s mine.”.

Megumi is feeling disheartened by his current fears on his father’s whereabouts and feels almost completely alone as he drowns in his thoughts. The territorial stance made on Elska causes him to snap, “She is her own person, you’re fucking delusional!”. As his breath catches in his throat, he waits for Satoru to respond maliciously but becomes confused when he doesn’t. ‘I just want to make sure she’s ok…’.

Choso walks over to Megumi and speaks with purpose, “Please let Gojo have time with her, he’s been through a lot…”, and nods as if to reiterate there still are things Megumi is unaware of. Choso sees the discontent on Megumi’s face and can feel the boy’s presence fluctuating so he continues, “And we will find Toji, I promise you. He loves you, you know…”. He watches Megumi’s eyes become glossy as he tries to fend off the tears so Choso hugs him. “I’m sure he’s ok, we just have to get to him…”.

Megumi usually wouldn’t accept the embrace but he feels so incredibly small and useless. He finds Choso’s need to comfort him endearing and wishes he’d been kinder to the being in the past, knowing now how well he means. “I…I miss my dad…”, he meant for it to be a statement but the clarification is muddled by the sorrow in his voice and it only strengthens as Choso continues to try and soothe him.

“Just come back later Megs…I know you’re worried too…”, Satoru doesn’t make eye contact but his voice is genuine. “I just need to be with her right now…”. He now curls back up into Elska and sighs deeply. “She would be angry if I kept everyone from her…”, and Satoru knows this is a fact but is still not budging on the current meeting.

Megumi wasn’t expecting Gojo to offer time up so he doesn’t know how to respond. With a fake scoff he replies, “I will then.”, and heads towards the door. Before leaving he stops and turns around to face them once more, “Shoko is awake now and she wants to see you Gojo.”, then shuts it behind him.

Satoru is aware that they have a prisoner underneath the school and Shoko likely has important information to give to him, he just hasn’t the motivation to move. He buries his face into Elska further, wanting to escape his current duties and pretend they’re just napping together. “Please come back.”.

After a few seconds, Choso exhales, “I’m glad Shoko’s alright.”. After being teleported to Elska’s location, he had to carry her back through his portal while Gojo grabbed Naoya. Choso immediately began to heal Naoya after they returned to the academy but they were soon met with Nanami who requested him to see to Shoko’s head injuries as well. Choso recalls that while he was navigating through his shadow realm that Elska’s energy once again lingered behind them and even seemed to stain some of the surroundings. He’s always been curious as to why hers behaves differently than everyone else. While lost in his thoughts, he’s jolted back to the present as Gojo begins to cry next to Elska.

“Gojo…”, Choso was caught off guard but feels he needs to allow privacy as he doesn’t know what to do. The terrifying Silver Shaman condenses before him, leaving a new wave of misery within his very being. Choso’s still shaken up by the events that took place with everyone and has yet to properly deal with the emotions flowing through him. He glances over to Naoya for a second and then internally declares he will return later. He hears Gojo plead for him to wait so he turns around and utilizes patience as Satoru collects himself.

“We…We have to find Toji.”, Satoru finds himself worried with the possibilities that could be his friend’s fate. Choso nods so he says, “Please, please search for him.”. Gojo looks down at Elska who has yet to show signs of waking, “For both of their sakes, we need to get him back.”. Now darting cold eyes to back to Choso, “I will kill whoever I need to. I will fucking explode every last one of them. This is what they deserve.”. Satoru’s eyes narrow as he thinks of who this Genghis is and how that man is likely responsible for organizing the horrific event. ‘He at least helped Getou…’.

Choso felt a chill crawl down his spine while listening to Gojo. ‘He very well means it.’, crosses his mind but he’s actually reinforced by the statement because he has his own revenge that occupies the same goal. He straightens himself while looking at Satoru, “We will find them and we will end them.”. Choso now brings his gaze to Elska for the first time and finds his dark thoughts fading, beginning to feel consumed by irrational emotions that stem from her condition as well. He has this completely visceral knot that tells him to remain near her but he can’t justify why so he thinks its best not go far at least. “I’m going to try some mapping but I’ll be nearby if needed…”, Choso now reluctantly opens the door and leaves.

Snuggling back into Elska, Satoru closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing. “Everything’s so fucked up, love.”, he regretfully informs her as she sleeps. Wanting to be even closer to her, he now takes her right leg and hoists it over himself. He pulls down the front of her slip but only so he can her skin against his cheek. “They will pay for this…”, he seethes as he thinks about the new trauma her and Naoya had to live through at the hands of the Titers. “Genghis and Getou…”, his partnered enemies. He opens his eyes to slight movement. “Love?”. Slowly she begins to stir more, moving her legs and arms to in an attempt to regain awareness. Satoru hurriedly sits up and looks down to her with endearing hope.

Elska is coming to already and smiles sweetly once she opens her eyes to see Satoru. “My sweet Sati…”, she raises her arm to hold his cheek, only now detecting his anxieties. This realization triggers her though as the ominous memories play back in her mind. She instantly screams at the top of her lungs and is sent into a hysterical state once again. She doesn’t know that she’s flailing around during this until she feels Satoru anchor his body around her to prevent her from harming herself. She struggles against him though as she continues to wail. “THE CHILDREN!”, rips through the room and Satoru understands kids must have been present in the attack.

Satoru whimpers regrettably and holds her while her heart breaks. As her cries echo the otherwise silent room, he feels his heart responding, “My love, I’m so sorry…”. He rests his chin above her head as she begins to settle, although her sobs are still incredibly fierce. Her breath can be felt against his chest and neck as she heaves air in this dismantled state. He squeezes her tighter and reminds her, “I’m here love, I’m here. You’re safe now…”. He begins to tear up too as her voice goes silent and strains to make a high-pitched, fading squeak, the fact that she’s as broken as he assumed absolutely wrecking his confidence on the matter but he repeats, “You’re safe now.”, and kisses the top of her head. Satoru notices how strong her presence is and thinks that the whole campus should be aware of her waking.

Choso heard and felt her so he runs back into the room. “ELSKA!”, he continues his pace to the side of the bed where Megumi was and sits down. The sounds that leave her compel him to place a hand on her side as she’s still overlapped by Gojo. She seems to respond to him and calms down slightly but with wide and teary eyes he looks to Gojo who’s just as unnerved by the situation. He hears her say, “They made Toji…kill. They crushed…Getou…he crushed the children…”, and to these words, a tear falls from the beings face. ‘Getou has no qualms with killing innocents…’, but he keeps this information to himself while deciding he should share the tragedy of his brothers eventually.

Elska is slowly comprehending that the horrible sights behind her eyes are of the past but is still riddled with mourning. Understanding that the men have no idea of what all happened she forces herself to compose the best she can and tries to sit up. Satoru only took a second to understand so he is soon helping her. She remembers everything from the attack, which is different than how it’s happened in the past. With weary and swollen eyes, she looks at the two before her and says, “They tried to kill Naoya…”, she glances between Satoru and Choso, “His heart actually stopped.”, the fear of her prince dying reclaims its stance. “He blocked the spear meant for me…”, she looks over and sees him there laying motionlessly and begins to panic.

Choso can see her apprehension as her eyes drift to Naoya and says, “He’s right there Elska”, and grabs her hand as he can only imagine how awful that was, “He is stable and with new energy.”. Her eyes light up but then become watery again as she quietly speaks, “But they took Toji with t…them couldn’t protect both…”, and feels his lips quiver as she deteriorates before them again. Choso’s hand is now on her leg so he brushes the spot to provide additional security. “Knowing that helps, I will find him Elska.”.

Satoru feels Megumi and Itadori approaching the room so he yells, “NOT RIGHT NOW!”, and becomes satisfied when they stop. Looking back to Elska he grabs her shoulders and kisses her forehead, “Love I am going to fix all of this.”. He lifts her chin to him and with complete determination radiating from his eyes, “Everything is going to be ok. I will show no mercy.”, and she seems to be consoled by the darkness exuding him. He kisses her cheek and whispers, “We will paint the city with their blood.”.

Elska feels like his dark nature is nurturing her very soul. In a strange wave of reassurance, the calamity within her lessens so she finally begins to settle into him. While closing her eyes and taking a deep but jagged breath however, the familiar voice ricochets through her.

‘FEED FROM THE HYBRID’

Her eyes jolt open and she slowly turns her head towards Choso who’s still sympathetically rubbing her leg. She questions if she should but understands there is a reason she’s being prompted to do so.

‘YOU WILL SOON BE WHOLE’

With a mousey voice, “Sati?”, she feels through his chest, his “Yes my love?”, and pulls away from him, “I need to feed from Choso.”.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea love, why would you say that?”, Satoru is afraid that she will repeat history and is adamant about making things better not worse. He looks over to Choso who shares his reluctance and eyes him in a way to warn that it isn’t going to happen. “Love what if you lose control?”, he doesn’t understand what she could be thinking but fears it doesn’t matter as her eyes begin to glow. “Love…”.

Elska adjusts herself to her knees and holds her own body, “I think the other me is me.”. When she looks up to them both she can tell they’re confused by that but she proceeds, “I have to do it.”. She launches herself over top Choso and pins his arms down, “Choso I’m so sorry!”. She sees that Satoru has warped to that side of the bed in an attempt to reach her so she growls. He seems to be hurt by this so she adds, “JUST TRUST ME!”, and feels less anxious as he slowly pulls his hands away from her.

Choso’s in shock beneath her, not being sure as to why this is happening or if he should fight her or not. He darts his scared eyes to Gojo fearing that this won’t go over well but is confused as the Silver Shaman seems to retract. He now looks at Elska and can tell she’s not liking how she placed him in this position and suddenly feels at ease. ‘Was this why I wanted to stay?’. He nods to her and lays back down into the bed as her fangs pierce him shortly afterwards. Choso instantly moans and latches onto her, feeling one of his bent legs touching the floor kick out reflexively. She whimpers near his ear and it causes him to melt in place while she pulls from him. After a few seconds her left hand laces into his hair and grips the strands to pull his head more to the side, him closing his eyes and complying. She soon is grinding against him, exuding pleasurable noises which would have been his main focus if her presence wasn’t darkening so rapidly.

Gojo is cautiously monitoring the situation and feels he should stop it when her gestures turn sexual. Hearing her moan seductively into Choso leaves a bad taste in his mouth but remembers he chose to trust her. He knows this is the other Elska now but her words haunt him, “I think the other me is me.”, bringing him into a new state of contradiction as he thinks about how he’ll handle this if shit hits the fan. As he watches her free hand sail from Choso’s chest to underneath her he can’t help himself, “LOVE!”.

Elska grabs Choso’s member and squeezes it. She hears him quietly yelp and hums to his growing as she begins to fondle him further but eventually stops and closes the being’s puncture marks. ‘FOCUS’. Sitting herself over him she inhales deeply before looking down, “It’s incredible, how arousing your blood is…”, and manically looks down to his flushed expression, “…but it makes sense.”. She can tell Satoru reaching out behind her so she quickly grabs his wrist and flings him overhead and onto the bed next to Choso. She relishes in the shaman’s surprise to her strength and chooses to say in the lowly voice, “My favorite human…”, and grinds on Choso again instinctively, meaning the gesticulation for Satoru. Before either of them can say anything she continues, “She is right, we are one in the same…”. Still feeling overcome with desire she takes Satoru’s left hand and forces it upon her breast and whimpers when he grabs it. ‘FOCUS’, cascading through her mind. “They took my beloved but I believe they were meaning for me. I became too confident and played with the Titers, I was having fun.”. She feels the anger race across her expression as the failure surges within her again. “When the mind was repressed, we split into two in order to salvage as much as possible.”, she looks to Satoru with devious eyes, “We would’ve slowly gone mad otherwise.”. Neither of them are speaking, giving her the floor so she turns her glowing gaze to Choso, “You and I are almost exact in product, we were just born differently…I am half curse as well.”.

Choso’s eyes widen to this immensely as many pieces fall into place. Her energy that lingers, her ability to sense the darkness within him, the fact that his blood fuels her. He breaks his gaze with Elska to turn to Satoru who seems to be thinking but isn’t overly sharing his true feelings on the matter. Her presence increases rapidly again so he quickly looks back to her and becomes afraid as she licks her lips at him. She says, “If Sati wasn’t here, I’d take you right now…”, and he feels her hand caress the side of his face but holds his breath not knowing what that exactly meant. ‘Does she mean…’, and looks down at his lap as she sinks her weight into him. He cries out, “Elska NO!”, but feels himself being pinned by her again.

“Elska…”, Satoru is not sure as to what is going on but knows he should tread lightly with his disgust of her harboring secret desires for Choso. She looks to him expressionlessly but the attention was enough, “…Love, I’m sorry for doing this to you.”, he feels the shame in his heart and almost as if she could read his mind she says, “This was a war waged far before you were born sweet Sati. My ancestors and those of the Zenin and Titer clans started this centuries ago. A tragic love story…”. While still remaining her eyes on Satoru, “A Zenin once loved a woman from the Oda clan but their union was rejected for her clan’s lack of status. Oda’s were not inherently shaman and suffered in servitude to the major clans for this and many other reasons. An intelligent and unusually empathetic curse heard their plight and decided to offer them a deal. The Oda’s would evolve, allowing them capabilities of harnessing cursed energy. The heartbroken woman accepted without understanding what would be waged allowing the curse to manifest itself into fragments to take form in every Oda. The Titers, who were then one of the major clans, saw this as a threat and manipulated the time continuum to relocate the Oda’s to a place where they would not have to fear their dark powers.” She exhales, “The curse’s stipulations were for the Oda’s to end humanity by turning them into similar but lesser beings which would eventually allow the curse to take physical form once again.”. Gojo is left in awe by this explanation. ‘A Zenin?’, and turns his head to Naoya and contemplates on the unexplainable connection Elska and Naoya have always had. He realizes something and tells her, “The Zenin’s want you apart of their clan this time…”, his eyes unfasten completely, “…The Titers do too now.”, he thinks of his mother’s words that confirmed they want to breed with her.

“Yes but they foolishly misunderstand their place. The Titers never have and never will be able to control me. Their thoughts otherwise on this are contrived.”. Elska now thinks of Suguru. “I drank from Getou and learned a great deal, he’s merely their powerful puppet. I believe I placed enough doubt in his mind though, if he’s worth anything he will realize his own will.”. Choso and Gojo both wear expressions of mortification that she ignores, “If he ends up agreeing with his clan then I’ll be forced to act however.”, She grins frenziedly, “They do not properly comprehend that their fate rests on my whims.” Her eerie smile fades, “What they’ve done however, I will require lives to pay for it.”. She looks over to Naoya and winces to the reminder that he suffered greatly, “My prince will soon awaken. His DNA synthesis rapidly took course and it was unlike anything we’ve ever seen…”. Merely gazing upon her blonde lover quells her strength, “He has an adverse effect on my existence, he drains me of my ability to stay in this form…”, she looks back to Choso, “…which is why I need to become whole. You can make this possible.”.

Gojo is trying to make sense of this new information and is categorizing his brain for this purpose. When her eyes meet his own again she grins and says, “I will have you too when the time is right. You’re a variable in all of this, the Gojo’s have never had a turned amongst their ranks and with your innate power, I am hesitant to expose you to this needlessly. In theory I will be your master but your soul particularly is already so darkened that I am forced to question what your nature will be.”. Satoru has never discussed becoming like her but a small part of his heart is mended knowing that he’s not left out of her collection. “Love, I would be willing if you saw fit.”, he removes his hand from her breast and brings it to her face. She seems to like being addressed this way which cements the fact for him that they really both are Elska. ‘She refers to me as Sati too.’.

Elska abruptly dips back down into Choso’s neck and bites him again. His cursed blood reanimates through her veins and feels herself growing even stronger. The thought of wiping out the Titers and rescuing her beloved mix with the sensations the being gives her causing her to moan deeply. She feels him growing more underneath her again and smiles into him and wishes that she didn’t need his permission to turn him.

‘HE IS NOT READY YET’

Despite her current ecstasy, she yanks her head up and huffs with annoyance before closing the wounds. “Sometimes I grow fucking tired of your voice.”.

‘Who is she talking to?’, Choso feels his brow furrow as he recalls the other times she seemed to speak to no one. He’s reading that she’s now agitated and wonders if he shouldn’t make a break for it soon. He thinks about Naoya and Toji, how they would be losing their shit if they were witnessing this and doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of Gojo’s wrath either.

“You need not run…”, Elska sighs to the obvious hesitation from Choso and maneuvers herself off of him and stands. “I will not turn either of you right now for our efforts should be placed into retrieving my beloved.”. Gojo warps behind her and spins her around and she feels his arms embrace her. With confusion she asks, “Do you not fear me, Sati?”.

Satoru chuckles into her hair, “Oh I fear you…I just love you as well.”, and is surprised when this dark Elska relaxes into him. ‘She loves monsters because she is one too…’. He knows this thought would likely terrify anyone else but he feels a new bond has been created between them in this moment and reminds her, “I know you feared me but you also never let me go.”. He inhales her scent begins to sway them, “You’re my love.”. He wonders as well who she meant that random statement to but doesn’t feel the need to press her for more information as he’s still working through what was just laid out.

Being so close to Satoru, feeling his body heat and breath brings Elska back to her arousal she’s been fighting for the sake of communication. She bites his chest through his shirt and rakes her nails down his back as he whimpers. She can taste his own excitement and decides that enough was said.

Gojo feels himself being pushed onto the bed and watches Choso jump up to standing. Elska straddles him and tears her slip open before glaring down and demanding, “Remove your shirt.”. He hastily does as he’s told while admiring how frightening her mannerisms are. When she leans down to kiss him, she lifts her weight from his lap and growls, “Your clothing is still in the way.”, to which he shimmies the waistband to his thighs, allowing his hardened flesh to make contact with her bare skin. He quickly finds Choso who is standing a few feet away with his jaw slacked open, “Cho-…”, she covers his lips and aligns herself with Satoru’s erection and says, “Do not concern yourself with him whilst I fuck you.”. He then feels her wet warmth slide down his shaft and groans loudly into her palm as she felt amazing. She pins his arms over his head against the mattress and proceeds to thrust herself into him passionately. When she gasps to using him, he feels a long-forgotten desire to tame her. Suddenly Gojo experiences his own switch as she continues to bounce herself on him. He breaks an arm free and sends his hand to her throat, squeezing it as he pulls her face down to his. When she bites her lip with arrogant eyes, he understands that she’s hoping he’ll fight back for dominance and whispers into her lips, “I will have you begging me to stop.”.

Elska grins to the confirmation but all of the sudden finds Satoru is no longer below her. “Try your best, you will not break me.”, she teases in her lowly voice as she recognizes his presence behind her. She hears Gojo say, “Choso, find me something to tie her up with.”. She looks to Choso who seems to not understand why so she smiles, “Do as he says.”. Satoru now wraps a hand around her throat again and pulls her back to where she’s on her knees and feels his erection rubbing against her. She tries to angle herself so she could feel him again but fails. She huffs disapprovingly but is soon met with his grith spreading her, leaving her crying out in lust. He leans down by her ear while he seats himself completely, “Love, is that what you wanted?”, and snickers as he rams her a few times.

Choso is finding the request made of him to be completely outlandish. ‘She shouldn’t be tied up!’, he now hears Satoru thrusting into her and feels uncomfortable with witnessing it in person. What he cannot ignore though is his own throbbing while he scurries to find anything that can be used for restraints. While searching through the drawers he comes across a scarf and quickly throws it over to Gojo without looking at them. His eyes take to Naoya in the other bed and he frowns to the situation at hand but knows there’s nothing he can really do to stop Elska. It was clear to him that she initiated and wanted to further down this adventure with Satoru. He looks over to them finally and looses his breath as he’s met with her alluring eyes. ‘Does she want me to stay?’, he questions internally hoping he was wrong. “Elska?”, he asks in a small voice, becoming mesmerized with how she’s staring into him.

Gojo pushes Elska down into the bed and brings her arms to fold neatly behind her back. “Like old times…”, he teases wantonly as he secures the scarf around her forearms and wrists. He nudges her body forward so he can sit on his knees behind her and admires her body as he postures himself over her legs. With his left hand he grabs himself up to rub into her folds, moaning to the visible evidence that he’s going to be able to go wild. He notices Choso run out of the room and chuckles while gliding into her fully, “I guess he didn’t want to watch. Smart move.”, and begins pound into her relentlessly as she moans into the sheets. He grabs her throat again with his right hand to pull her back towards him and says, “That’s right love, you will take this dick and you will fucking like it.”, and slaps her ass with his left. “I am going to conquer you all over again…”, he hisses as he pulls on her waist to make sure there’s not a single inch of him missing out. She cries out, “YES!”, which causes him to tighten his grasp on her throat from the rush it sent through him while he delivers deep thrusts. He whimpers to how she feels contracting around him and takes notice to her body’s response as he continues through her orgasm. “Already, huh?”, the accomplishment fills him with pride and he expresses it by still crashing into her as she falls apart. After a harsh few minutes, he slows down in an attempt to caress her internally. “Mmmm…”, he hums to how slippery her walls have become as she pants in front of him. “Perhaps my love wants to be controlled?”, he slaps her rear again with his left hand before regaining his grip on her hip. She lowly gasps, “Please try!”, which makes him say, “I am going to destroy you…”. He decides to warp in front of her and watches her body fall into the mattress. He grabs her hair and assists her in lifting her head while tilting his chin to the side and mocking, “The scary little Elska…”, she opens her mouth so he sends himself down her throat, “…gagging on my dick.”. He works his hips into her as expected tears roll down her face. When he removes himself to allow her air, he sighs to her saliva coating her breasts, causing them to glisten every so often. To his surprise she seductively moans and challenges, “Is that all you’ve got?”, which causes him to grunt as he traces her lips with his tip. He replies, “You should know me better than that.”, and proceeds to thrust into her mouth again. When she chokes on him, he throws his head back and furrows his brow while gasping, “My sexy little Elska…”.

Feeling his grip in her hair as he harshly stretches her throat fills her with exhilaration. There are reasons as to why he is so special to her and this depravity he harbors is one of them since it mirrors a part of her nature. She looks up to him the best she can as her muscles convulse to his motions and loves the dominating way in which he treats her. ‘Nobody has ever been so brave.’, she thinks as she gags. He removes himself from her mouth again but drags his member along her face which makes her whimper with anticipation. He says, “I can’t finish until I’ve opened everything.”, and she shivers to his voice as it was chilling, knowing he’s going to take her in every way he can. He warps behind her again but is maneuvering her to lay on her left side. She tries to adjust in a way that makes her arms more comfortable but he slaps her thigh and says, “Don’t squirm now love, it’s too late for that.”.

Satoru bends her legs up towards her chest so he could have unobstructed access. Spreading his kneeing stance, he leans over her to grab her throat again while he begins to nudge her second entrance. “You are mine to fuck and so is this ass.”, and groans down to her as he feels himself slowly making progress. He loves how her face morphs into pleasure the deeper he goes and wonders, ‘Has she liked this all along?’, but is soon taken out of thought as she gasps to being further parted. He releases her throat to lean back and stabilize himself with her hip, wanting to watch himself submerge into her. “Look at you love, taking me so well…”, she cries out heatedly and he bites his lip as he backs out to start the process over. He drops some of his own saliva down where they meet and works himself in deeper, becoming completely swallowed by her. “Such a good girl…”, he breathlessly whines as their eyes meet. “…Take it all…”, and begins to set a rhythm. As he increases his force she cries out “YES SATI”, and smiles with parted lips as she’s forced to endure him. He’s watching her skin ripple and wave out from his impact and it nearly makes him come undone having the knowledge that she’s enjoying this. He pulls out of her to take in the sight of her mess and rolls her onto her stomach. After making his way back in, he leans his body to hover over hers while he continues to pound through her.

Elska is completely under his control but is rather thrilled by how rough he is being. Through her moans she tries to tell him that it’s coming but before she can, the pheromones release into the room. She turns her head and sees Satoru’s face next to hers as he fills his lungs and moans, his motions halting while he does. She hears him say, “You must love it when I fuck you like this…”, and picks up his pace again. While gasping she’s able to say, “I want more!”, and her eyes roll back when gives her exactly that. She can tell by his breathing that he’s nearing his end so she arches her back underneath him as if to present she was ready to be a pretty display. His thrusts after that became full and deep with each stroke until she feels him twitch and begin to settle. He opens her legs to guide her onto her back while remaining inside of her. The look on his face is breathtaking and she can sense his relief as he slowly nudges through her a few more times.

While holding her ankles and leaning his hips into her, he brings his gaze from her face to where they’re connected and grunts to how pleasing the sight is. He leans down to kiss her feverishly as he comes to terms with his affections for Elska as a whole and says, “I love all sides of you…”, into her lips. He leans back up so he can watch his contents spill from her after he pulls out and moans when it’s even more beautiful than he imagined. Rolling her back onto her stomach he reaches down to undo her binds and finds their lips meeting as soon as she was free.

She slides her tongue into his mouth passionately and they moan into each other again. When she breaks away she says in her lowly voice, “I don’t have much time left like this but one day I will be whole. Let’s see if you can overpower me then.”, and brushes her thumbs across his cheeks. “I will be a blend of all attributes but I can promise I’ll want more of this.”. Her eyes feel heavy now as she feels her state diminishing, “I will have to sleep again but I will return to normal when I wake. Will you…”, she hesitates, “…will you bring me to sleep next to Naoya?”. She’s taken back by his kind smile as he lifts her up into his arms. They sway as he uses his knees to bring them to the edge of the bed and they nearly fall over as he works to swing his legs out to the floor.

They laugh together as he awkwardly finds his balance but he feels her sincerity as he walks them over to Naoya. “You can rest easy love and I’ll clean you up…”, he tells her as he lowers her down next to the sleeping Zenin. Her eyes are quickly losing their glow as she lays there and wraps her arms around Naoya’s left one, so he knows she’s going to be out here soon. “Love?”, she brings her hazy gaze to him, “We will find Toji, I swear it’s my priority.”. She smiles and thanks him before saying, “I’m glad to know he’s important to you as well Sati. Please, locate my beloved…he needs me…”. While he was forming his next words she closes her eyes and falls asleep instantaneously. “Love, I will make this world work for you…”, and leans down to kiss her once more. He stands upright again to find something to wash their wonderful experience with. After wiping her down he crawls in the bed and uses the slightest bit of space given to make his own spot, wanting to be next to her. He ponders on what she said earlier about the curse’s will to replace humanity and smiles into her neck, “I don’t much care for humans either…whatever your endgame is, we will succeed.”.

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bangtiddies · 4 years ago

Text

Plastic Trees & Hot Chocolate

Pairing: none; dad!Seokjin with his son on Christmas Genre: Angst, Fluff Rating: PG13 Words: 1.3k Warnings: character death, grief, crying

Summary: Seokjin used to love December. There’s his birthday, Jaesun’s birthday, and then Christmas. December was Seokjin’s favourite month. And then suddenly, it wasn’t.

Note: unedited because I’m a fool.

It’s December 1st. Jaesun is excited to finally be able to put the Christmas tree up and decorate it. Seokjin still thinks it’s way too early to put up the Christmas tree, but he can’t say no to his son’s puppy dog eyes.

They work together in excited giggles. When the tree is finally up, Seokjin makes sure to support all of Jaesun’s creative decisions in decorating the tree, even if one side of the tree is packed with more decorations than the other.

After decorating their cheap, plastic Christmas tree, Seokjin goes to the kitchen to fill two Christmas themed mugs with hot chocolate. He adds a little bit of cold water to Jaesun’s mug to make it a little less hot, so that his four year old son wouldn’t burn his poor tongue when eagerly drinking the sweet beverage.

Jaesun sits excitedly on his highchair in the dining room, making grabby hands for his small mug of hot chocolate when he sees his dad walk in with the two mugs. He giggles with delight when Seokjin hands him the mug and starts happily drinking the warm drink. Seokjin smiles fondly at his son and drinks his own cup of hot chocolate.

Two hours later, after the smears of chocolate is wiped away from Jaesun’s face, Seokjin reads his son a Christmas story to bed. One about a snowman that flies through the sky with a boy and melts the next day.

It’s stories like these that makes Seokjin feel sad.

He tells the story animatedly to Jaesun anyway, smiling for his son’s happiness. This year, for sure, Seokjin will make sure that his son enjoys Christmas to the fullest.

But after Jaesun falls asleep, Seokjin goes to his room to mourn on his own.

Seokjin used to love December. There’s his birthday, Jaesun’s birthday, and then Christmas. December was Seokjin’s favourite month. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. His love for December went when his whole life came crashing down and the one that mattered to him the most was ripped away from him. And now, all that’s left of December is a faded memory of happiness.

Nevertheless, Seokjin keeps his head up. He lets his smiles linger for a little too long, and forces jokes and laughs whenever there’s an uncomfortable silence. He wants his son to see him as a beacon of happiness, and not sadness. Because who wants a dad that cries when the laugh he was expecting after telling a joke never came?

This year, Jaesun is excited for December. He’s old enough to understand that December equals presents. Presents for dad, presents for him, and then, presents for everyone. He can’t wait for December to come.

So, Seokjin does his best to make this a great December for his son. He puts his grief at bay and does what his son wants to, including putting the Christmas tree up early.

And for the first couple of weeks, Seokjin does enjoy December.

He celebrates his birthday with a party organised by his friends – something that’s become a yearly tradition since he first met them. It feels like every year, the guests for his birthday increases. This year, Jimin’s infant daughter is added into the mix of friends and family. Seokjin gets to hold her in his arms, and he almost cries at how small she is, how Jaesun used to be this small too.

He looks over to Jaesun, who’s made it his mission to be the centre of everyone’s attention despite it being his dad’s birthday, and Seokjin’s heart warms with pride. His baby boy has grown so much. Oh, how time flies.

And a little over a week later, Jaesun’s fifth birthday comes around. Seokjin actually sheds some tears this time at how much his boy had grown.

The lights turn off and a cake in the shape of Jaesun’s favourite cartoon character is carried to him, the smile on his face widening as he stares at the cake. He asks his dad to blow the candles with him. Seokjin can’t help but smile with pride as he stands next to his grown boy and blows the five candles with him.

In that moment, Seokjin couldn’t be happier.

But he fears, as the dreaded day gets closer, that this happiness won’t last long.

During the early hours of Christmas Eve, Seokjin has a nightmare.

It’s a nightmare that he has often, but when he wakes up and sees the time and day, his lungs start to constrict.

It’s been three years.

The nightmares remind him of how he felt on that day, on the night of Christmas Eve. Waiting at home with Jaesun, waiting for the love of his life to open the door with warmth and hugs, bright smile on her face. The nightmares show him what she might have gone through that night, out on the road, out in the snow, how she wouldn’t have expected that the drive back from her parents place would be her last.

The nightmares shake him with the cruel reality, gruesome images of the scene that plays out, the light disappearing from her eyes as she draws her last breath.

In some nightmares, Jaesun is in the car with her. Joining her in the cold, leaving Seokjin to navigate the world alone. Those kind of nightmares, brings the worst pain to Seokjin’s chest, jolting awake and scurrying his way to Jaesun’s room in fear that his nightmare was real.

Because it looks so real. It feels so real.

With her, it was real.

It’s 5am, on Christmas Eve, but Jaesun’s awake, sitting up in his bed. It shocks Seokjin a little. He wonders what his son thinks of him now, tears streaming down his face, panic in his breath as he walks into Jaesun’s room with urgency.

But Jaesun just opens his arms, and Seokjin doesn’t need to think twice. He wraps his arms around his son’s small body, letting the little arms that just manage to drape over his shoulders comfort his pain.

“It’s twenty four twelve,” Jaesun says in a quiet voice, a twinge of sadness in his voice, even though he doesn’t quite understand the full meaning of the day. He knows that it’s a special day. And it’s the saddest day for his dad.

Seokjin can’t stop the tears from falling, soaking Jaesun’s pyjamas. “That’s right.”

“It’s okay daddy,” Jaesun whispers, patting his dad’s back like his dad always does when he has a boo-boo. “I’m here for you.”

Seokjin cries even more.

And Jaesun cries with him, small hands now gripping the back of Seokjin’s shirt, feeling his dad’s sadness with him.

It’s 7am, on Christmas Eve.

Later that day, they’ll visit the snow-covered field filled with big stones and pictures of loved ones. Jaesun will leave a new pot plant of poinsettia in front of the stone that has a picture of a happy face that he sees around his house. And Seokjin will leave a keep cup of hot chocolate next to the pot plant.

But for now, they’re sitting by the Christmas tree, hot chocolate warming up their hearts. Jaesun doesn’t let his dad go, one hand gripping onto Seokjin’s shirt, a small sign of support. And Seokjin appreciates every second of his son’s support.

He wonders if the 24th of December will ever bring smiles and cheerful laughs again.

Looking over at Jaesun staring at the presents under the Christmas tree, excitement in his eyes as he sips onto his hot chocolate, Seokjin lets himself think that it might be possible. He holds his son’s hand and sips on his own hot chocolate.

Seokjin doesn’t think he’ll ever stop grieving.

But he also doesn’t think he’ll ever stop healing.

For the first time in three years, Seokjin lets himself smile on Christmas Eve.

And Jaesun smiles even brighter.

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marshmallowprotection · 4 years ago

Text

Andromeda

Pairing: Choi Luciel/Reader

Description: Your life had been bound to the seas since the day you were born. You knew what it felt like to taste the salt water and freedom, but at the same time, you were bound with shackles and on the edge of a plank your captain made for you. No amount of screaming was going to save you from the seas, so, you had to fight to survive and fight to be the person that you wanted to be... so, what do you do when he returns to your life out of the blue?

Word Count: 8245

Cowboy Seven x Reader

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[Read On AO3]

The seas were where you felt like you were at peace.

There was nothing like the feeling of the wind in your hair and the sails strung high as the waves carried you from one land to another. You knew the sea life very well because every second of your life revolved around it and led you to always wind back up on the water. The ocean was your home, and the sounds of the crashing waves were like music to your ears.

This was where you loved to be, and it was where you were happy. Even though you had never had a choice in living on the ocean waves. It was a fate that you were bound to, not by choice, but by the acts of those that dared to think that you were nothing but a mere poker chip to bargain on the board in a gambling scheme.

You weren’t burned by those scars, not with the waters protecting you from the wildfire, and smiling broadly, you weren’t going to let it hold you down. You were going to make the best of what you had in this life and you weren’t going to let anyone tie you down as long as you had a say in it. Your eyes were directed at the freedom that you longed for that was out of your reach—

Taunting you and teasing you with the taste of something sweeter than the burn of saltwater taffy that you sampled now and again whenever you were able to reach any port city. There were worse things to be dealing with but you weren’t going to let it drag you down. You would continue tending to the ship that you were on, making repairs and mending whatever needed to be cleaned up.

Upkeep was specifically your job.

You were meant to make sure that everything was ship-shape and in working order. Most people didn’t like the grunt work, but you didn’t mind. Keeping a vessel running was a big task and this boat was like the back of your hand. You knew the in’s and the outs. There was nothing that could miss your careful eye on this boat. That was the luxury of being born and raised on a ship.

The ship became your life just as much as the ship provided your life.

You didn’t know any other life but that didn’t mean that you were lacking in that department. There were kind people on this ship with you that you knew and trusted very well. People that you knew that you could trust your life to and people that you knew would be there for you when you needed them. A couple of people were better than having no one.

You seemingly had no one on your side anymore except for yourself, but you had grown accustomed to that feeling.

To be fair, when you were on a ship, it didn’t matter whether you hated someone or not. Being able to look past angry and rivalry was crucial to being able to survive. The sea didn’t care if you hated that one person or not. All that mattered was that you knew how to keep a steady hand against the mast as the winds kept you at their mercy or retribution.

The sea was a cruel mistress at times, but at others, she was a calm and steady friend that could take you to parts unknown to you. That was what you loved the most. No matter how dangerous the seas could become, you would always embrace the water as it welcomed you into its waiting trenches to lull you to sleep every night. If you were so lucky, that was.

While your main job was to make sure that the vessel of the ship was in great condition alongside any of the others that were fortunate enough to be paid with pennies unlike you; You were the one that was in charge of navigation every night. The celestial navigation system had been used for such a long time and you knew the stars almost as well as you knew the seas.

No matter where you went on the planet, you could never get lost because you knew the way of the stars by heart. It was the one skill that the cruel captain had instilled into you from a young age.

It was all you were good for, by all accounts, according to your captain. You were the replacement for the last Wayfinder and it went without saying that you had to be good at your job or you would wind up in the same place that the last one had. The same place that your mother had found herself all those years ago.

The bottom of the ocean.

It didn’t matter how well you could swim, or how well you could navigate the stars. If you were thrown overboard in the middle of a storm, you were going to drown. Nothing would save you from the angry seas when they decided they were going to swallow you up and never let you see the light of day ever again.

The memory of that time still haunted you, but you pushed it down as it surged inside of your heart.

There were more important things to be focused on.

Like the maintenance of the vessel.

Rolling up your sleeves, you began to crawl down from the lookout tour after patching up some of the worn wood, taking the time to exhale as you slid down. It took a moment for you to get back down to the bridge but once you were on level ground again, you felt your stomach twist. It didn’t seem like any of the crew members were back yet.

You liked it better as long as you were alone on the ship. Not that there was anything wrong with the rest of the crew, sans the captain, but the tone on the ship changed drastically whenever business was back on schedule. There was no laughter, no light, and no feeling of liberation on the seas. Just the feeling of shackles against your ankles that would forever bind you to this fate. It wasn’t like you could run away from this life. It wasn’t like you could escape.

Oh, one could say that it would be easy to just jump from the boat and try to hitch a ride at the docks with another crew. However, that just wasn’t plausible. You couldn’t run and hide from a salty pirate that gripped your chains so tightly that you didn’t know what to do with yourself in the long run. It was to obey or taste the sting of saltwater in your lungs until you suffocated.

You weren’t a fan of the latter. You knew that no matter how far you tried to run, your captain would always yank your chains back to her. She was a cruel woman who didn’t care about anything but the thrill of the chase and the desire to control the seas. It wasn’t about the money, though that was surely a bonus in her book. What she craved was the infamy of destruction.

She was a tyrant, and the mere mention of her name made anyone who traversed the seas tremble in fear of what she would and could do to them if they dared to try and step on her power and control in any way. It didn’t matter if you sided with her or not if she simply saw you and your boat in the same area as her ship?

She would stop at nothing to make sure that your vessel sank to the bottom of the seas. Nothing could stop her from getting what she wanted. Challenging her or telling her that she wasn’t right in what she was doing would land you as good as dead. You’d seen it happen from a young age and you knew that nothing and no one could ever stop this tyrant.

The Bloody Emerald.

As long as you obeyed her orders, she didn’t come down on you too hard. She would allow you to live quietly on the ship and do what you wanted, as long as you made sure that your tasks were completed. Anything that deviated from her goals would put you on the walk to your grave. The last thing you’d wanted was to take a long walk off a short plank into the seas.

It was the last thing that anyone wanted.

So, you obeyed and did what you had to do.

Presently, you had taken care of everything that needed to be mended for the day. That was the good news… since the ship had finally docked in the harbor and you could stretch your land legs for the first time in a while. It had been a few weeks since you had been able to step on solid ground. You weren’t at all complaining about it, though.

As long as you knew that the land was the home for countless humans, you always felt drawn to the seas instead. The sea was your home, even if it was your captor at the same time. You pushed your hair out of your face and grabbed your bag from where you left it at the back of the ship. It was still bright out and early enough in the afternoon that shops would be open.

You wanted to stock up on some taffy again because it was your one saving grace in the evenings when it felt like you were going to fall asleep at the watchtower. The sugar was always just the jolt you needed to stay awake late at night. That and some decent fruit was hard to come by on the sea, and you didn’t want to be caught stealing apples from the kitchen again.

Your wrists still hurt from where the chef had smacked you with their ladle.

As much as that stung, you didn’t care about it too much. A little smack was nothing compared to what the captain would do if she knew that you’d taken things without asking again. A smack on the wrist was better than losing meal rights for two days.

Most of the crew did pity your position and knew full well that even if you pocketed something now and again—

You would repay it tenfold whenever you got the chance.

You were always good for your word. No matter what happened, you would make sure that you did things the right way. Well, the right way by the right people. Crooks and cons didn’t get that level of luxury. No pirate would ever dare trust another pirate with their livelihood least they were on the same crew and ship.

If it was somebody else, you wouldn’t have tried as hard to make things right.

Because, oftentimes, stealing from someone just meant that you were stealing from a thief in the first place. Now, that’d happened plenty of times before in your life, but when you entered this town and began to do your shopping, you were strangely reminded of a time when you took from someone and they didn’t try to start a fight with you in return.

—

It was a typical day.

Well, typical for you.

About as typical as your day could get when you were trying to duck and dodge your captain. It wasn't like you were trying to avoid her but it also wasn't like you wanted to be around her. If you had your saying things that you would pick to go with the latter. you didn't want her scolding you for something that you didn't even do.

You were the scapegoat.

The easiest person to blame in the room because you were the youngest out of anyone that was on this ship. God forbid you tried to do something for yourself for once. If she had taught you anything in your life it was that you had to fend for yourself. You would give her credit for that.

She had shown you that there was no mercy in this world and that you had to do what you had to do.

It was today that you just didn't want to deal with anything.

You couldn't smile and laugh as she tormented you and berated you for the smallest of things. You tried to play the fool to be able to survive, but it tended to backfire on you in the worst kind of way. She would just get angrier when you tried to last through your pain. Nothing would change that scowl on her face.

Even if you tried to keep things casual and very businesslike, that wasn't the response that your Captain wanted either. No matter if you were smiling or if you were frowning, your captain simply did not care. It had been difficult today because it was the day that lived in infamy and your mind. She knew what day it was and she knew what it would do to you.

And, she did what she knew best.

She kicked you around and she made you work the entire day without fail until your hand felt like they were going to break.

When all you wanted was just to get off the ship for just a few minutes to visit the edge of the coast so you could pay your respects to your mother. It was the day and the anniversary of your mother's passing. To your captain, it was a reminder that your mother blatantly failed and she was saddled with you because of it.

It wasn't like she didn't make money out of it anyway.

By the time that you were free from the ship, it was late into the evening. The sun had already begun to set and all you could think about was how the day had been taken from you. It was no different than when you were a child. whether you deserved it or not didn't matter, it just stung horribly to know that every year without fail, you would not be able to mourn in a healthy way whatsoever.

It stung because nobody was mourning for your mother except for you. There was nobody left who cared or would even think about it the way that you did. You had nowhere to visit for a grave since the ocean was her grave. But, you would always visit a small area of the beach to send out a candle in her honor to the waters to remind her spirit that her light would never be forgotten in your eyes as long as you lived.

While you had everything that you needed for the day, you still wanted to drop by the shops for something to eat since you hadn’t the time to stay on the ship and get dinner. A little snack wouldn’t hurt now and again. So you popped off to one of the shops and after you’d gotten what you needed, you paused in the doorway as you realized there was a bit of scuffle.

It wasn’t any of your business, but you were curious. As much as you knew better to avoid that sort of thing, you knew that sometimes it would lift your spirits to see someone knocked down a few pegs if they dared to do the wrong thing. Today it happened to be one of the crewmates from another ship in the docks that you had noted earlier in the day and a stranger that you didn’t know.

He was dressed quite… differently from everyone else.

The duster that he was wearing was better suited for desert terrain, and that hat of his was oriented differently from the one that a captain would wear. It struck you as odd because while you were used to seeing people of all kinds at the ports and docks that you visited, this wasn’t someone that you’d gotten to see before. This style of garb was something and brand new to you.

A cheeky smile on his face as he countered whatever the other man had said, “Now, now, gentleman, slow down n’ hold on a minute. What makes ya’ think that I took your things? I assure ya’, I ain’t do nothin’ of the sort. I’ll even empty my pockets if it helps ya’ out. I assure ya’, it’s a waste of time for ya’, though. Yer’ real thief is already long gone.”

The man scoffed, “It’s always the stranger that doesn’t belong here that is the criminal every time, sir country bumpkin. You ain’t got no excuse because you’re stalling for time. So, go ahead and save us the trouble, then. Empty your pockets, you’ve taken the money.”

Ah.

They were convinced that this stranger had stolen from them. Now, you weren’t going to say whether or not this guy had done it. You didn’t know. You had no way of knowing and it wasn’t your business. Only if the guy took from you or looked like a sleazebag would be an excuse for you to steal from him or get involved.

Though, there was something about his smile that made you want to lean in a little closer. That coy and dashing smile was dangerous and you knew it. If anyone let themselves get too close to another con, they would be conned just as quickly as they dared to get involved in the first place. Something was telling you to do something about this, though. If he was just being targeted for being different, you couldn’t just let that keep happening. It would be wrong.

And today, you knew that your mother would want you to step in and do the right thing for someone, even if they tricked you in the end. She always said it was better to be kind than criminal, but you could only take that advice so much from pirates, you know?

There was always a line but you were sure that you knew where to draw it in the sand.

Sighing, you knew better than this, but you smiled as you walked forward into the fray.

Flashing your eyelashes and waving at the crewmen. “Hey, boys. It seems as though you’re in some trouble with this stranger, you wouldn’t happen to need some help with that, would you? After all, the Bloody Emerald and her crew are here to offer help to anyone that needs it. Though, you’ll need a good price to pay me back for the trouble. I’d love to help, but if my captain finds out that you were causing trouble for our paying customers, she’ll be angry.”

The men blinked and realized quickly who you were, and despite the sweetness in your tone, they could tell that you meant business. Saying that name alone was going to bring someone into a mess of trouble that they didn’t want or need unless they were willing to pay the piper for the cost. They knew they were in for it, now.

“A—Andromeda!”

“Oh, God, it’s Andromeda.” They just bowed their heads, grateful that you had given them the option to choose to decide if they wanted to get involved or if they wanted to step off. “Forgive us for making a scene!”

The man shook his head, “Andromeda, no worries, no worries! It was just a misunderstanding. You don't need to get involved! We’re handling this. This stranger just thought he could get away with taking what’s ours.”

You merely stood your ground, “I’d hate for something bad to happen to you gentlemen. I understand if there’s been some kind of misunderstanding, but I can clear this up. Could you kindly leave this stranger be? He’s paying my captain for good service at the moment and I’m to see to his happiness. I can vouch for this guy being innocent. Though, if you are looking for a criminal here, I saw someone running off with gold and silver just around the bend over there.”

It was a little white lie, but nobody was going to fact check with your mistress to find out whether it was true or not. Your face was well known just as her errand person and seeing you could be a beautiful warning to disaster. The warning to watch your toes and pray for mercy before the Emerald would see to your demise. As much as hearing the name Andromeda made your head spin and whirl with unease and disappointment, it was useful at times like this.

“You said you saw something go around the bend, right? We'll go handle that. Don't go n' bother your captain!”

“On their way to the docks, guys, ”You waved your hand in the direction behind you, ”You might want to hurry, though. I believe he was wearing a deep maroon jacket and his hat seemed to belong to the Daybreaker ship. You know, Captain Kim and his band of thieves that think that they can take from anyone.”

“Thanks.”

“Please, don’t tell the Bloody Emerald.”

“Of course, not, boys. I would never sell someone out. Get along now, okay? Try to stay out of fights if you can.”

The men scurried off as fast as humanly possible. They didn’t want to push their luck and you were holding back the urge to laugh. People being frightened of you was a bit silly, but you could play the part of a criminal on the seas if you wanted. It was easy to slip into a role if you had to. That’s how you acted every day to survive with your crew.

Glancing back at the stranger, you offered a smile.

That was when you noticed that not-so-very-hidden bag of silver that he was holding underneath his coat. Yeah, he was a crook but he probably had a good reason for taking from those idiots. The ship they were from was filled to the brim with cons. You could smile and play friendly with them all day long but you knew better.

Those guys would cut your throat when you turned your back on them. You had to pull your leverage on them to secure your safety. It helped, enough, though. Those guys had it coming for being too clear with their crimes. That likely wasn’t their money, anyway. You knew it because the satchel was made of something far too luxurious to be from a couple of lackeys.

Some poor rich sucker had gotten jacked. Well, he probably had it coming, just like the crooks that thought that they were smart.

“Sorry about that, sir,” you said, cocking your head to the side as the stranger began to study you curiously. His golden eyes were watching your every move. “You have to be careful around these parts, there are pirates and crooks everywhere just waiting for an unsuspecting stranger to blame and steal from if he’s dumb enough to get caught red-handed.”

“Guess yer’ right, should’a been more discrete,” he chuckled. You adjusted your hold on your bag as he shifted from one leg to the other, extending his hand to yours. “Well, I reckon it’s nice to meet ya’. Thanks for savin’ me, there. I owe ya’ one. Though, I get the feelin’ ya’ tote yer’ power around like that quite a bit, huh?”

You took his hand as a common courtesy and noted how firm his shake was. It was just the right amount of pressure and not too light. Gesturing down the way that you were heading to, you decided that you could spare a few minutes to talk. He followed your step as you made your way down the boardwalk in the direction of the beach.

You expected to be alone in the long run today. Meeting a stranger felt like your mother sending you someone to talk to. A little talking and human interaction wasn’t something that you were going to turn down. Besides, this guy deserved to know that he needed to be more mindful if he was going to con people. He knew what he was doing but he seemed to be a little rusty.

Well, not everyone was prepared to swoop down from a rope and take whatever their eyes could see. A criminal on land was nothing like a criminal on the high seas.

You welcomed a distraction, “Only sometimes. Granted, normally, I might’ve just stolen what you stole from them just as a given to teach you a lesson about who you steal from, but you got lucky stranger. You’ve got a friendly face and I gotta give you credit for it. Let’s just say today is your lucky day since I was around. Those guys would have roughed you up and kicked you into the sea.”

"I could’a took ‘em,” he reassured you with a chuckle. He tipped his hat cordially at any stranger that you crossed. “But, I figure you must be in a heap of trouble yerself’, huh? I mean, you used your boss to get out of that one.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” you shrugged. It was true. You’d done that a few times before and it wouldn’t hurt anything. “Besides, it’s better not to bite the shark that will gobble you up if you don’t watch yourself. You got lucky that I was around, stranger. People don’t stick their necks out for guys like you.”

“Oh, I know,” he said.

“That doesn’t look very good on you, sir. Are you admitting that you’re a professional thief?”

“I’d like to say I’m a man of many talents. Pocketing a few coins just happens to be one of ‘em.”

“How charming. Do you flirt with just anyone using that?”

“Hahahaha… yer’ somethin’, that’s for sure. Mind if I ask about this Bloody Emerald you know? I reckon it’s not my business but ya’ can’t help a guy for being curious. I ain’t never seen two guys turn tail that fast before.”

“Well, if you’re not from around here, I would suggest you leave as soon as you get the chance. You don’t want to get caught up with pirates… trust me, I know that firsthand. Once you owe your life to the seas, you’ll never escape it, no matter how far you try to get away.”

“That so?”

You continued speaking to him late into the evening, taking a spot next to him on the sand as you watched the sunset over the horizon. He told you how he’d never seen the ocean before and was awed by its beauty and its wonder, and that dazed look in his eyes told you that he wasn’t lying. It was the face of someone who had just discovered something amazing.

As cruel as the seas could be, that childlike look in his eyes reminded you of whenever you were able to sail on your own right, letting your fingers touch the water and your body free from its shackles if only briefly. It felt like your mother was reminding you to not hate the seas for what they had done to her on the count of your captain.

The seas were not the devil nor were they the problem that sank people to the bottom. It was the people that were foolhardy and abused the seas and moved without thinking that were the problem, people who did the wrong thing for the worst reasons. There were bad people in this world, but seeing someone earnest and honest made you have hope.

Seeing this stranger who spoke of a desert of sands as far as the eyes could see without water made you imagine a world beyond your comprehension. That was what you wanted to do. See things and places that you couldn’t imagine. You wanted a ship of your own and you wanted to do what you wanted as you wanted to do it.

This man… this stranger criminal with his crooked smile, extended an idea of liberation to you just with his words alone. He spoke of chasing after the stars and extending his hand towards his freedom as he challenged the Gods. The stories he spun that evening made you laugh and made you think of the good times in your life.

Though a stranger, it felt like greeting an old friend.

You spoke of your tales of the sea and he spoke of his adventures in the desert. Neither of you was bleeding too much information about your lives, but sharing close calls and pushing the limits of what it meant to be a criminal that was just trying to survive, and pushing the idea of tempting fate against the wrong people.

You didn’t know at the time but this wasn’t going to be the last time that you would see this stranger.

It was far from it. You would go on to see him countless more times until one day everything changed once again. Leaving you right back where you started.

—

“Sorry, we’re all sold out,” the shopkeeper told you with a frown. They had been bought out by someone. All of that candy just disappeared as soon as they had placed it out. You couldn’t believe that someone had just come in and taken everything like the wave of their hand. It wasn’t fair. There was probably some rich bastard with a sweet tooth that purely wanted to spite you.

A sour look crossed your face. But, you knew that it wasn’t the fault of the shopkeeper. It was the bastard that wanted you to be denied your treats. Just your luck. That wasn’t what you wanted to happen today. You simply smiled and said, “Darn. Maybe I’ll be luckier next time, thanks for being honest with me, sir.”

You weren’t going to let that be the thing that ruined your day.

It wasn’t often that you had time for yourself to take care of things that you wanted to do. So, even if you were being denied your favorite treat… well, you could make the best of the day. It wasn’t the end of the world even if you lost out on something that you wanted. You could make the best of this mess!

It wasn’t at all that hard to try and find something to make matters better. So, you ran through some of your errands as best you could, grabbing what you did need with your pocket change and smiling your way through getting a few deals. People would give you this or that for free now and again, and it was nice.

Treats, trinkets, or a new scarf to keep you safe from the rustling sun overhead. It meant a lot to you to receive anything, and you were grateful for the kindness that you were shown by others. You smiled and thanked anyone who dared to help you. Even if you tried to reassure them not to do it, they would hand it to you anyway and you wouldn’t be able to say no.

So, you simply appreciated what you were given.

That was one of your saving graces, people often said that you looked like your mother, and for that reason, it graced you with good fortune even in a life of chaos. She had been a fair woman, kind and compassionate, but just the right amount of daring and willingness to chase the stars.

She was the kind of person that you wanted to be, even if you felt like you were failing that wish sometimes. You tried to keep a smile on your face despite everything that had happened to you but it was hard sometimes. Hard to stay smiling and positive when the world couldn’t help but slap you in the face over and over again.

You tried.

Trying was better than giving up, that’s what your mother would always say. Even though it had been a long time, you knew that her words still held weight to you. They always would. No matter if the day was good or bad, you were going to take your hits and keep walking forward.

Perhaps things would be better the next time that you had some free time to play around and leave the boat for a little bit with no captain looking over your shoulders.

By the time you cleared up everything that you needed, not as much time as you would have wanted would have passed. You weren’t ready to go back to the ship yet, but you weren’t exactly in the line of having something to do. As long as you had a viable excuse, nobody could bother you. You just needed to stay out of sight.

So, you decided that you would head over to the beach to spend the rest of your evening.

Sure, you spent all of your days on the water, but you never got to visit the beach! That was a different experience. You loved the feeling of letting your feet step deeper into the trenches of the water with a sigh against your lips, feeling relieved at the sensation of your body relaxing in the waves. The area that you visited in this particular area its own little alcove.

There was a private little area hidden deep within the trenches of the rocks on the coast that would open up during the low tide. That was a little haven for you, a place where you let some trinkets buried in the sand where nobody could find or steal them from you. It was a safer spot than in your little bed in the ship’s quarters that were maintained for you.

You ducked out of sight and followed the stone path alongside the beach until you got to your spot, pausing at the entrance of the little alcove when you heard the sound of voices.

You never allowed a single soul to venture into this area and it was well hidden. Nobody should’ve found it. You couldn’t help but peer into the opening to see who had dared to saunter into your personal safe space; and, upon seeing the glimmer of red hair peering back at you from inside, you had to pinch your arm and stifle the gasp that escaped you.

Standing there in front of you was the same man that you had met all those months ago, the man who had been like a whirlwind in your life for two weeks, only to disappear as soon as he appeared. He was not alone, either. There were two other people with him that you’d never met before. There was a man that shared his features, obviously a twin or a brother, and another person sitting next to him in the pit of sand.

It was Seven, his brother, and likely a friend. Though, those two didn’t look like they were friends with the way that their hands were interlocked together so very tightly as they spoke to each other as if the rest of the world didn’t exist nor did it matter. It wasn’t often that you saw couples up close as you never saw anyone get close to anyone. It filled you with a strange sense of comfort but that was washed away just as quickly as you realized that Seven was staring at you, now.

There was no way to turn back to step away from this one. Not that you were going to, though. This guy was just…

Because you saw that he’d been munching on your favorite delicacy. Was he the bastard that took all of your saltwater taffy? Ugh, why were you even asking yourself that? A memory of the two of you on the docks sharing sweets crossed your mind, but given how annoyed you were with the loss today, you had wanted to give him a stern talking-to despite how overjoyed you were to see him again.

Seven likely did that on purpose!

He knew it was your favorite.

He knew that you would get mad when it was sold out.

He knew that you would come to your space to—

Cheeky bastard!

“Hey, hey,” he cooed at you from the corner as his smile grew ear to ear. That smug look on his face was all you needed to see. He raised his hand and waved at you with the sheer confidence of a fool who had nothing to fear in the world. “I knew you’d come ‘round sooner or later! Nice to see ya’! Ain’t took as long as I’d thought it’d take ya’, though.”

His hat was tucked back around his neck and his jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up, revealing those arms that had been kissed by the sun. Those golden eyes of his peered back at you from his spot and you thought about slugging him in the arm to scold him for putting such a mean trick on you once again.

“You could’ve just come to the dock, you insufferable jerk!”

“That’s not as fun as gettin’ ya’ riled up,” he countered with a chuckle.

He beckoned you forward to come and join them. You stormed forward and proceeded to splash some ocean water against his face for that. He didn’t complain about that. He seemed to think that he had it coming after everything that had happened in the first place.

He rubbed the water from his face and offered you a peace offering, a few pieces of candy weighed heavy in your palms. You had given him some of yours the day before he disappeared in the shadows so receiving this felt like he was trying to pay you back for leaving so abruptly in the first place. You had been worried about him for ages, for months, and he just appeared out of the blue to do this to you of all things?

What had gotten into that head of his?

Had the desert sun melted his brains? What had even happened to him during that time? Your mind was swirling with questions that weren't going to get answers. You weren't going to get them by standing there and staring at him.

You clenched your fists, “Oh if you wanted to do that, trust me, you’ve already got me riled up today, Seven. You just left out of the blue without any explanation months ago. Did you think I was going to be happy when I was worried that one of the other pirates had finally caught onto your little thefts or something? You can’t butter me up with sweets and pretend that’s okay.”

The smile that he offered was apologetic, though. As irritated as you were with him, he knew how to make you feel better after a bad day. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. It’s a long story… one that I’d like to tell you. But, I deserved that splash. I ain’t got no excuse for leaving like that, so I’m not going to make one up on the spot.”

If he wanted to play that way…

“If you’re sorry…”

You stashed away the candy in your bag and offered him your hand. He stared at it for a moment until you took it, only for him to pull you down into the sand, the bit of water splashing around your legs as you cried in protest. He was a quick thinker, one that could guess what you were going to do and then make his counter strike.

Now your pants were a bit wet thanks to the ocean water, but that wasn’t a bother for you.

That would’ve happened whether he caused it or not. You groaned at that. You had wanted to do the same thing to him for his indignance. The last thing you expected was to be able to see him today, much less any day soon.

Everything was happening so quickly that you weren’t able to process all of it. Your brain was whirling with sensations and memories of the past. Lifting your head, you stared directly into those golden eyes of his. That cocky smirk on his face told you that he was mighty proud of himself for being able to do what you wanted to do to him first.

Nothing you did could hide the burn that invaded your features. This was mortifying, and he knew that it was. He seemed to thrive on torment and taunting. Leave it to Seven to take away every ounce of gall that you had just by flashing a stupid smile at you.

“Nice try. Yer’ gonna have to do better than that.”

Every part of you was telling you to walk him out into the sea and leave him there to float for a while to think about what he’d done. Too bad you taught him how to swim, otherwise that would’ve been a lot funnier than it should’ve been.

You clapped your hand against his shoulder as roughly as you could manage to prove a point.

He didn’t wince, there was still that coy look in his eyes. He knew what he was doing and he knew how it affected you.

Those sparks of electricity hadn’t just died because you had been separated for months at this point. Much to your chagrin, the feeling that invaded your senses was daring to bubble back to the surface just as quickly as you tried to bury it in murky depths.

You still stared into his golden eyes, “I see why you didn’t come to the docks. You knew that I would’ve pushed you into the bay.”

“I would’a pulled ya’ in with me, for sure,” he whispered.

“Not that again! The last time you did that, I had to drag you out of the water myself! You didn’t warn me you didn’t know how to swim! It took an hour to get you to relax so I could drag you back to shore.”

“I said I’d ain’t never seen the ocean before. Of course, I didn’t know. It didn't take ya' an hour, it was more like ten minutes.”

You groaned.

Nothing had changed. He was still trying to push your buttons. He was trying to invade all of your senses. It was what he had done since the very start. There was just something about him that kept drawing you in closer and closer. That had been the problem in the first place.

That was when you heard the murmur of conversation from the other two that were there, that you had almost seemingly forgotten about.

Seven’s brother seemed to be amused by how you were tearing into his brother with a huff and puff, and his partner seemed to be scolding him for teasing and poking fun at his twin. It seemed like they were close, though, you were still too caught up with Seven to think that hard about it. He had told you that he had a brother but not much beyond that.

Were they close? The man sighed, shaking his head at the scene in front of him. “Guess I owe ‘em that pie. They do exist, Cereus.”

“I told you to give Saeyoung the benefit of the doubt, Saeran,” his partner said, tapping his shoulder with their hand. “C’mon, I know that he tells tall tales sometimes, but it sounded too specific to be a story this time.”

“Little Cereus, yer’ too nice.”

“That’s my best trait, right?”

“Heheheh…”

Saeyoung…?

“Hey...?”You drew your attention back to Seven, who was kind enough to brush the stray hair from your face with a smile.

You were still peeved. You looked back at the opening for the alcove and he seemed to get the hint. You wanted to speak to him alone about all of this and you weren’t going to take no for an answer after all this time.

“Can we talk, then?”

He could laugh all he wanted.

Something needed to change.

“Always.”

It had sincerely seemed like he may never return ever again the last time that you spoke. All you had was a single letter to go off of and that didn’t tell you much. It just said that he had to go because he had found what he needed and that he would return once he was able to finish his mission that had to be completed no matter the odds.

Which, even that was a mystery to you, but seeing that he seemed so carefree now, you wanted to think that he was finished with whatever he needed to do. It seemed to weigh on him the last time you spoke, the weight of the world laying on him as he had to do something about the injustice of the town that he was living in.

He had his own tyrant, as far you knew, and just like the Bloody Emerald, you had to believe that someday, people like that would be taken down from power like they deserved to be. Life didn’t always work out the way you wanted. It wasn’t always a fairytale. It wasn’t always going to end neatly and nicely for everyone involved. Things just didn’t work that way.

You knew it.

And, deep down, you were pretty sure that Seven understood that, too.

So, you both stood together underneath the dwindling sunlight, not saying anything but knowing that there was so much that needed to be discussed. He seemed to be on edge about it. You hoped that he’d felt like he needed to be because he had to know what it felt like for you to have no way to see if he was okay or if he’d ever truly come back.

You thought he understood.

You thought that he understood how painfully closed off you were and that the last thing he should ever do was leave without saying a proper goodbye. Those two weeks were a whirlwind of your life and you thought you meant something to him. He had come to mean something to you and bottling it up and shoving it down never helped.

Seven had been a part of your life for a brief moment, and yet, he became saturated with your life to the point where it was hard to imagine not seeing him around.

“I am sorry,” he said, quietly. The two of you standing at the bank of the shore. “As I said, I reckon it ain’t gonna make things right but… it’s a long story. I never wanted to leave so abruptly but my brother needed me and I had to get to him as fast as I could. His life… was in danger, my life was in danger, and I had to do somethin’.”

“I’m not upset about that,” you said. “What I am upset about is that you left without saying goodbye after…”

After that day.

“I understand if ya’ hate me, now. I didn’t mean to break your heart. I wanted… I… I meant what I said in that letter. I wanted to come back to you and I’m here, now. I know it ain't to make up for what I did or what happened back then, but ya’ve been in my thoughts since back then. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of…”

“Stop.”

You looked back at the redhead, ignoring that swirling feeling that was bubbling in your guts as you spoke up. His eyes drew you in like nothing else ever did. A part of you wanted to scream and another part of you wanted to cry. Seven was the one that treated you kindly and made you laugh, made you laugh. You missed him.

But, it hurt at the same time.

You reached over and brushed your hand against his, “I shouldn’t give you a chance, but I… I never was that clever. I don’t want you to leave without saying goodbye, again, Seven. I don’t think I could take it if you left again like that. Can you promise me that you're not going to do that again?”

“I’m here to stay,” he clasped both of his hands around yours. The earnest look on his face told you that he was trying to be sincere. “Can ya’ give me another chance to make things right this time? I’d understand if yer’ not in the market for that… but, I want to do right by ya’. I fought the devil and was able to win, and now I want to live to the fullest. So, I wanna get close to you without the rush.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

“As long as you say goodbye if you have to leave this time around.”

“I don’t plan on leavin', but ya’ got a deal if it happens, Andromeda.” You scoffed at the mention of that name. He still seemed to be using that name for the wrong reason. No matter how many times you told him to use your name instead of the one that the captain had given you, he would continue to call you Andromeda instead. “By the way, I did buy all that taffy but I got for ya’, peace offerin’, n’ all.”

You held out your hand, expectantly. “Pay up, then. I’ll think about forgiving you, then. You've missed a lot since the last time I saw you so you're going to have to make up for it, cowboy. I won't let you off easy."

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deancas-fanfiction · 3 years ago

Text

A Daydream Away

Chapter 2/?

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

available on ao3 Read Ch. 1 here

Dean began to slowly stir from sleep. For the first time in years, he awoke feeling well-rested. No pounding headache from the aftershock of a hangover, no repressed memories rattling in his head from a recurring nightmare, and there was no dry feeling in his eyes from sleeping only a few hours. Instead, he felt warm and relaxed as he began to regain consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep as he took in his surroundings. Morning sun hazily streamed in through the gaps in the curtains and it was perfectly still and quiet. Dean sighed in content and went to roll over to fall back asleep. Except a weight on his chest prevented him from moving.

Dean tensed, realizing Cas was lying across him. His head was resting in the crook of his neck and his arm was flung over his chest in an almost possessive like manner. His right leg was intertwined with Dean's, sufficiently entangling the two so Dean couldn't easily tear himself away. Cas' breath softly fanned against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. As if all of that wasn't bad enough, Dean quickly remembered they were both nearly naked, wearing nothing but their boxer briefs. This meant their bare skin was pressed together and that there was only a very thin material of fabric protecting Dean from a very embarrassing situation. He closed his eyes at that thought and focused on his breathing to calm himself down.

It was at that moment that Cas began to stir. Dean silently cursed whatever entity was at fault for this awkward situation he was about to be in. Cas flexed his fingers and he tightened his grip on Dean rather than pulling away in alarm, as he had expected.

"Uh Cas?"

"Hmmph."

"Buddy, I gotta go to the bathroom. Would you let up?" Dean tried peeling Cas' arm off him with that request but was unsuccessful.

"No."

Okay, so Cas was a totally unabashed cuddler. Dean added it to the mental list of social norms that Cas hasn't exactly picked up on yet. He internally groaned as Cas remained plastered to him. As Cas' breathing once again evened out and he fell back asleep, Dean's mind began to race.

He's always been the kind of guy that either completely ignored or repressed the hell out of complicated manners in his life. First, it was his sexuality. It was years of him ignoring his attraction to men and assuring himself it was completely normal for a guy to have a crush on other guys until he finally admitted to himself that yeah, okay maybe he's not all that straight. While it was freeing to finally admit it, he was bitter for denying himself that ability to explore that aspect of his life for so long. Then there were another few years of admitting his sexuality but refusing to actually admit it out loud to anyone. When he finally told Sam just a few years ago and was met with a "yeah, I know Dean," he realized that he did it again. He deprived himself of the happiness of being his true self. He delayed his own happiness due to his own insecurities and hang-ups.

Since they literally defeated God, Dean promised himself that he was done with delaying his own happiness. It was kind of a (for lack of a better term) come-to-Jesus type of moment. He literally died multiple times in the last fifteen years alone and it wasn't until that moment that he truly realized life is short and that he should make the best of it. Of course, it's now a lot easier to do that when there's no world-ending apocalypse or imminent battle with Heaven looming overhead.

While this new outlook on life was pretty great, it has certainly complicated things. Another thing Dean repressed the hell out of was his relationship with Cas. While Cas refers to it as a 'profound bond,' or whatever, Dean has a harder time labeling it. It's obvious they have a different relationship than Cas and Sam do, but it's just so damn confusing when he allows himself to think about it.

He just wishes that Cas was a little more transparent regarding what was going on inside his mind. With time, Dean has improved at reading his minimal facial expressions. The slight upward tick of his lips showed his amusement. His signature head tilt™ meant confusion or curiosity. The furrow of his brows indicated frustration and if accompanied with the head tilt it meant he was about to smite someone. The last time Dean saw that look, it was directed at him and Sam when they may have gotten Jack just a little bit drunk. But really, they couldn't be blamed. It was the night before they took on Chuck, and they were all under the impression it was their last night on Earth. Anyone else would have done the same thing. Well, except Eileen who signed "told you he'd be mad," with a smug look on her face. But that's not the point.

Regardless, Dean had gotten quite good at reading Cas. However, there was still a lot he didn't know. Sometimes Cas would look at him with an expression that was so foreign to Dean that he had no idea how to catalogue it. And it confused the hell out of him. Sometimes the expression would be so soft that Dean would entertain the idea that maybe Cas felt the same way as Dean does. But that look would be gone as quickly as it appeared, and Dean would convince himself he was projecting.

Dean sighed as his thoughts continued to spiral, unable to stop them. Instead, a loud pounding at the front door startled him, bringing him back to the present. Cas jolted awake as the pounding continued. He had a light flush on his cheeks as he removed himself from Dean.

His hair was sticking out in every direction, reminding Dean of that night in the barn when they officially met for the first time. He wondered what sex hair would look like on Cas, if that's just what his regular hair looks like in the morning. Dean shook his head, effectively stopping that train of thought before it could spiral out of control. The pounding continued, more incessantly this time.

"Who the hell..." Dean grumbled, forcing himself out of bed. He threw on his discarded shirt from the floor and made his way through the living room to the front door. He swung the door open and was met with Sam's annoyed expression. "What are you --"

"Jesus, Dean. Do you plan on actually working the case or are you just going to sleep all day?" Sam brushed past Dean and brushed snow off his jacket.

"What are you talking about? What time is it even?"

"Nearly nine, Dean." He said, pulling his best bitch face. "They stop serving breakfast at 10. I thought you were going to interview guests this morning."

"Well, yeah. We were just getting ready to leave, so chill." Sam looked unimpressed and walked past Dean to the bedroom. Cas was still sitting in bed, blinking away sleep with the blankets pulled around him, effectively proving Dean wrong. "Oh, you were just getting ready to leave? Then why does Cas look like he just woke up?"

"I -- don't you have an interview to prepare for?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I already had it. I start later today."

"That soon?" Cas asked, his voice gravelly and rough from sleep and oh. That sound went straight to Dean's groin.

"Yeah. They're really short staffed. From what I gathered, quite a few employees quit after the last couple went missing a few days ago. It seems like they were pretty freaked out. So now they're really short staffed and pretty desperate."

"Oh, so that's why they hired you," Dean jokes. "They're desperate."

Sam just looked unimpressed. "For the love of God, would you two just get ready and go to breakfast? We have no leads and I need you to talk to the guests. When I'm at the desk this afternoon, I'll sign you up for some activities so you can talk to more guests."

Dean opened his mouth to argue that hey, he's perfectly capable of signing up for his own activities but Sam shot him a look that stopped him in his tracks. "I'll make sure you're signed up for the bourbon tasting, if that's what you're worried about."

"I knew I could count on you, Sammy," Dean grinned. With that, Sam shook his head and headed out of the cabin.

It took equal parts pleading and the promise of coffee to coax Cas out of the warmth of the bed and out into the cold so they could make it to breakfast in time. The morning brought with it a light snowfall, so Dean had to quickly brush the Impala off before driving the short distance to the main lodge where breakfast was served.

Dean and Cas waved to Brenda as they passed the front desk and waited in line to check in at the host stand. Breakfast was served in the form of a buffet with a wide variety of items offered. Dean gave the hostess their cabin number and headed straight to the eggs and bacon. He loaded up his plate while Cas grabbed waffles and coated them with syrup and whipped cream.

"You should be grateful you married me instead of Sam," Dean declared, taking a large bite of bacon as he scanned the room for an open table. "He would have lectured you for all of the sugar you're loading up on."

Cas tilted his head, seemingly thinking that over. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I don't think Sam and I would be very compatible on a lot of fronts."

Dean, meanwhile, flushed at the possible implication that he and Cas are compatible. Cas didn't seem to notice and directed his attention towards a table where a young couple were sitting, enjoying their breakfast. "Should we sit with them? Maybe they could tell us something about the couple that went missing."

"Yeah, okay. It will also get Sam off our back for a few hours." Dean followed Cas as he approached the table.

"Mind if we join you?" Cas asked, good natured. "My husband, here, overslept this morning and it seems we arrived for breakfast at the busiest time."

Dean glared at Cas for throwing him under the bus when it was actually the other way around, but there was no heat to it. In reality, his stomach did that weird swooping thing when Cas referred to him as "his husband."

"Of course!" The young woman smiled at them over her glass of orange juice. "I'm Amy, and this is my fiancé Jake."

"Nice to meet you," Dean turned on his most charming smile. "I'm Dean, this is Cas. We just arrived last night and had no idea breakfast would be so busy."

Amy laughed and shook her head. "We experienced the same thing. We found that arriving at 8:30 is the sweet spot. It's right between the early and late risers."

"Another tip: if you arrive early enough, they have cinnamon rolls. They always run out by 8:00." Jake added.

"We'll definitely remember that. Cas has a sweet tooth, as you can tell by his side of waffles he got with his syrup." Dean joked. Cas just rolled his eyes and happily ate his sugar infused breakfast. "How long have you two been here?"

"Five days," Amy chirped. "We're getting married this summer, so we wanted to have a relaxing vacation just the two of us before things get too crazy with last minute wedding planning."

"We know how that goes. We ended up having a small wedding because the planning got to be too much work for us." Cas paused and chewed thoughtfully. "Wait - so you've been here for a few days. Does that mean you were here when that couple went missing?" Truthfully, Dean was impressed by Cas' nonchalance. While his social skills have significantly improved since becoming human, there were still times that Cas had some social awkwardness. It was endearing as hell but could make working a case a little difficult. But Cas seemed to be holding his own rather well.

Jake and Amy exchanged a look. "Yeah, we actually did a cooking class with Kevin and Raymond. They were so nice and were here on their honeymoon. No one seems to have any idea what happened."

"Did you notice anything weird?"

"No," Jake answered, furrowing his brows. "Like Amy said, they were really nice and gave us a lot of great wedding advice."

"Yeah, they weren't planning on leaving for another few days, so when they were suddenly gone it didn't make sense."

"We thought they had a family emergency and had to leave early or something, but then we heard they were actually missing. It's so sad."

"Did you do any other activities with them?"

Amy smiled wistfully. "Other than the cooking class, we only did the bourbon tasting with them. I have quite the bourbon collection at home, as did Kevin so we talked a lot about that. The tasting was the last we saw of them."

Dean nodded, and steered the conversation towards bourbon and scotch, not wanting to raise any suspicion by asking too many questions.

After finishing their breakfast, Cas grabbed a to-go cup of coffee and they meandered back outside. With the fresh snowfall, the grounds looked serene and absolutely beautiful. A blanket of untouched snow coated the ground, sparkling in the sun.

"Want to explore the grounds a little?" Dean asked. "It may be a good idea to get a good feel of the layout."

"Yeah, I'd like that." Cas smiled in return and pulled his hat over his ears. The wind wasn't biting like it was the night before, but it was still December in Minnesota meaning it was fucking cold. Dean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and followed the path around the lodge. This led to a large staircase down to the lakeside. Christmas lights were strung along the railing and there was a bonfire roaring near the lakeside, which was tended to by a few guests. Dean and Cas slowly made their way down the staircase, breathing in the crisp fresh air and enjoying the scenery.

Cas quickly finished his coffee and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Then he shoved his hands in his jacket, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a shiver. Dean fondly rolled his eyes at him and held out his hand.

"Give me your hand." He ordered. Cas looked at him questioningly but complied, nonetheless. Dean took his hand and shoved it in his pocket with his own. "Jesus, your hand is freezing."

Now it was Cas' turn to roll his eyes. "I had to finish my coffee," he reasoned.

"We need to buy you gloves."

"I'm fine, Dean."

"No, your hand feels like ice. Sometimes you forget you're human and actually need to worry about things like that."

"That's not true."

"Sure, it is," Dean snorted. "Within your first few days of being human you were dehydrated because you forgot to drink water regularly."

"You forget to drink water regularly, Dean."

Dean paused. "Okay, you have me there. But you also wore your suit and trench coat in 90-degree heat on that case in Arizona. We were in the desert and you were wearing like 4 layers."

Cas lips turned up at the corner. "Okay, you have me there." He echoed. "To be fair, I am getting better. I now dress 'weather appropriate' as Sam puts it."

"Yes, you do. I'm just sure being human takes some getting used to. But in the meantime, you need to let Sam and I help you out." Dean squeezed Cas' hand for emphasis, which was now at a much warmer temperature.

In response Cas smiled his full, blinding smile which made Dean feel warm despite the cold. "Thanks for letting me stay with you both at the bunker."

At that, Dean felt a pang of guilt. He completely mishandled the situation last time Cas was human and that was something he would never forgive himself for. "Cas, I'm sorry for --"

"No, don't apologize. I understand why you did that. You were saving Sam's life. I didn't mean to dredge that up. I just wanted to express my gratitude for allowing me to stay with you."

"You're family, Cas. We stick together." And just like that his blinding smile was back, with a certain softness in his eyes that Dean had trouble interpreting.

They now reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped at the fire to quickly warm themselves. Dean and Cas asked the few guests milling around the fire about Raymond and Kevin, but none of them had any information about the missing couple. Half of them weren't even staying at the resort when the disappearance occurred. After making a few minutes of small talk, they said their good-byes and headed back to the Impala. The cold officially seeped through their winter layers and Dean could feel his feet turning numb.

The walk back to the car was very quick and at last Dean was starting Baby and blasting the heat. He sighed in relief as warmth fanned over his red face.

"We should probably call Sam before he arrives back for work and tell him we haven't had any luck yet."

"Yeah, good thinking," Dean agreed as he pulled out of the parking spot. Cas dug out his phone and dialed Sam's number, putting it on speaker so they could both hear.

"Hey, Cas." Sam answered cheerfully. "What's up?"

Cas dutifully explained their lack of progress on the case and the dead end with the guests. "I know we haven't spoken to more than a handful of them, but I fear it will be the same with all of the guests. What are your thoughts?"

Sam hummed in thought. "I called the local law enforcement this morning while you were at breakfast, posing as a journalist and they said the same thing -- none of the guests had any helpful information. Maybe we need to switch tactics."

"What are you thinking? Cas and I pose as agents?" Dean questioned as he turned onto the gravel road leading to their cabin.

"No, law enforcement already spoke to the resort staff and they didn't get anywhere. I doubt it would be any different with federal agents." He paused as he thought for a moment. "Maybe you two should just really lean heavily into the whole married couple thing and focus on luring whatever it is that took the other couples."

"We're already doing that," Dean responded.

"No, I know. But I mean lean into it. Act so sickeningly in love so you become the obvious target. I'll see if I can get any other information from the staff, but I think that's our best angle at this point. Like I said, I'll sign you up for some couple activities over the next few days and you just need to act like you're madly in love with each other."

"Will you sign us up for the cooking class?" Cas asked. "Jake and Amy mentioned they took that class with Raymond and Kevin before they disappeared."

"Yes, I can do that. Stop by the desk after lunch and I can give you your itinerary. But I gotta go - I have to be at the resort in less than an hour."

"Are you sure that'll be enough time to style your hair?"

"Fuck off Dean," Sam retorted humorously. "I'll see you guys later."

Cas said goodbye and slid his phone back in his pocket.

Dean chanced a glance over at Cas as they pulled up to their cabin. His brow was furrowed and he was staring out the windshield with a faraway look on his face.

"What's on your mind, buddy?"

Cas' eyes flashed in frustration. "If we're going to make people believe this is real," He said, gesturing between them. "You should probably stop referring to me as 'buddy.' Married couples don't refer to each other as such."

"Right. Sorry." Dean chewed on his lip. Cas was right. If this plan was going to work, they would have to adjust a few aspects of their friendship, this being one of them. "That's a good point. I think we were just fine this morning, but like Sam said, we need to really lean into it. So we'll have to step up our game."

"What do you suggest, we become more physical?"

Dean flushed at the implications. "Uh -- yeah, I suppose. We could hold hands more," He suggested.

Cas nodded. "Or I could put my arm around your shoulder."

"Exactly. Just do what you see other couples doing. Really, we should be fine. Once Sam signs us up for all of the couple’s activities it will be even easier to act the part."

"What about kissing?"

"What about it?" Dean's face was flaming at this point. He shifted in the seat to get a good look at Cas.

"Should we do it? Other couples do it, and it may be odd if we don't." Cas tilted his head, studying Dean's expression. "Unless that makes you uncomfortable?"

"What? N-no, not at all." Quite the opposite, actually. "I mean -- that's fine, Cas. If it feels necessary for the case, then we can, um, kiss." Dean could not believe he was actually having this conversation. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to get his shit together. "Just do what feels natural, alright?"

"Alright." Cas agreed.

"So, we have a few hours until we have to be back at the lodge to meet with Sam. Want to see if there’s anything good on tv?”

A big smile took over Cas' face at the suggestion and he nodded in agreement. They got out of the car and made their way inside the cabin. The fresh snow crunched under each footstep but otherwise it was silent. Once they were back inside the warmth of the cabin, Cas took off towards the bedroom and muttered something about getting a blanket while Dean collapsed onto the couch.

He turned on the television and began searching through the channels, waiting for something to catch his eye. Within seconds he heard Cas’ light footsteps in the hall. He looked up just as he came into sight. Cas had their large comforter in his hands, but Dean was distracted by what he was wearing.

"Are those my sweatpants?"

Cas looked down, almost sheepishly. "Oh. Yes. You always tell me that jeans are not proper attire for movie nights. I assume the rule applies even if it's daytime, so I changed. I didn't bring any loungewear, so I borrowed yours. Is that alright?"

He eyed the pants which hung low on Cas' hips. It left a small sliver of tan skin exposed and Dean could see the sharp line of his hip bones. He inhaled sharply and forced his eyes back to Cas' face. "Yes, Cas. That's alright."

Cas' lips turned up at the corners and he flopped onto the couch next to Dean. He pulled the large blanket over the two of them and sat just close enough that Dean could feel the heat coming off of him, but they weren’t quite touching.

Since becoming human, Cas has taken to borrowing Dean’s clothes. After Dean convinced him to try on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Cas realized just how uncomfortable the suit and tie ensemble was. With that in mind, he began sneaking into Dean’s room and would snag a band shirt and sometimes a flannel, dressing like he’s a Winchester himself.

The first time he saw him in his clothes Dean nearly had an aneurysm. He had grown so accustomed to Cas in his suit and shapeless coat that seeing him in jeans that hugged his ass with the sleeves of his flannel rolled up his forearms was an immediate turn on. Maybe it was also the fact that they were Dean’s clothes on him that caused such a problem. Regardless, Dean abandoned his breakfast to immediately take a cold shower.

And now, seeing him in his own sweatpants that perfectly hug his ass and hang low on his hips was painfully unfair. Dean readjusted himself, ignoring the heat pooling in his gut. Now was not the time for inappropriate boners. He internally groaned and tried to focus on the nature documentary Cas put on but was unsuccessful because at that moment Cas rested his head against Dean’s shoulder and let out a little sigh of content.

This is going to be a long and tortuous week for Dean because it's just pretend.

#destiel fanfiction #deancas #destiel #destiel fluff #destiel fanfic #fake dating #dean and cas #fanfiction #supernatural #spn

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kk095 · 4 years ago

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Sideswiped

*here's my latest story! There may be some typos and additional editing I need to do, but I hope everyone enjoys!*

Rachel was a 34 year old white woman with dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and was of average height and had a slim build. Life seemed to be going pretty well for Rachel; she was recently engaged to her boyfriend of 3 years, and the two were planning both a wedding, and buying a house together. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for Rachel this morning.

She worked at a mortgage company downtown, and the commute was about 30 minutes each way. This morning, she had an important meeting to attend. While making the drive to the office, an SUV merged onto the highway without signaling or looking, sideswiping Rachel’s passenger side. Rachel wasn’t immediately injured, but she lost control of her car and slammed head-on into a guardrail. Her neck whipped forward, causing a whiplash injury. Her chest struck the steering column before being blown back by both the impact and the airbag. A loud crunch was heard from the car striking the guardrail. One of the windows broke, which sent a handful of glass shards flying around, which struck Rachel in her right cheek, and above her right eyebrow.

After the crash took place, traffic came to a screeching halt on the highway and EMS was alerted. The vehicle that struck Rachel fled the scene, but an eyewitness took a picture of the vehicle on their cell phone, which had a clear view of the license plate.

In the coming minutes, emergency services arrived on scene. Police helped direct traffic, while also talking to the witness who took the cell phone picture. The medics went up to Rachel’s mangled vehicle and began their initial assessment. Rachel complained of chest pain, pain during inhalation, neck pain, and feeling cold. EMS placed a c-collar on the woman and placed her on a backboard, then took her into a nearby ambulance. Once in the ambulance, Rachel’s top was snipped off, only sparing her black bra. There was apparent redness and swelling on her chest from the steering wheel injury. IV access was able to he obtained on scene, and a 5 lead ECG with portable heart monitor was set up. On scene, Rachel’s vital signs were BP 79/42, heart rate 126bpm, and oxygen saturation was down to 93%. The medics hung a bag of ringer’s lactate to combat her low blood pressure and to begin fluid resuscitation, and they started her on an o2 mask with high flow oxygen. During auscultation, distant heart sounds could be heard, along with diminished breath sounds on the right side. The ECG showed an alternating tall-short QRS complex.

During transport, Rachel was drifting in and out of consciousness, and began groaning in pain. The steering wheel injury caused fractures to a few ribs and her sternum, but based on her vital signs and other observations, she was likely experiencing a major thoracic injury. Rachel remained semi conscious during transport, and asked the medics to call her fiancée, to which they told her the ER will call him as soon as they get there.

A short while later, Rachel arrived at the emergency department. She was taken out of the ambulance and wheeled into the trauma bay while one of the medics updated a few members of the trauma team. Once in the trauma room, Rachel was transferred onto the table. A few nurses snipped off Rachel’s pants, and removed her shoes, leaving her barefoot and almost completely nude. The trauma team started Rachel on blood transfusions and ordered trauma labs. The next step was to order a chest x-ray and a FAST scan.

The chest x ray showed multiple rib fractures on the right side, along with a sternal fracture. There was also evidence of a ride sided hemothorax, and possible cardiac herniation into the right side of the thoracic cavity. The echocardiogram showed no evidence of cardiac tamponade, but that’s typically common in cardiac herniation cases since the pericardium is usually completely ruptured. However, the exact location of the ruptured pericardium couldn’t be found, so it was possible the tear was on the side, or back of the heart. In the meantime, the trauma team decided to order a chest tube placement on the right side, page radiology for a portable CT scan, and page cardiothoracic surgery for a consultation.

The right sided chest tube placement began promptly. The area of Rachel’s 6th rib on the right side was sterilized with betadine and an injection of local anesthetic was injected to numb the skin. A 3cm incision was made in the skin anterolaterally, which is just anterior of the mid axillary line. The underlying tissue was incised further so the pleural space could be sufficiently exposed. With the proximal end of the chest tube clamped off by a Kelly clamp, it was advanced into the small cut and a tunnel was made so the tube could be inserted deep enough to properly drain the blood that was squeezing Rachel’s right lung. Rachel yelped loudly, feeling the tube being forced into her chest while she was wide awake. Once the tube was correctly placed, a large amount of blood and air shot out of the tube, splattering all over one of the resident’s trauma gowns.

After the chest tube was placed, the trauma team had to hang another bag of blood products to compensate for the blood loss that was being experienced. Following the additional blood products being hung from the rapid infuser, radiology showed up with the portable CT scanner. The scan took several minutes, but her head, chest, abdomen, and pelvis were all scanned. The head, abdomen, and pelvis came back clear, but the chest portion of the CT scan confirmed cardiac herniation with a 12cm blowout of the posterior pericardium. The heart was sitting outside of its fibrous casing, and the pulmonary veins were stretched out, and possibly damaged or partially detached from either the left atrium or the right lung, but the scan’s findings were inconclusive when it came to that aspect of Rachel’s injuries. But shortly after the CT scan, Rachel’s vital signs began to deteriorate rapidly.

Rachel’s breathing was slowing down, and her eyes were wide open, with a scared look present on her face. Due to blood loss, both her BP and heart rate were dropping rapidly. Since her breathing was slowing down, the trauma team elected to intubate her for airway management purposes. Before intubation began, Rachel gasped dramatically a few times. Her eyes opened wide before letting out a calm exhale and going limp on the table. No pulse was felt, and PEA ran across the heart monitors, so rapid sequence intubation and resuscitation efforts commenced at the same time.

Up by Rachel’s head stood one of the residents, trying their best to navigate a 7.0 ET tube into the attractive blonde’s airway. Just a few feet away stood a nurse who was pumping the 34 year old’s chest repeatedly. A cracking noise could be heard during CPR because of the rib and sternum fractures that Rachel sustained in the accident. With life saving efforts ongoing, a nurse injected epinephrine and atropine into Rachel’s IV. Shortly after the drugs were administered, the ET tube was placed successfully and held in place with a blue tube holder.

Over the following few minutes, Rachel received deep, strong chest compressions. Her chest caved in rhythmically while her b cup breasts jiggled around. Her belly rippled and bounced outwards from the residual force of the compressions she received. At the 3 minute mark of the code, the trauma team pushed the next rounds of epinephrine and atropine into Rachel’s IV in an attempt to obtain a shockable rhythm. About 45 seconds after the meds were pushed, coarse v-fib appeared on the monitors. The defibrillator paddles whined as they were gelled and charged to 200 joules. After a cycle of CPR, the paddles were pressed up against Rachel’s chest and a shock was delivered once everyone stood clear. Her body trembled on the table in response to shock #1, but the monitors still displayed v-fib. A nurse immediately resumed strong, forceful compressions on the attractive blonde while the paddles were recharged to 300j. The paddles were pressed up against Rachel’s chest a moment later, and shock #2 was delivered. Rachel’s lifeless body squirmed on the table in response to the jolt of electricity while her beautiful blue eyes stared lifelessly above. V-fib still persisted after shock #2, so a cycle of CPR was performed while the defib paddles were recharged to 360. Once the paddles were ready, they were placed onto Rachel’s chest again, and the 3rd shock was delivered. Rachel’s body shuddered and flopped in response to the increased intensity of the 3rd shock. But like before, this shock failed to shock the woman out of v-fib. The paddles were recharged to 360 and placed back onto Rachel’s chest, and the next shock was delivered seconds later. Rachel’s feet leapt up just above the table before crashing back down half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her size 7 feet.

This 4th shock converted Rachel to sinus bradycardia, so ROSC was able to be achieved after a downtime of 5 minutes and 8 seconds. Rachel regained semi consciousness seconds after her heart was restarted. “hey there, welcome back! You gave us a scare!” one of the nurses said. Rachel’s eyes wandered around the room, and then stared at the breathing tube and EKG electrodes on her chest. Her torso was then covered up with a blanket before she was wheeled out of the trauma room and up to the OR. Rachel stared at the one nurse who talked to her as soon as she regained consciousness. Rachel had a confused look on her face, wondering what had happened in the last handful of minutes.

In the following minutes, she was transported to the OR and prepped for surgery. She continued drifting in and out of consciousness, and her vitals were still a bit unstable. Her BP was 60 over palp and her heart rate was down to 41bpm.

Once in the OR, Rachel was moved onto the OR table. With her unstable vital signs, the anesthesiologist had some concerns about her low heart rate and blood pressure, so a round of vasopressors were pushed in order to increase her bp and heart rate in order to start the surgery in the next few minutes.

After those few minutes came and went, Rachel was anesthetized and the emergency surgery began. Her chest was covered in betadine in order to sterilize the area and limit Post-OP infection. A cut was made in her 5th intercostal space, extending across the entirety of her anterior chest. Next, the underlying tissue and fat was separated, creating a space in between the ribs on both sides of her chest, while also exposing the sternum. The next step was dividing the sternum horizontally with a sternal saw. The saw made a high pitched grinding sound as it sawed through Rachel’s breastbone with relative ease. After the sternum was divided, a finochietto rib spreader was placed into the middle of her chest with the bar facing downwards towards her belly. The knobs on the spreader were turned, forcing her chest to open. Upon entry to the chest via a clamshell thoracotomy, there was a rush of blood. Suction was applied in order to restore a line of sight for the surgical team. Blood kept leaking from her chest and accumulating on her torso and on the table. It was decided at that point to place a 2nd chest tube for additional drainage. The 2nd chest tube was placed over the following minute or so, and the surgical attending was sprayed with blood upon placement of the chest tube. The 2nd chest tube was able to create better visualization of the thoracic cavity, but blood loss was becoming a problem. 2 units of O+ PRBC's were hung from the rapid infuser and a dose of rhogam was injected intravenously since Rachel’s vital signs were once again on the brink of becoming dangerous. The surgeon worked on locating the source of the bleed over the coming minutes while the rest of the OR team did everything in their power to maintain Rachel’s vitals; but as time went on, that became more and more of an uphill battle. The bleeding continued over the next 45 minutes or so, and at that point, Rachel went into pulseless bradycardia. The surgeon paused the surgery to begin internal massage on the 34 year old. A wet, rhythmic, squishing sound was heard while internal compressions were being performed. 0.5mg atropine and 2 micrograms/kg dopamine were pushed intravenously as part of the pulseless bradycardia ACLS algorithm. The aorta was cross clamped near the diaphragm, and a clamp was placed on the right pulmonary hilum since a bleed in the right lung was within the realm of possibilities.

4 minutes came and went until a shockable rhythm was obtained by the OR team. The internal paddles were called for and inserted into Rachel’s chest and a 10 joule shock was delivered. Her torso flopped on the table in response to the shock, but she still remained in v-fib. A 20 joule shock was then delivered. A dull, wet thunk was heard after the shock was delivered but once again, there was no change whatsoever. The internal paddles were called for once again and charged to 30j for the 3rd shock. The large, spoon shaped paddles were placed back into Rachel’s chest, and shock #3 was delivered. Rachel’s toes curled at the other end of the table, showing off the soft, prominent wrinkles in the soles of her feet. However, this shock sent her into PEA. Epinephrine and atropine were pushed into her IV and internal massage continued on Rachel.

At the 10 minute mark of the code, the surgical team was able to obtain a shockable rhythm once again, so the internal paddles were readied for the next shock. The blonde’s arms and head twitched for a moment before returning to their previous position, but the shock was unsuccessful. Her heart twitched in the doctor’s hands as a cycle of internal massage was performed before the next shock. Next, a 30j shock was delivered, making a dull, wet thunk in the OR. No change was present on the monitors, so another 30j shock was delivered shortly after. This shock unfortunately sent Rachel back into PEA. The surgical attending injected a dose of adrenaline directly into Rachel’s heart, hoping to stimulate the cardiac muscle.

The code droned on and on, eventually reaching the 20 minute mark of the code with Rachel deteriorating to asystole. Her heart sat still in the surgeon’s hands as they manually pumped her heart, desperately trying to bring the woman back to life.

The surgical team worked diligently on Rachel over the following few minutes, maxing her out on drugs, and performing internal massage. At the 25 minute mark of the code, Rachel’s pupils were checked and were fixed and dilated, while her heart sat completely motionless inside her chest cavity. Despite everyone’s best efforts, the code was stopped and time of death was called at 9:17AM.

The monitors were switched off and the ambu bag was detached. Next, the rib spreader and EKG electrodes were removed, along with the rest of the equipment. Her body laid limp and cold to the touch while her chest was closed up by the surgical residents. Lastly, a toe tag was placed and her body was covered up before being sent to the hospital morgue.

A short while later, Rachel’s fiancée was given the terrible news about what happened. Later on in that day, the person that sideswiped Rachel was apprehended for fleeing the scene of an accident. The suspect faced criminal charges, but was also sued civilly by Rachel’s fiancée and parents, and settled for an undisclosed amount.

Rachel’s autopsy revealed that she died from cardiac herniation, which disconnected the pulmonary veins from the right lung, explaining the massive hemothorax and blood loss she experienced.

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onceinabluehanguangjun · 4 years ago

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into you like a train (1/5)

the holiday au that no one asked for :)

warnings: anxiety attacks, alcohol

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ao3

Lan Zhan was, to put it nicely, about to go insane.

He closed his eyes and let his head drop, his forehead hitting the counter with a gentle thunk. He was sure if he had to read one more “academic” paper with un-checked grammar and made-up facts and no bibliography in sight that his head was going to explode. His students were smart and he was definitely proud of them, but this was still his first year as a full-fledged professor and they seemed to be taking advantage of it. He’d asked his brother a thousand times if this was normal and had gotten far too many laughs in response.

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, voice warm as ever as he stepped up beside him, “Give me half the stack, let me help.”

“No,” Lan Zhan insisted, sitting up straight again, “I’m going to grade all of them. It is my job.”

“If you insist,” he said, far too much amusement still there, “But the offer stands nonetheless.”

Lan Zhan took a few grounding breaths and managed to lift his pen so he could continue to grade. But it just made his brain ache and he was finding it harder and harder to keep himself up right.

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said again, fond amusement still so prevalent in his voice, “You should take a vacation over winter break. You deserve it! You’ve survived your first semester.”

“I don’t like vacations.”

“Ah, I know you don’t, but, ” his brother said, tapping his shoulder, “You could go somewhere remote. Maybe to one of the mountains in Yiling? It gets cold, but not so cold you’ll be miserable. And it’s beautiful up there, and quiet. Huaisang got a cabin up there last winter‒he hated it, the quiet, but I think you’d love it. I could ask him where he stayed.”

Lan Zhan slowly turned his head to his brother. He was smiling, fond and light and happy. For so many years, Lan Zhan had envied his openness and the easy way he let people in when Lan Zhan, to this day, struggled with even simple conversation with strangers and catching social cues. However, as they got older, Lan Zhan bore witness to his brother being crushed with heartbreak over and over, even getting upset over people he met in the street because of missed opportunities. Lan Zhan didn’t envy that one bit. He was very happy not feeling that towards anyone.

“It seems you’ve already decided I’m going on vacation,” Lan Zhan said slowly. Lan Huan brightened like the sun.

“Okay, it’s an early birthday present,” he said, caving far too easily, “Let me show you the cabin.”

Lan Zhan sighed as his brother went to go grab his laptop. It would give him ample amounts of silence for him to grade finals. It was also a month away, so it gave him plenty of time to get used to the idea. And, besides, he’d feel bad if rejected a birthday present. Maybe Lan Huan was right and it wouldn’t be so bad. And, if it was, he could just ask Lan Huan to never ever do that ever again.

Lan Huan came back with excitement on his face as he put his laptop right on Lan Zhan’s papers. He flicked through the pictures of the small, one bedroom cabin. It was fully furnished and looked homey‒because the owners often stayed there in the summers and rented it out during the other months. It would be so much fun, Lan Huan said.

“Why don’t you go?” Lan Zhan asked. Lan Huan gave him that look that told him he might’ve been a bit rude, but it bled away into a smile again.

“You’re good alone, A-Zhan, I’m not,” he said, “If I had someone to go with me, though, it’d be very romantic.”

“Ask Nie Mingjue,” Lan Zhan said like it was obvious. Lan Huan laughed, more jittery and forced as his face flushed red.

“Absolutely not,” he said, “I said romantic. ”

“I heard.”

“Of course you did,” Lan Huan said, shaking his head with a smile, “It’s just a good place to steal away into for awhile, whether by yourself or with someone you want to steal away with.”

“Mn.”

“You know, if you want to bring someone…”

“No, thank you,” Lan Zhan said easily. Lan Huan didn’t push, just tapped his shoulder again. “It will… be fun.”

Lan Huan hummed happily, “I hope so.”

A month later, Lan Zhan found himself on a bus to Yiling.

It wasn’t too far away, about an hour and a half to the Yiling bus station where he’d then take a fifteen-or-so minute cab ride up the mountain to the cabin that was nestled in an isolated part of the woods. However, it felt much longer than an hour and a half on that treacherous bus. He packed himself as small as he could and was so tense with everyone around him making noises of all kinds that even his noise-cancelling earbuds didn’t properly stifle all the way that his muscles were sore when he finally got away. It hurt to stretch his hand out from where it’d been clutching his phone with a death grip for the entire ride.

He figured he’d love the cabin upon first meeting if only because he’d be alone.

Lan Zhan grabbed his bag and his briefcase and waited for his cab, counting his breaths. He couldn’t wait to be somewhere without people and was considering paying his brother to drive up to get him when his 10-day stay was up so he didn’t have to go through that again.

The cab ride was easier, but he’d already been riled up and he was as rigid as ever the entire ride. He paid the driver once they pulled up to the cabin on the left side of the mountain, a light layer of snow on the ground and on the roof. He nodded his goodbye and successfully found the key and let himself in before tears pricked his eyes.

He closed the door tight and put his things down gently, his hands coming up to press into his eyes as he involuntarily cried and tried to calm himself. He blindly navigated himself into the living room and wedged himself onto the floor between the couch and the table, balling up and breathing.

He felt a little childish, but he pushed those thoughts away. It happened. It’d been happening since he was young and there was no sign of it stopping. And it could be worse, so it didn’t matter. He didn’t even need Lan Huan there to hear his words of comfort: it’s alright, A-Zhan, you’re safe and I’ll keep them away.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need to pay Lan Huan to get him to come get him.

He stayed on the floor for the next two hours, long past when he stopped crying. He’d pulled out his phone and messed around on it to keep his mind busy. His sleeve stayed over his hand, keeping a barrier between his chin and his bare palm. The cabin was cozy aside from being cold since he hadn’t turned the heater on and he didn’t really mind being there. He’d been worse places. It wasn’t as comforting as his bedroom, but he couldn’t be picky.

Lan Zhan felt his eyes grow heavy once he calmed down more, considering just taking a nap right there on the floor. The only thing that stopped him was the chill that went down his spine and the 3% battery life on his phone. He crawled over to his bag and fished for his charger, still feeling tired and a little numb. He managed to plug it into the wall and tugged a blanket off the couch, turning on the heater before wrapping himself up as he returned to the spot on the floor.

He barely had time to get comfortable again before his phone started ringing.

“How was the trip?” Lan Huan said as soon as Lan Zhan answered. His tone of voice already said he knew how the trip was.

“I’m alright now,” he said, “The cabin is nice.”

“That’s good,” his brother said. Lan Zhan closed his eyes and rested his cheek on his arm. “Have you gotten groceries yet?”

“No.”

“Are you going this evening?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer. He should go, but the idea of venturing out sounded like the worst thing he could ever do. He just wanted to go to sleep. Maybe then he’d wake up early and go before anyone else was awake and the stores would be relatively empty.

“Do you at least have something to eat for tonight?” Lan Huan said, already accepting his lack of an answer as an answer. Lan Zhan thought about the granola bar and water bottle stuffed in the bottom of his bag. It was meant to be for the trip, but he’d felt a little too self-conscious to ever touch them.

“Yes,” he said. His brother sighed softly.

“Alright. But please go tomorrow, A-Zhan.”

“I will.”

“How do you plan to spend your night?” Lan Huan shifted, trying for a more upbeat tone. Lan Zhan shrugged and nuzzled his cold nose into his sleeve.

“Sleeping. It was a long day,” he said. Lan Huan hummed.

“Oh, right, is it snowing there yet?” he asked, “I know it’s up on the mountain, so you might get some snow.”

“I haven’t checked,” Lan Zhan said honestly. He couldn’t remember if he saw snow there or not and the windows all had curtains.

“Well remember to take pictures whenever you go outside, alright?”

“I will.”

“Well, I’ll let you go and I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, A-Zhan, love you.”

“Love you too, Huan-ge.”

Lan Huan hummed softly in that happy little tone that always made Lan Zhan feel a bit more grounded. If Huan-ge was happy, then he was comfortable enough to handle the situation and A-Zhan just had to hold his hand until it was over. Maybe his hand wasn’t here now, but it worked all the same.

The phone call ended and Lan Zhan’s eyes felt even heavier. He adjusted himself to lay on the floor between the coffee table and the couch and used his arm as a pillow. He propped his phone up on the couch and adjusted his earbud before finding something mindless to listen to in the background before he opened his sudoku app.

He didn’t make it through one round before he dozed off.

When Lan Zhan woke himself up again, the entire room was pitch black now that the sun wasn’t even shining through the curtains. A small jolt of panic shot through his system as he tried and failed to gather his surroundings with his arm half numb from laying on it for who knows how long. His mind felt as if it’d been stuffed with cotton balls which was a sure sign that he hadn’t slept enough to full rid himself of the stress the bus ride induced.

Still, he managed to use his phone to find a lamp which he turned on and had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted. They felt puffy and sore which, paired with his head, made him feel painfully young. He just wanted to lay down and have his older brother run his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep for real.

Instead, he pulled himself to his feet and tried to stretch out all the stiff parts in his body that came with sleeping on the bare floor. At the same time that his back cracked, he heard a noise outside that caused him to go very still and listen closely.

There was some shuffling and then fiddling with the doorknob and Lan Zhan was considering the logistics of suing Nie Hausiang for emotional damages. The doorknob fiddling stopped alongside a loud groan and followed by a whine and then a thud.

“Wen Ning! Open the door! I dropped my keys!” a man’s voice whined, a pathetic moan following it, “It’s cold ! Wen Ning! Wen Ning!”

Lan Zhan felt frozen as he tried to figure out what to do. Maybe if he stayed silent, the man would go away. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Lan Zhan stayed frozen in thought long enough that the man called out for whoever Wen Ning was again. His brilliant decision after that was to tiptoe to the window and peek behind the curtain as silently as he could.

It was dark outside save for the man’s phone which lit him enough to show that he was definitely not dressed for the weather. There was indeed snow and the sight of it jogged the faint memory of seeing it whenever the cab pulled up. It was colder now, he could feel it on the glass, and the man was in ripped jeans and a light sweatshirt. It didn’t take a genius to realize he was probably intoxicated and Lan Zhan couldn’t just leave him out there. What if he froze to death at the front door? That wouldn’t make for a good vacation.

After a few breaths and running over a couple of introduction lines in his head, Lan Zhan reluctantly opened the door. The man on the ground fell back with nothing holding him up and barely even groaned despite being only a few inches away from a stranger’s foot. Hazy, drunken eyes slowly trailed up Lan Zhan’s body and instantly made him want to shove the man back outside.

“Oh, fuck,” he cursed, squeezing his eyes shut and lifting his head just enough to drop his head on the ground as some sort of self-punishment, “Fuck. This is Jiejie’s cabin, isn’t it? I gave the cab the wrong address, fuck. I’m sorry, man, just, my bad.”

“It’s… okay,” Lan Zhan decided, keeping one hand on the door while the other one rested behind his back. His thumb stroked the skin between his ring finger and his middle finger, a lame attempt at self-soothing.

“This is my jiejie’s cabin, I knew she wasn’t here so I don’t know why… Look, I’m Wei Ying,” Wei Ying said, speaking oddly steady for a man who could barely get himself into a sitting position. He looked up at Lan Zhan again through squinted eyes and his shoulders and head all dropped as he groaned. “And you’re handsome because of course you are. I’m really sorry. I’m gonna, uh, call my roommate and ask him to come get me. I’ll stay outside, out of your hair, I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan was completely silent, watching him fiddle with his phone. It took a moment for him to get the right number and for him to put it to his ear. The whole time, Lan Zhan was wondering if it was irresponsible or not to leave a drunk man outside in the freezing cold paired with weighing the pros and cons of inviting a strange man inside with him. He seemed to talk a lot which typically meant he would expect talking in response. That was a con.

“Wen Ning, I fucked up…Jiejie’s, yeah...have I told you you were my favorite today?...Ah, Didi, if you tell your sister, you'll lose the title of favorite...It did not work last time!” Wei Ying, allegedly, said to the phone, laughing with his friend about friendly things. Lan Zhan was beginning to see the appeal of leaving him outside.

The phone call ended and Wei Ying looked back up to Lan Zhan, staring for a moment before he scoffed and shook his head, swearing under his breath. He swore a lot. Con.

"He's on his way, you can just pretend I'm not even here," Wei Ying said, scooting a little further outside.

Lan Zhan took notice of his bare pale hands, his red cheeks, and the fact that his hair was beginning to look a bit wet from the snow hitting it and melting. His stomach twisted and knotted, only feeling more conflicted. It was wrong to leave him outside, even if he was annoying and drunk and strange, wasn't it? And this was his sister's cabin. What if she found out and got mad at Lan Zhan? What if she yelled at him?

What if this whole thing was an elaborate scheme to kidnap him and keep him for ransom?

Alright. Irrational. Lan Huan would invite him in without question. (Lan Huan also had a bad habit of picking up hitchhikers but that was a problem for a different time.)

"It's cold," Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying looked up at him and gave a little smile, one where his eyes got all squinty and he made a humming noise like his brother. Lan Zhan rubbed his thumb between his fingers a little harder.

"Don't worry about me, I have a high enough blood alcohol content to keep me warm," he said. Lan Zhan's eyebrows tugged together.

"That… isn't how that works," Lan Zhan said, "Alcohol can make you more perceptible to hypothermia."

"Aiya, you caught me," he said, laughing a little too loud. Lan Zhan considered closing the door on him again.

Alas, he wasn't trying to deal with a dead body.

"You can come in to wait," Lan Zhan said slowly. Wei Ying blinked up at him, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t wanna intrude,” he said, smiling just a little. Lan Zhan looked forward, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s cold,” Lan Zhan repeated, “This is your sister’s cabin.”

A little kindness goes a long way, Lan Huan’s voice seemed to echo in his mind, good karma, you understand. Good karma. Lan Zhan would allow this man to not die on his sister’s front door and maybe he would get a peaceful week.

“Well, if you insist, ” Wei Ying said.

Lan Zhan stepped out of the way as Wei Ying pulled himself to his feet, relying heavily on the door frame to get there. He was taller than Lan Zhan would’ve originally guessed from his crumbled state on the ground; they were practically the same height. Lan Zhan stayed out of the way as he made his way towards the couch. When he caught sight of his back, Lan Zhan was a little pained to see that his jeans and his sweater were both wet from sitting in the snow and he just let himself fall on the couch. Hopefully Lan Zhan didn’t get in trouble for that…

“So, what’s your name?” Wei Ying asked as he got comfortable, smiling up at Lan Zhan who stayed standing close to the door. There wasn’t really another place to sit and he wasn’t very comfortable with this situation. His head still ached and he wasn’t entirely sure his eyes were puffy from crying. So, standing was fine.

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying smiled wider and nodded.

“Lan Zhan,” he repeated as if the name just fit perfectly in his mouth. Lan Zhan kept his gaze on somewhere past Wei Ying. “Nice, suiting. So, Lan Zhan, what do you do?”

“Teach.”

“Me too!” Wei Ying nearly cheered. Lan Zhan blinked a couple times. A teacher got so drunk he showed up at the wrong house? That didn’t seem like the type of person who should be teaching. “Eh, I swear I usually don’t get this fucked up. It’s a bad anniversary, you know, so I had to get a little drunk, it happens. But I do teach! I teach the little ones, but you must teach the bigger ones. You’ve got a face the little ones would walk all over.”

“University,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying seemed genuinely interested as he nodded. It was strange. “Music history.”

“That’s so fun! I teach little ones basically everything, you know. Except swords. I did swords training for years, but I never got to the level where I could teach it. Did you do swords?”

“Mn.”

“Good, you look like you’d be good at it. Anyway, I teach basically all of the children on this mountain that are in primary school. The school is small, but it’s good. They like it, I like it,” Wei Ying explained. Lan Zhan furrowed his eyebrows just a little. How big was this mountain that it had its own school? Or, maybe, how localized were the people that lived here? “It’s good, you know, to have someone who hasn’t spent their whole life on this mountain teaching them. It helps prepare them for when they go down once they have to go to secondary school and then the rest of life. Some kids I’ve met have never been off this mountain, did you know? It’s so surreal to just live so confined and safe in your space with all your friends and family without all the pressure.”

Why would they rent out a cabin in a place like that?

“I live on the other side of the mountain with my friends. Had a bit of a rough time in university and they suggested coming somewhere less overwhelming would be good for me, but now I think I’m the overwhelming part of it, ha! My jiejie said she missed me, though, so they got this cabin and stay when they can. Her husband’s got money money, so I don’t even feel bad. This cabin and there’s a few more that are rented out like this which brings in tourists but not too many. It’s nice. Am I talking too much?”

Lan Zhan didn’t even know what to say to any of that. He could hardly even process half of the words he was hearing. He took a moment to find a way to say anything that sounded like a proper response. Wei Ying didn’t seem phased. Wei Ying had all the attributes to be the most overwhelming person he’d ever met, and yet there was something about him that didn’t make Lan Zhan feel pressured to speak. That was rare.

“Is it a farming village?” Lan Zhan asked softly. Wei Ying nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! That and many of the people that live here have been here for generations and have survived solely on passed down information. They’re all children of ancient herbalists, too, so all very, very smart. My friend, Wen Qing, she’s the only trained medical doctor on the mountain, but she mixes that with herbalism, so she’s probably the smartest person you’ll ever meet, but don’t tell her I told you that. But it’s such a tight knit community, very traditional, but in a good way. Half of the children I teach won’t go to secondary school down the mountain, though, they’ll stay here and take their parent’s spot in the community,” Wei Ying rambled again. Lan Zhan nodded.

Lan Zhan listened as he spoke, rambling about different little things. It was like reading a pamphlet of the village, like he had so much in his brain about it that he rarely got to share because everyone there already knew.. He never expected input or even made it awkward. Lan Zhan decided letting him in wasn’t the worst mistake he’d ever made.

Still, when there was a soft knock at the door, he let out a relieved breath.

When Lan Zhan opened the door, the man on the other side gave a polite bow. Out of instinct, Lan Zhan did the same which seemed to only make the man turn a bright shade of red. Lan Zhan stepped to the side to let him retrieve Wei Ying.

“Wen Ning, you got here so fast!” Wei Ying said. It wasn’t fast, Lan Zhan thought, it was probably closer to 15 minutes which was decidedly not fast. Wen Ning smiled nonetheless and grabbed his arm, helping him to his feet.

“Thank you,” Wen Ning told Lan Zhan with a polite smile as he held up Wei Ying’s weight. Lan Zhan nodded.

“This is Lan Zhan! He’s nice and he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Wei-ge, now come on,” Wen Ning said softly, tugging him towards the door. Wei Ying twisted a bit to wave at Lan Zhan goodbye as he was led to the car. Lan Zhan questioned if he should wave back, but he took too long trying to decide and Wei Ying faced the car again.

Lan Zhan closed the door and locked it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He needed a nap.

#wangxian #wangxian fic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan xichen #the untamed #mdzs #my fic

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supercasey · 4 years ago

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TMA PMV Idea “The Dreamland Archives”

Fuck it, TMA ended so now I’m gonna post my draft sheet for a PMV I desperately wish to make, but don’t have the skills to do so. If anyone wants to use it, go ahead, but I’d like to at least know about it beforehand because I am INVESTED in this idea. (Spoilers for seasons 1-4)

(Credits/intro plays before the vocals begin)

Song: Dreamland by Glass Animals

All characters belong to Rusty Quill

*Insert list of PMV participants*

Supertheodore presents: The Dreamland Archives

Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head [Camera is focused on the door to the archives, which opens by itself after the word “backstreets”] Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist [Camera shows the archives empty, and then filled with all of Jon's assistants after the word “dreamland” (including OG!Sasha, though her and Tim appear to be ghosts), all of them appearing happy and hard at work] Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head [A photograph of Jon with all of the S1 assistants + Elias, everyone smiling; after the word “backstreets” it’s the S3 crew, everyone appearing upset/angry, save for Jon, who’s crying and covering his face with his hands, and Elias, who’s still smiling and has his hands on both of Jon’s shoulders] Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist [Jon is on his knees as he looks through a filing cabinet, clearly frustrated; after the word “dreamland” a ghost of Gertrude appears behind him, her arms crossed as she stands behind him, appearing disappointed]

That first friend you had, that worst thing you said [Martin is bringing a very tired Jon, who has his head in his hands, a cup of tea; Jon looks up and snaps at him after the word “had”, causing Martin to startle] That perfect moment, that last tear you shed [Tim, Martin, and even Jon are laughing at a joke that Sasha said, all three of them surrounding her desk; after the word “moment” Sasha is gone, and the others are left crying/upset] All you've done in bed, all on Memorex [Martin is alone in the archive’s storage room bed, wide awake and holding a corkscrew for dear life; after the word “bed” it cuts to Tim, who is angrily throwing a tape recorder against the nearest wall] All 'round-'round your head, all 'round-'round your head [Camera pans down from a single light-bulb to focus on Jon, who's silently crying in his office chair and surrounded by tape recorders splattered with blood (all in the shape of eyes, all staring at him)]

Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head [Jon is traveling the tunnels alone as he uses a flashlight to light his way; after the word “backstreets” it's a similar shot, but now he's running for his life from Not!Sasha] Slippin’ through dreamland like a tourist [Jon is sitting in front of Jurgen Leitner as Jurgen explains what’s really going on to him; after the word “dreamland” Jurgen is bloodied up and dead, with Jon looking horrified, a bloody pipe rests on the table between them] Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head [Martin and Tim run into Michael in the tunnels; after the word “backstreets” they find themselves in the realm of the Spiral] Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist [Martin and Tim are both shocked upon finding Jurgen Leitner's body; Tim becomes angry while Martin becomes worried after the word “dreamland”]

You've had too much of the digital love [Jon is sitting on the floor of Georgie's apartment, one hand holding a tape recorder, the other holding his head; after the word “much” the Admiral crawls into his lap, making Jon smile slightly] You want everything live, you want things you can touch [Jon is sitting across from Jude Perry at a cafe, looking nervous while she gives him a mischievous grin; after the word “live” it cuts to Jon free falling through the sky with Mike Crew, Mike seemingly unbothered by the whole thing while Jon looks terrified] Make it feel like a movie you saw in your youth [Shows the scene of Jon, at 8 years old, following his childhood bully to Mr. Spider’s house; the door opens and several spiders legs come out and take the bully after the word “movie”, leaving Jon terrified and covering his mouth to keep back a scream] Make it feel like that song that just unopened you [Camera is focused on Jon tied up and gagged in a chair as Nikola Orsinov brags into his tape recorder about having kidnapped him, her back turned to him the entire time; however, Michael and his door appear beside Jon after the word “song”, Jon looking very surprised/scared to see him] You were ten years old, holdin' hands in the classroom [Tim is helping Jon limp through the tunnels under the institute, the two of them looking pretty beat up; their holds tighten on each other after the word “old”, with Jon pressing his face into Tim’s shirt. Even though they’re scared, they still have each other’s backs] He had a gun on the first day of high school [Tim has his back to the camera and is facing a burning circus, triumphantly holding the detonation switch over his head; after the word “the” he presses it, causing the circus to explode, with Tim being lost to the explosion after the word “of”] ((This line and the one before it are the reasons why this stupid idea exists)) You want something bizarre, old conceptual cars [Helen is standing in the doorway of the Spiral, grinning at the camera; after the word "bizarre” Peter Lukas is standing at the frontmost part of the Tundra, smoking a pipe with one hand while the other is in his coat pocket] You want girls dressed in drag, you want boys with guitars [Melanie slashes at the camera with a knife, her eyes glowing red; after the word “drag” we see Gerry as ghost levitating in the air and lying on his back, his arms behind his head and a content smile on his face while Jon’s panicking right next to him (and wearing a tacky “I <3 NY” t-shirt ‘cus I said so)]

Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head [Jon is lying in a hospital bed during his coma, fast asleep, with Elias sitting in a chair beside him, reading a statement aloud; Elias lays a hand on Jon’s forehead after the word “backstreets”] Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist [Oliver comes to visit Jon at the hospital, and is leaned over Jon (from Jon’s POV for the camera angle); after the word “dreamland” it cuts to him having his back to Jon, hands up in surrender as he faces a suspicious Georgie] Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head [Jon looks incredibly stressed in a shot of the archives, looking around for Martin; after the word “backstreets” Martin shows up in a cloud of fog behind him, visibly sad] Slippin' through dreamland like a tourist [Jon is crawling through the Buried, looking for Daisy, who he finds as a disheveled mess after the word “dreamland”]

You see Kodachrome, you see pink and gold [Melanie is laughing while sitting on Jon’s desk facing Basira after recording a statement; after the word “Kodachrome” it’s the same scene, but her and Jon are standing up, and she’s hugging Jon before she’s about to go and blind herself] You see Mulholland glow, you see in airplane mode [Jon and Daisy are sprawled out together on the floor of the archives, listening to the Archers and laughing; after the word “glow” it’s Basira and Daisy kneeling in the same spot, Basira trying to hold onto Daisy and keep her from giving into the Hunt as she begins to change into a werewolf] All 'round-'round your head, all 'round-'round your head [Jon and Basira are interrogating Manuela about the location of the dark sun; after the first use of the word “head” it cuts to Jon seeing the dark sun with his own eyes, tears running down his face as he smiles at it] All 'round-'round your head, all 'round-'round your head [Martin and Peter are navigating the tunnels together, Martin looking frustrated while Peter smiles; after the first use of the word “head” it cuts to Martin discovering the body of Jonah Magnus, his expression one of terror]

You float in the pool where the soundtrack is canned [Jon is searching the Lonely for Martin, calling out for him through the fog; after the word “pool” a smug looking Peter appears behind him, causing Jon to jolt in surprise] You go ask your questions like, “What makes a man?” [Jon confronts Peter, screaming at him from a few feet away; after the word “like” his eyes begin to glow green, and several glowing green eyes surround him and Peter, with Peter bending forward and clutching his head in pain] Oh, it's 2020, so it's time to change that [Jon is facing Martin in the Lonely, pleading with him face to face with his hands on his cheeks; after the word “2020” Martin’s eyes light up as he finally breaks free of the Lonely’s influence] So you go make an album and call it Dreamland [Jon and Martin are seen hugging each other for dear life; after the word “album” the scene cuts to them walking out of the Lonely together, hand in hand with their backs to the camera; the camera zooms in on their hands holding onto each other at the word “Dreamland”]

((I’m open to a few changes, but I will die before I let go of the Tim & Jon scene, which lives in my brain rent free))

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babbushka · 5 years ago

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The Shape of You (1/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

11.4k, Warnings: Mentions of blood/injury

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It’s warm, in the dream. Warm and black, in an all-consuming kind of way. You’ve had this dream before; it’s a comforting one, a familiar one. In it, you are surrounded by inky darkness, smooth and silky as it wraps around you. In it, you are walking through a grand expanse towards a light, red and glowing.

If you had not had this dream before you think you’d be terrified, think it an omen of some ominous kind. But the darkness is not something to be afraid of, you’ve come to learn. And when the red light beckons you, there is not a promise of evil on the other side, but rather one of liberating freedom.

You reach out to it, walks towards it. You’re in no hurry, in the dream, in no hurry at all. It’s patient, you find with relief as it seemingly takes eons and eons to navigate the soft velvet of wherever this place may be. As you get closer, little pricks of light begin to emerge, stars from a galaxy far far away. They twinkle as if they’re smiling down at you, and you smile back, unafraid.

You know how the dream ends; it ends the same every time. The jolt of your alarm clock bringing you back to consciousness, pulling you awake. You never seem to be able to reach the red light, but you aren’t discouraged by that – how could you be, when every time you have this dream you get closer and closer? When every time your hand seems to reach out a little farther?

It’s going to end soon, you think in the safety of your mind, in this little bubble you’ve built for yourself. The dream is going to end, and you’ll have to face the day, another day of being you, of being (Y/N). Soon enough you’ll get dressed and have breakfast with Armitage, your friend who lives next door, and he’ll complain about his students and you’ll complain about work only for a short while before you’ll need to go get ready to spend the next ten hours at the place.

It’s going to end soon, but that’s alright, because you know after those ten hours are up you’ll get to come home and hopefully, hopefully, have the dream again.

When you walk through the rich blackness of the void, when you approach the red light, this time you’ve gotten a step farther. This time you’ve reached your hand out nearly to the edge, nearly to the very edge of the red. It curls and winds around your hands like smoke, if smoke could be hot. It tugs at the tips of your fingers, wanting you to come closer closer closer, and you chuckle at its eagerness.

“One day.” You say sadly, in the dream. Or maybe you say it out loud, out in the real world too. You don’t know.

You live alone, so there’s no one to ask, no one to laugh at the way you talk in your sleep, if you do at all.

The red tugs on your hand again, insistent, but you shake your head with a sigh, you reclaim it because you have to, you have to or you’ll never wake up and then you’ll be late for work, and if you’re fired from this job then there will be astronomical consequences, consequences that you simply can’t risk.

The red seems to know this, and it’s almost as though you can feel it sighing too. It reaches out to caress your face, warmth seeping into your bloodstream through the gentle press of an invisible force against your cheek. You let your eyes begin to close slowly, savoring the feeling of the love of the universe, because that must be what this is, that’s why you’re not afraid.

As your eyes close, as the red begins to slip away, you think you see the silhouette of something – of someone, standing just on the other side of the light.

You snap your eyes open to try and get a better glimpse, because you’ve never seen that before in the dream, you’ve never ever seen a person standing on the other side, you’ve never seen anything solid and corporeal and real and –

You bolt upright in your bed, the radio crackling to life from across the room, its bright cheerful jingle alerting your brain to get the fuck out of bed and go turn it off.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swing singers coming through the speakers are loud enough to earn you a pounding on the wall, courtesy of your neighbor and one of only two friends you had, Armitage Hux.

“Christ (Y/N)!” Your friend says loud enough that you can hear him through the wallpaper, “It’s my day off can’t a man get some sleep?”

Your feet slide into slippers on the side of your bed, and you pad across the room naked to shut the radio off. You’re not really one for listening to all the commercials and commentary, preferring your vinyl collection much more than whatever taste some disc jockey thinks he has.

“Sorry Professor,” You roll your eyes sarcastically, “But if I have to be awake at this hour then so do you.”

It was the routine, day off or no, that you spend every morning together. Neither of you had anyone, no one to really call your own, and so you spend it with one another. It helps fight the loneliness that creeps into your soul sometimes, and even though he’s aggravated at waking up on a weekend, he still does with a hopeful, “Coffee?”

Smiling to yourself, you grab your robe and tie it tightly around your body.

“I’ll be over in five.” You check the time, before leaving your bedroom to brew up a big pot of Lyons standard roast.

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

Once the coffee has brewed and you’ve brushed your hair enough to look presentable for your friend, you make the short trip next door with hot percolator in hand, and a smile. A smile which, upon the opening of his front door, is not returned to you by Armitage, who instead looks like he may crave death or violence.

“Remind me again why we wake up at two o’clock in the morning?” He grumbles, his Irish accent thick from sleep as he abandons the door, leaving you to close and lock it behind you.

You follow him further into his apartment, a chic, mid-century modern space that looks very curated, very well thought out, very Armitage. He’s changed his design taste more times than you can count really, but for the past year it’s been the same; dark teal paint on the walls and ceiling, with matching teal-stained wood on the floors. His furniture and décor are all varying shades of rich orange to provide an interesting contrast that only gives you a headache sometimes.

“Because my shift begins at five, and it’s a two-hour ride to work.” You reply, fishing out two mugs from his cabinet in the kitchen and get to pouring you both a generous helping of coffee.

“I didn’t ask why you had to be up at two, I asked why we had to be up at two.” He huffs, gratefully accepting the mug with his cold hands, humming around a healthy sip of the brew.

“Because you love me.” You wink, setting down the coffee pot in favor for rummaging through his pantry, pulling out flour and sugar, “And you love the pancakes I make you.”

Armitage sets the table with plates and silverware while you begin to measure out ingredients and raid his fridge. It was a good setup you thought, you cooked breakfast and then abandoned him with all the dishes and cleaning up. You spent enough time cleaning, you always say.

“You do make damn good pancakes.” He complimented you as you stuck some butter in the pan to melt and sizzle.

“Any plans today Armie?” You smile at the immediate groan that escapes from between your friend’s teeth as you mix pancake batter into the perfect consistency to be poured.

“Yes, regret ever telling you about that nickname.” You can tell he’s scrubbing a hand over his face, the way he tends to do when he’s annoyed.

“Drink your coffee.” You tease, using a ladle to start breakfast properly. “I was thinking, when I get back from work maybe we can go downstairs and see the new film that Boris got, it’s a Fred and Ginger musical.”

Your apartment building wasn’t really an apartment building at all – or at least, it didn’t used to be. What were once storage rooms for the cinema downstairs had become single bedroom apartments nearly ten years ago, according to Boris, the friendly Bulgarian proprietor. When the cinema began to fail due to the rise of television, he sought out extra income and became a landlord.

This was perfect for Armitage, who, as a professor for film history at the university, had an immense love for the classic older films which were only ever screened on special occasions, or at special theaters. Boris knew this, and he acquired many old film reels from the 1930s and 1940s, which he played during the week as a way to generate interest on otherwise slow days.

You paid your rent early, which had the added bonus of being on Boris’ good side, which in turn meant you got to see the movies for free whenever you wanted.

“Which musical, Top Hat or Swing Time?” He eagerly accepts the pancakes you flip onto a plate for him, before drowning it all in syrup and powdered sugar.

“The Gay Divorcee.” You tease with a grin, “Right up your alley.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Armitage rolls his eyes once again, although now he’s much less aggravated with coffee in his system and food in front of his face.

“Will you see it with me?” You put a hand on your hip, and he smile.

“Of course I will. It’ll give me a good excuse to finish grading these essays, maybe I’ll tell my students they can write something about the musical for extra credit – god knows some of these kids will need it.” He gestures to the pile of marked and unmarked papers on the other end of the kitchen table.

The stack that still needs to be graded is far taller than the stack of finished essays, and you wince when you read that the one on top of the stack has been given a D-.

“Which paper is this one?” You plate yourself some pancakes and sit at the table, making sure the stove is off and the plastic spatula isn’t anywhere near the heat where it could be left to melt.

“The midterm; an analysis and comparison of German Expressionism in cinema before and after the second world war.” Armitage sighs around a bite of the delicious breakfast.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at your friend, that topic being so on brand for him. His father was a Navy General, and he had been even more patriotic than most. But while his father had big dreams for Armitage to follow in his footsteps, instead he became a professor, much more interested in researching and educating the new generation.

Still, he found ways to incorporate his love for the military into his love for cinema. It’s all propaganda anyway, as he likes to say.

“Show me the awful papers when I get back, we can laugh about it over lunch.” You smile as you dig in to the breakfast you’ve made, but he scoffs.

“Oh please! I’ll be crying.” He replies, a funny blend of deadpan and melodramatic.

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

Once breakfast was over, you kiss Armitage on the cheek and wish him a good day, before taking the warmed coffee pot back to your own apartment next door. Filling up two thermoses, you set them near your purse right by the door so you can easily grab them on your way out.

After breakfast you typically only have fifteen minutes to get properly ready for the day, but that was alright. Dressing never took very long, not when you were provided with a uniform. Sometimes Armitage exhausted you with his fashion shows; trying on every possible combination of sweater vest and tie he owned, asking for your opinion on new trousers. You loved having one less decision to make, especially this early in the morning.

The uniform was a simple dress made of a dark grey linen. It had accented cuffs on the rounded collar, short sleeves and hem in a darker grey, and two large pockets on either side which proved themselves immensely helpful. While not required, it was often encouraged to wear the provided apron, a white thing that’s gotten so soft and worn over the years from all the bleach baths you’ve had to give it.

And though the uniform may seem drab and boring to some, you adored the anonymity of it. You liked being able to blend into a crowd, to move unnoticed. It was imperative that as a cleaning woman you were out of everyone’s way, and any flashy attire would have certainly drawn unwanted attention. That’s not to say that many of the other cleaning women didn’t enjoy the attention – your own dear friend Gwendoline among them.

With the red scare, your boss had made a push to encourage individualism within his employees – he felt that everyone looking exactly the same and wearing the same was far too much like communism, and he’d be damned if he were anything like the Soviets. So things like scarves to tie back hair, pins or broaches, nail polish colors, and shoes were encouraged to be something you made your own.

The only one of these little pleasures you indulged in were your shoes, and your daily dilemma often consisted of which pair of short reliable heels you would be slipping your now stocking-clad feet into.

You were having one such dilemma now, looking at your wall of heels. Another perk of living alone, you think to yourself, no one there to tell you to get this obsession under control.

In honor of the dream you were once again so lucky to enjoy, you picked a pair of red kitten heels off the top shelf and put them on as you hopped across the living room, grabbing your dashing out the door.

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

The world is so quiet, this early. Not completely silent, as it were, because there were always people like you, always people having places to go and friends to meet. Living so close to the Vegas Strip was interesting, and you saw all sorts of people on the sidewalks and in convertibles, driving around in the dark with their sunglasses on because they think it makes them look cool.

As you descend the steps which lead out of the apartment, you are stopped by the familiar sight of your landlord up on a ladder, arranging letters on the bright marquee sign surrounded by golden lightbulbs.

“(Y/N)!” He calls to you with a hand up waving, “Good morning dear!”

“Good morning Boris, you’re up early.” You call back, making sure to be loud enough that he can hear you with his old ears. His hearing has been failing him lately, and you do your best to help him when you can.

“Early or late, eh? Will you come to the screening tonight?” He laughs heartily as he gestures to the big black letters which read the name of the musical.

“Of course I will, I’m bringing Professor Hux along – he’s going to encourage his students to come this week.” You tell him, and he gasps.

“Students! He has big class, yes?” Boris’s excitement is contagious, and you find yourself grinning.

“Yes, nearly one hundred and fifty eager filmmakers.” You inform him, and the news shocks him so much that he nearly falls off the ladder.

Thankfully he has one of his sons, a nice young man named James, holding the ladder steady. You always wonder why James isn’t the one up on the ladder, since he’s clearly in better shape, but then you remember this is Boris you’re thinking of – he’s the kind of man who doesn’t trust anyone to do anything the right way.

“One hundred fifty! When you come tonight, you get free popcorn, okay?” He is giddy, and you feel good to have made his day a happy one.

“Okay Boris, I really must go now.” You see the familiar headlights of the city bus turning the corner, so you give him another wave, “I’ll see you this evening.”

“One hundred fifty…did you hear that?” Boris is in awe, not having had so many customers in a long time.

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

It takes three buses to get to work. When they had been looking for a place for you to live, you had insisted that there be a bus station as close as possible because if you were going to be spending ten hours on your feet, you wanted as short of a distance from the stop to your front door as possible. You don’t mind the two hours each way, you don’t mind the long grueling hours – but you sure as shit were not going to take any extra steps in your heels if you didn’t have to.

The bus comes at exactly three every morning, and it’s the same bus driver every time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N).” He greets you, a kind older gentleman who probably needs his sleep more than even Armitage did.

“Good morning Mr. Henry,” You reply, taking a seat up front so you might talk to him and keep him company on the drive to the main bus exchange station. “Did you have a good evening?”

“I surely did, there’s nothing better than getting to go home to the Missus.” He gives you a dreamy-eyed smile through the rear-view mirror. “It was her birthday last night, I took her out to dinner and a show.”

“Mr. Henry you are such a romantic.” You lean your head against the window, using your small hat as a pillow to shield yourself from the cold rattling glass. “Where did you take her?”

“Circus Maximus in Caesars Palace! Damn what an evening. We only just got back home an hour or so ago, and I wanted to take off the morning to get some rest into these bones, but my boss didn’t take to the idea too kindly.” Henry shrugged, making you frown.

You wish you could encourage him to stand up to his boss, but with racial tensions as high as they were, you didn’t want to see your friend get hurt, or lose his job. Henry had been driving this route ever since you began working out in the desert, and you thought of him as a highlight of your day, a friend even if you only saw one another for the short time you did.

“I hope you have a fast shift today and that no one gives you any trouble.” You tell him honestly, only ever wanting the best for Henry. You’d offer him some of your coffee, but he’s got a thermos of his very own up at the front of the bus.

“Seeing your smiling face certainly does help, Miss (Y/N).” His eyes glimmer when he asks, “Now tell me, anything interesting going on where you work?”

You chuckle and shake your head, staring out the window as the streetlamps blur together, cutting through the dark.

“I’m afraid not, or if there were, I wouldn’t know anything about it, I just clean.” You say.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, we’re the ones they don’t ever suspect, isn’t that right?” Henry asks, and when you look back at him, he’s got a smile and that mischievous look in his eye again.

“Yes, it is.” You reply with a smile of your own.

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

More and more people get on the bus as it visits the various stops, until it’s almost packed. You used to be so surprised by that, by the way so many people seemed to wake up before the world was ready, before the sun had even begun to stretch and blink away the night. But that was Las Vegas, you supposed, almost like New York City in a way, with all the casinos and hotels and shows. Sometimes it felt very much like you lived in a parallel universe, where day and night were reversed.

You thank Mr. Henry and give him a warm parting smile when the bus finally arrives at the transfer station. Everyone follows suit as they exit, and it makes you feel a little brighter to know that people are willing to be polite if only someone would set the precedent. You’re more than happy to set that particular precedent, every time.

From Mr. Henry’s bus to the next takes nearly five entire minutes, between the length of the bus station and the busyness of the crowd. You always come close to missing it, and you’re always out of breath from running. Thankfully though, you have Gwendoline to look forward to every morning, your friend who always saves you a seat on an otherwise crowded bus, always looks out for you otherwise you’d have to stand for the next hour, holding on to overhead bars that you can’t quite reach.

“Hey! Come on, what do you think you’re doing?” One of the other passengers complains when Gwen spots you and offers you the seat next to her at the back of the bus.

You both always took the very last row, because you were the very last stop on this particular route before it swung back around to the transfer station.

“You’re getting off in ten minutes you can deal.” Gwendoline snaps back, and the woman rolls her eyes, adjusts her grip on the handrail.

“Thank you.” You snuggle up against your friend on the crowded bus, your laps now filled with your cardigans and purses.

You met Gwendoline on your very first day at work, completely by accident. You were in the wrong place, lost and confused, and had stumbled across this gorgeous blonde woman who wore bright red lipstick that smeared around a sneaky cigarette. She had helped you, and you’d been inseparable at work ever since.

She isn’t very much older than you, but she has that worldly quality that makes her feel wise beyond her years, and gives her an authority over people – even strangers – that you find endlessly amusing.

“Henry was cutting it close today.” She comments, looking at her watch.

This bus departs the transfer station on the half-hour, and does not come back until the next half-hour. You’ve never once missed it, but you certainly have chased it down to get it to stop and pick you up.

“No, it’s not his fault, I think one of the other routes is down so people were confused and no one knew where they were going.” You point out the bus window to the people nearly swarming like bees around the poor people in the ticket kiosk.

“Fuck, really? It’s too early for that.” She looks nearly offended, as if to say, how dare the world be so difficult.

“I agree.” You reply to both her words and her look, and take one of the thermoses out of your purse, offering her, “Coffee?”

She plants a big kiss to your cheek and warms her hands on the thermos before bringing the thing up to her lips for a long deep gulp. You hope that the thermos has done a good job keeping the coffee hot, because you know how much of a bummer warm coffee can be for some people, but your worries disappear when she happily sinks into her seat on the bus and smiles, content.

“You’re a saint, (Y/N), you know that?” She clutches the thermos to her chest, and you grin.

“It’s the least I can do.” You reply, because it’s true – with all she does for you, you’re more than happy to return the favor for your friend.

“Cards?” Gwen pulls out a deck from her pocket, and you light up at the sight of the bent and beat up deck.

“Cards.” You agree, the two of you twisting towards one another, shuffling and re-shuffling the pack before dealing them out onto your laps.

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

When the last of the passengers have gotten off the bus, the driver pulls over onto the side of the road, letting cars whizz past on the interstate to your left. The sun still hasn’t made her debut yet, and the driver has turned the lights off, so that the bus might blend in to the darkness a little better.

“Identification?” He asks, like he does every morning.

There is a reason you and Gwen are the last two passengers every morning, a reason why this is such an important bus to catch.

You and Gwen don’t bother getting up from the back of the bus, not feeling in the mood to walk all the way up front to only go right back, so you fish out your ID cards and flash them long enough that the bus driver can see them in the rear-view mirror.

“Thank you ladies.” He says, much less like a robot this time. “I know you’re you, it’s just protocol.”

“You ever wish you could say ‘fuck protocol’?” You ask, and he regards you, not-unkindly when he replies,

“All the time.”

The bus roars to life once again, now that your clearance has been checked for the first time of the day. It’s a much more scrutinous process at the next bus stop, one you’re always a little paranoid over but prepared for. Bag searches, identification card and number, finger scans, the whole works. Four-thirty always seems too early for that sort of thing, and sometimes you wonder if you’ve accidentally brought something in that could be deemed dangerous, that they’ll randomly find some reason to haul you away.

The desert is dark and stretches on for miles and miles with nothing to see, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, should one need to. You hope you never need to.

Gwendoline always makes fun of you for it, but it’s all in jest. She tends to give attitude to the security guards at the bus station, but she gets away with it because she’s a bombshell. She may be just a maid, just a cleaning woman like you, but damn does she fill out her dress nicely.

“Have a great day ladies.” The bus driver says once the hour has passed, and you and Gwen have gone through ten rounds of card games, leaving you the winner this time.

“See you tomorrow.” You reply in unison, making one another laugh at your timeliness, jinxing and double jinxing one another, demanding bottles of Coca-Cola as payment.

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

This bus station, much like your work and your job, doesn’t…technically…exist.

It’s a small little depot in the middle of the desert, armed guards at every door and gate. You join the pool of other employees, when you get off the bus and pass through the first gate. No one is allowed to drive their cars onto the main site, everyone – no matter rank or position – has to shuttle in from this station.

It’s always so interesting seeing everyone here, milling together and scanning their badges. You’re sure it must be a humbling experience for some of the managers and heads of department, being treated the same as the sanitation workers, but if they’re upset about it they don’t show it.

You get your pat down and walk through the metal detector while security inspects your lunch.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing?” One of them, a young guy who is usually in good spirits, asks.

“If you want to come over and pack my lunch for me, I’d be happy for the variety.” You joke, giving him a playful wink that makes all the other security guards whistle, as you clear the metal detector with a green light.

“Don’t go giving him any ideas, (Y/N),” Gwendoline harmlessly flirts with the guy, “I might want him to toss my salad instead.”

This makes them all whistle and jeer, hoot and holler and laugh and Gwen laughs back, snatching your purse and hers back from the metal table. Some of the other employees catch ear of the conversation and they shake their heads with incredulous smiles of their own, but neither you nor Gwen really care – what’s the point of working if you can’t have a little fun every now and again?

There’s no room for playing cards on the shuttle, not this time. The small bus isn’t jam packed like a tin of sardines the way the public city buses are, but still there isn’t an empty seat, no real luxury for spreading out. That’s fine though, you think, as you shift into your professional attitude, start thinking of all the things you’ll have to do today.

It’s Sunday, and that’s a good day, a strong day, you think. It’s usually barebones crew, only the most basic staff that needs to be there. In fact, it’s usually mostly cleaning people like yourself and Gwen, getting the place ready for full operations to commence Monday morning. Of course there are still all sorts of scientists checking on their experiments and engineers testing their inventions and the like, but on the whole, Sundays are easy days.

They wax the floors on Sundays, so you know you’ll be doing quite a bit of sweeping scrubbing mopping for most of the shift. The building is huge, but more than that it’s sprawling, like a maze almost in the way that it’s constructed. That’s purposeful, you know, but in the beginning it seemed almost impossible to clean because everywhere you looked there was another hallway leading to another set of doors that all had tile and shelves and counters that needed to be taken care of.

Now though, now you were an expert at it, able to clean up even the stickiest messiest stains in twenty minutes or less. You prided yourself on your work, and always wanted to leave everywhere you went better off than it was when you got there. This job was important to you, vital, one might say.

The shuttle crosses through the gate in the desert, the gate which feels as though it has no ending, chain link splitting through the sand. The large sign boasting RESTRICTED AREA NO TRESSPASSING nearly disappears into the purple of night, and you check your watch to make sure you and Gwen will be able to punch in on time.

“We’ll be fine, we always are.” Gwen sees you checking, and you roll your eyes.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes, it takes nearly ten to get all the way to the lobby.” You show her your wrist, but she only pushes it away, not bothering to look.

“Then that leaves us with five minutes for a cigarette.” She whispers covertly, and the two of you snicker together at her secret smoking habit.

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

The base never looks more imposing than it does like this, too early in the morning before the sun has come up, when there’s nothing but harsh fluorescent lighting flooding the desert. The buildings are brutal, grey cubes that jut angrily out of the earth, rock and sand cleared away for the lines of sidewalk that connect each area in Area 51 like a spider’s web of concrete.

Inside the lobby, people are busy busy busy, walking back and forth in all capacities. Some are wearing white lab coats, others are in suits, and others still are clicking their heels off to go do some typing behind their desks. Friends recognize and greet one another, strangers excuse each other they pass, and along the wall you and Gwen wait your turn to clock into work. The little hand proudly proclaims that you do have five minutes before you technically have to start, and Gwen gives you a devious little smile as you both walk arm in arm down to the ladies’ locker room.

You think it’s kind of funny, that all locker rooms look the same. Rows and rows of standard sized lockers stick out from the walls, creating little aisles almost. Gwen follows you to your lockers, which naturally are side by side, near the middle of the room. It’s perfect because it’s right near a window, and Gwen always cracks it just slightly so she can light up a skinny Virginia Slim and not stink up the place.

She’s not the only one who does it, but no one wants to get caught.

While she smokes, you stash your purse and lunch into the locker, grabbing your cardigan that you keep there at work and sliding your arms into it. It might be one hundred-degrees in the desert when the sun is up for the day, but inside the buildings they keep it at a chilly sixty degrees, and with all the water you deal with, the last thing you need is to be even colder.

“You got any plans tonight (Y/N)?” Gwen asks as she flicks her ash outside through the window, “I was thinking about going out to get my nails done when we finish up our shift.”

She glances at her cuticles, noticing the growth from the way the polish has begun to move away from her nailbed. You take a glance at your own nails, and while the invitation does sound enticing, you do indeed have plans.

“The Professor and I are going out to a movie, you should come with us! It’s not until the late evening, you’d have more than enough time to get a manicure beforehand.” You offer, making Gwen laugh fondly.

“You two and your movies, I swear. I don’t know anyone who loves them more than the pair of you. Why, I feel like you could both quote just about any musical from beginning to end.” She teases.

“Depending on the musical, we probably could.” You tease back, before you stand up and stretch the very last bits of sleep and laziness from your limbs. “I mean it though, you’re more than welcome to come with us.”

“I’ll pass this time honey, but count me in for the next one.” She promises, and you nod. “You want a puff?”

She offers you the cigarette but you nudge her hand away.

“No thank you, you know me, gotta keep these lungs clear so I can recite scripts on command.” You grin, and she only stubs out the butt of it onto the concrete wall, before tucking the thing in her pocket so no one could find it in the trash and get her in trouble.

“And they say I’m sarcastic.” She huffs, tying her apron around her waist.

Mrs. Parker, a strict not but necessarily unkind woman, enters the locker room at five o’clock on the dot. Everyone stands at attention for her at the end of the aisles created by the rows of lockers, and she has one of her assistants pass out clipboards to each of the women in the room.

“Alright ladies, time to start the day.” Mrs. Parker takes her job very seriously, as she should. It was not common for a woman to hold a management position the way she does, and you’re proud to be under her instruction. “Boss says since it’s a holiday tomorrow if you get everything on your checklist done and signed, you can clock out early.”

“What’s the holiday?” One of the other girls asks, as a slight murmur breaks out among them.

“Presidents Day.” Mrs. Parker replies. “So thank JFK for a nice end to the day – if you get everything finished that is.”

With that, she and her assistants leave the locker room. Once the door has closed, the women all talk among themselves, eager for the prospect of getting to go home sooner than anticipated. For many of them, their weekend is just beginning, and the thought of having more time to catch up on sleep or whatever else they want, is exciting.

Neither you nor Gwen have your weekends yet, and though the holidays may apply to everyone else, the two of you will still be expected to come into work the next day. There are different levels of clearance even within maids, you’ve found, and yours are some of the highest, which means you get to clean some of the most sensitive parts of the base.

For now though, Gwen reviews your clipboards. They’re always the same, because Mrs. Parker isn’t stupid and knows that you’re more productive together than you are apart. But still, she checks to make sure.

“I’m guessing we’ve just got floors to do today.” You say, adjusting your hair in the mirror.

“You guessed right.” Gwen nods, flipping through the pages. “Where should we start, the display room, communications, or the lab?”

“Makes the most sense to do it in that order, actually. I don’t feel like back-tracking.” You say, and she’s inclined to agree.

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

It’s not really called the display room. It’s got a proper name like everything else, D-3449 Exhibition Hall. This is one of the rooms that they bring all the important people to, it’s like a museum of sorts with pieces of new technology sitting on pillars and pedestals, large air craft suspended from the ceiling.

It’s more of a hangar than an exhibition hall, especially with how empty it is. The only people inside are the armed security that stand by the door, but they don’t speak. They’re instructed only to watch over the technology and that’s it.

“You would not believe the time I had trying to get new hubcaps for my car,” Gwen says as she slaps her wet mop against the marble tile, pushing suds around and scrubbing at the floor, “Remember how that piece of shit swiped my side and scuffed them something fierce? Well I figured I’d drive myself down to the dealership and ask their auto shop to replace it, and I inquired about any new designs. You know how they’re always coming out with new designs.”

“Did you ask for chrome?” You’re on your hands and knees with a little scraper, someone had tracked gum into the hanger and not bothered to wipe it up. It had hardened and now practically needed to be chiseled off the damn tile.

“Of course I asked for chrome, and do you know what the sleezy man at the dealer told me?” Gwen puts her hand on her hip, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” You look up from the gum.

“He said men love women with chrome hubcaps, because they can see up her skirt through the reflection!” She scoffs.

“No way, that’s not real.” You go back to scraping, managing to get it all the way off in one blue sticky chunk that you dump into the trash at the end of your janitorial cart.

“Whether it’s real or not I wasn’t going to let it stop me, so I bought four new ones and had them put on.” Gwen says anyway, making you laugh.

“Gwen! You’re too much sometimes I tell you.” You shake your head, grabbing your mop and walking across the great big hangar to the other side so that you can mop that half. Though you are far apart, being the only ones in the room had its perks, and your voice carries when you joke, “This is why I don’t have a car.”

“Oh but you should get one, they’ve got all different colors and you can get ones with the tops that fold down so you can feel the sun on your face and – ” Gwen starts, unaware that you’re teasing.

“We live in the desert, the sun is always on our face.” You say as you’re careful to not box yourself in with the wet tile. “Besides, you only ever talk about how expensive your car is to fix, and how you have to fix it often. I’d much rather spend my money on other things.”

“Yeah like your shoes.” Gwen points to your feet, “Are those new?”

At the mention of your new heels, you strike a dramatic model pose.

“Do you like them? I saw them in the window and had to get them.” You beamed, showing the bottoms still mostly un-scuffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re breaking them in at work, your feet are going to fucking hate you for that.” Gwen whistles low, already feeling sorry for your ankles.

“My feet are going to hate me either way, might as well look nice.” You point out, and this at least Gwen understands.

From the hangar you move on to the communications room, which is exactly as it sounds. It’s an open office floor plan, with desks in neat lines. Two men in headphones sit at each desk, fiddling with nearly a hundred different buttons and looking at many small screens. No one pays you or Gwen any mind as you go about sweeping the floor, collecting any dust or specs of dirt that had accumulated since you’d been there yesterday.

In fact, everyone is so engrossed in their work that you’re not so sure they’d notice if you started screaming and jumping up and down. They’re monitoring the soundwaves and frequencies across the planet, right there in this room. There are enormous satellites pointed towards the sky nearly a mile away, four different ones pointing in each direction, and the communications personnel listens in on what the satellites send to their headphones.

You have your big dust broom and are walking in one direction between an aisle of desks, and Gwen is walking the opposite way on the other side.

“Sometimes I wonder what in God’s name goes on in this place, but then I think, if I want to sleep at night, it’s better to not know.” Gwen whispers, voice kept quiet so that she can’t be heard over the noise of whatever the personnel are listening to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You whisper back, “They’re keeping aliens down in the basement labs.”

“Oh not this again.” Gwen groans, before lowering her voice again and hissing, “There is no such thing as aliens.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, Gwen, keep telling yourself that.” You grin, entirely too cheeky to be serious. “Look all I’m saying is why do we have big satellites pointing to the night sky and people listening in every second of every day?”

“To intercept the Russians, hello!” Gwen says as though it’s fairly obvious, and you grin as you sweep because now she’s really going on a tangent. “This is the United States government we’re talking about, they’re not going to waste their time on fairy-tales and conspiracies from lunatics on the street.”

“Then how do you explain the UFOs that people keep spotting?” You ask, waggling an eyebrow.

“Just because some people don’t know what a damn airplane looks like, doesn’t mean it’s something from outer space.” She says, and you put your hands up in mock-defeat.

“You’ve got to admit it is a pretty good conspiracy though,” You continue to be playful and difficult, not because you believe in any of this bullshit, not for real. But because it’s so easy to rile Gwen up with this sort of stuff, so you make a face and say, “Little green men with big black eyes and three fingers on each hand, like in those low-budget horror movies.”

“If that’s what aliens are supposed to look like, then I definitely don’t want them to be real.” She rolls her eyes and finishes sweeping the floor.

Your last stop of the day is the laboratory. It is deep underground, and requires two elevators to get to, so generally no one ever wants to visit, and no one ever wants to clean it. It’s not the most pleasant atmosphere to be, as there are no windows and nothing but steel doors as far as the eye can see.

You and Gwen have to scan into the lab using your ID cards, as the doors are bulletproof and heavy, a double sliding mechanism that moves slowly because of the weight of it. When they finally open, you’re confronted with a flurry of activity.

The normally peaceful lab is filled with people, mostly installation workers who are hooking up wires and pumps to a big fish tank that takes up most of the room. Your eyes widen in awe, the thing is massive and hadn’t been there yesterday, meaning the install workers had been there through the night putting it together.

They must have been working so hard that they had no qualms throwing all the packing materials for the hoses and wires and whatever else, right onto the floor.

“What the hell is this mess!” Gwendoline snaps as she pushes her cart through the open doors, you trailing behind. “Are you fucking kidding me, the trash can is right there!”

The men stop at the sound of her, and quickly scramble to start picking stuff up. They look like chastised young kids, being scolded by their mother, and that’s fitting considering how some of them barely look like they’re out of college.

“Sorry Gwen, we didn’t – ” One of them starts, but she gives him a glare that would have turned him to stone if he had looked any longer.

“No, I know you didn’t you never do.” She sighs, using her broom to sweep everything up, pushing it to one side so at least the majority of the floor is clear.

You assist her, throwing away all the plastic wrappers and sheets of card stock, breaking down boxes and sweeping up package insulation.

“What’s all this shit for anyway?” You wrestle a piece of foam board into the trash can on your cart.

“Yeah really, as if we don’t have a big enough fucking mess to deal with as it is – ” Gwen shoots the boys another glare and they all duck, embarrassed.

“Watch your profanity, Miss Gwendoline, and goodness lower your voice.” Your boss, Mr. Robert appears through the double doors just then. He’s one of those overly polite fellows, one of those people who says goodness gosh golly gee whizz. You can’t ever really take him seriously, but he’s in charge, so you do as he says, and so does Gwen.

“Sorry sir.” She casts her eyes down and returns to her sweeping, and you do the same.

“It’s alright, today is just a very important day.” Mr. Robert smooths his shirt down with his palms, before clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “In a few moments, we will be welcoming a new team to our base. Accompanying this team is the most highly classified asset that we have ever obtained.”

Almost as if by magic, the thick steel walls slide open, revealing in a most dramatic fashion, a tall and thin Colonel, the only indication of his rank being a pin on his suit lapel. The man looks like a skeleton, with his high cheekbones and sunken in eyes, and his lips are stiffly frowning, so much so that you wonder whether his face would crack, if he were to smile. His hair is greying, but in a dignified manner, and it is well-kept, just as the rest of him seems to be.

Everyone in the room falls silent when his polished dress shoes click across the freshly swept floor, standing with their shoulders and chin squared, you and Gwen included.

“May I present Mr. Tarkin. He is the acting head of security regarding the Asset. His office will be next to mine in the administrative wing, should you have any concerns or are called for assistance. Mr. Tarkin?”

“Thank you Robert, your introduction is most welcome.” The colonel’s voice is exactly as you’d expect it, deep and gravely and more than a little sinister, although he gives a chilling smile when he says, “I have nothing more to add, other than the fact that anything you see here, anything at all, does not and never will exist. If you think you see something, hear or even smell something – you didn’t.”

“Is that understood?” Mr. Robert asks everyone in the lab, and you all nod.

“Yes sir.” You say in unison, cogs in the machine.

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the doors, as a team of armed security guards wheel in a massive steel tank. It looks like an iron lung, only bigger, far bigger. Everyone in the room is interested in it, but no one dare steps in the way of the security. It takes ten men on either side of the tank to move it into the lab, and though they certainly aren’t weak, they are visibly struggling with the Force of it.

It doesn’t help that whatever is inside the tank, isn’t happy. There is a harsh loud banging coming from within the steel, that low hollow echo as something pounds against it, bangs against it. You’re curious, so incredibly curious – you want to peer inside it, you want to know what it is. You’ve never seen anything like this before, never seen anything alive before. So far you’ve only come across planes and engines, never ever anything like this.

They’ve wheeled it in front of Mr. Tarkin, who regards it with pride. You wonder if he’s the one who found whatever is inside, or if he’s just in charge of it. Either way, whatever it is must be some raging feral animal, to make the kind of banging slamming pounding noise it’s making.

There’s a pain in your chest for it, for the creature, because certainly something that upset must be wounded, or frightened, or both. The security team steps away from the tank once it is securely in the lab, and they leave, filing out in two straight lines. The thick steel doors open, and before they close, Robert gives you and Gwendoline the cue to leave.

You nod, knowing when you’re officially just no longer allowed to be somewhere. You both gather up your carts and silently make your way out of the lab, passing the tank as you go.

Your intrigue gets the better of you though, and as you pass the tank, you stop briefly. There’s a window made of bulletproof glass, spanning nearly the entire side of the thing. Glancing into it, all there is to see is a bright blue liquid. You can’t really tell if the liquid is illuminated, or if it’s glowing on its own with some sort of bioluminescent quality, but either way, the blue liquid is too thick to see through.

You place a hand on the glass, using that as leverage to peer in closer without falling forward, when a hand pushes through the blue liquid and slams forcefully against the glass, jolting you back.

A flash of red fills the room. You blink and you are surrounded by the soft smooth endless velvet of blackness, the very same which populates your dreams. You’re close, so close, far closer to the red veil than you’ve ever been before, a hand outstretched, a hand reaching for you, before it –

As soon as it comes, the memory of your dream is gone, and you are being held tightly in Gwendoline’s arms.

“They need to leave, now!” Mr. Tarkin barks orders at your boss, but you’re already nodding, already racing to get your shit and get out.

You wonder if you’re ill – if you’ve had a stroke, if you’ve accidentally ingested some cleaning fluid. Nothing like that has ever happened to you before, and you can’t fight the shudders that wrack through your body, nor can you ignore the sweat that freezes across your neck.

“Yes of course sir,” Gwendoline says as she leads you and the carts out of the lab, pushing you bodily with concerned panic on her face, “We’re sorry, sir.”

You keep your eyes trained on the tank, as you leave. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has, and even as Gwen nearly shoves you into the hallway, still you crane your neck to look at the tank, still your eyes widen as you desperately try to catch a glimpse of something, of whatever that thing was.

Before the doors close fully, you see a shadow of something...the shadow...of a man.

Gwendoline races you to the nearest bathroom, and you feel as though you’re going to be sick. Had it been a hand? A human hand? Or were you officially just losing your fucking mind?

Was that really a person in the tank? Why would they keep a human being in a tank like he were some new fish at an aquarium? It must have been so scared, pounding on the tank like that, over and over and over and over – and you do get sick then, just because you still have no idea why you hallucinated in the way that you did.

“(Y/N)!” Gwendoline has a soothing hand on your back as you’re hunched over one of the toilets, all remnants of your lunch burning your throat as it comes back up in your panic, “(Y/N) talk to me what the fuck happened in there?”

“I don’t – I’ve never – ” You choke out, coughing with your face against the porcelain.

Gwen leaves for a moment, only a moment, returning with a paper cup and fresh water from the tap.

“Deep breaths, here, drink this.” She offers it to you, and you eagerly take it, gulp it down as you grab a fistful of toilet paper to wipe your face. She is so concerned, you can read it on her face, and she takes the paper from your hand to get the rest of your own sick off where you can’t see it. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the hospital?”

“Gwen it,” You’re out of breath, heart still beating so quick that you’re lightheaded. “I don’t know what happened I, I think I blacked out.”

“You scared the shit out of me, one second you’re touching the glass, the next second you’re almost falling to the ground. Would have hit your head on the concrete if I wasn’t there to catch you, but your eyes were wide open.” She says, and you frown.

“They were?” You don’t know how that could be, because you were dreaming, and you can only dream when you’re asleep, right?

“Yes, wide open but blank, kind of like those sharks, it was like you weren’t looking at anything in particular.” Gwen shakes her head and there are scared tears in her eyes, “I’m going to call the hospital – ”

“No,” You stop her, not wanting to have to deal with doctors and nurses for this, not when you don’t even know how you’d explain it. “No it’s okay. I feel better now, the water helped. I think I was just startled.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.” She whispers, “And I don’t want to again. If it happens a second time, I’m taking you and that’s not negotiable.”

You agree, and after you take a deep breath, you gesture to the bathroom around you.

“Since we’re here, we might as well clean.” You say. Clearly whoever was scheduled for this section of the hallway hadn’t gotten to it yet, and you didn’t want to face the world just yet.

“I’ll clean, you sit on the counter and just relax for a minute.” Gwen instructs, and you do as she says, hopping up onto the counter.

Gwen grabs a rag and a spray bottle and begins to wipe down the stalls, where she makes the mistake of looking up at the ceiling and groaning.

“Look at this, would you look at this?” She asks, pointing up. You squint but you can see the splatters on the cork ceiling tiles. “What were they doing, having a pissing contest up here? Isn’t this supposed to be the home of highly classified information and technology? Aren’t we supposed to have the best scientists and engineers?”

The door opens just then, and you immediately slide off the counter and adjust your dress, making way to grab your cart and leave. Gwendoline does the same upon the entrance of a man, as this is the men’s room, and though it’s your job to clean it, you are expected to give them privacy when someone is using the facility.

Especially when that someone is the Colonel, the new head of security regarding the new highly classified and top secret asset.

“No,” Mr. Tarkin says, as he approaches the counter, “No that’s alright, you don’t have to leave.”

He’s carrying something, a long baton made of black metal. He rests it on the counter and sets to washing his hands, using exactly six pumps of soap from the dispenser near the sink.

“Are you certain, sir?” You say, avoiding eye contact. “Our work can wait.”

“I’m certain. Don’t mind me, I won’t take but a moment. Please, carry on with your conversation, I don’t want to interrupt.” He waves it off, fastidiously scrubbing at his palms.

Once his hands are clean, he steps to the side and unzips his pants. Both you and Gwen quickly look away, embarrassed and in absolutely no mood to catch a flash of this guy’s dick. Instead, your gaze turns towards the baton, which seems to almost be humming there on the counter.

“Nifty little toy, isn’t it?” Mr. Tarkin catches you regarding it, and he smiles down at the baton like it were his newborn baby, fondness in his eyes that is incongruent with what it is when he tells you, “State of the art, high-voltage electric shock cattle-prod. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

You and Gwendoline exchange a glance, what the fuck were they using electric shock on?

“I saw you both in T-4, didn’t I?” Mr. Tarkin hums, as he puts his hands on his hips and pisses right in front of you, “You’re the one who touched the tank.”

“Yes sir, I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” You reply, trying your absolute best to not die of embarrassment and disgust.

“Humans are naturally curious, don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re alright.” He says, strangely sympathetic before asking, “Doesn’t it get lonely? The graveyard shift, I mean.”

“It gets quiet.” Gwendoline answers, strangely serious in her own way. She doesn’t like this man, you can tell.

Neither do you.

He hits the button on top of the urinal to flush and zips up his pants, making his way back to the sink.

“Well, hopefully things stay quiet – if you catch my meaning.” He winks.

“Yes sir, here.” Gwendoline offers him a hot towel for him to use when he’s finished washing his hands, but he doesn’t take it.

“Oh no thank you, a man washes his hands before or after tending to his needs. You can find out a lot about a man by the way he does it, what’s important to him. If he does it both times, it only points to a flaw in character, a weakness.” He explains with logic that makes no sense. “I think you’ll find I’m not a weak man.”

You find him a self-absorbed idiot, but you’d never say that out loud.

He picks up the baton, the cattle-prod, and exits the bathroom, catching the door with his hand before it closes fully and giving another one of those chilling smiles when he says, “It was very pleasant talking with you ladies.”

The second the door is closed, Gwen has her spray bottle and rag turned onto the door, scrubbing away where the man’s dirty hands have touched the steel.

“What a creep.” She mutters under her breath, and you hum out an agreement before gasping.

“Gwen, look.” You’ve caught sight of smeared blood, blood that had come from the baton itself. It was bad enough that they were electrocuting the creature, but now they were making it bleed too?

You and Gwen look at one another, and she just shrugs and hands you a rag too.

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

Some time later, you’re walking down the hall pushing your carts, reviewing the clipboard. Each and every task has been crossed off, and it was nearly only lunch time. Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly lunch time for the rest of the world, ten o’clock in the morning and all. But you were feeling good about it, thinking to yourself that if you can just hold on a little longer, you’ll be able to go out to lunch with Armitage when you get off the buses that will bring you back home.

Gwen is in an equally good mood, no doubt wishing that she could clock out early more often.

“I can see my own smile in these floors, we do such a damn good job, don’t we? Do you think Mrs. Parker will sign off on our forms so we can go?” She has a spring in her step as you both round the corner – right into Mr. Robert.

“(Y/N)! Gwendoline!” He looks frantic, looks terrified, is holding a napkin up to his face, mopping up the profuse amount of swear on his brow, “You need to come with me, now.”

“Sir, we were just about to pack up and leave actually – ” Gwendoline says, but your boss doesn’t care.

“Now!” He insists, and you have no choice but to follow suit.

Soon enough, it’s clear as to why.

Down the dark windowless halls and through the elevators you find yourselves in front of the lab once again, where there is a mess of blood all across the tile. So much blood in fact, that you’re nearly positive whatever has happened here has been fatal, because there’s just no way someone survived from this much loss.

Mr. Roberts scans in and the doors open, revealing an even bigger mess on the inside.

“You have exactly twenty minutes to get this lab spotless, do you understand me? Twenty minutes.” Mr. Roberts looks at you, and you nod, because you know you can get it done.

He leaves without another word, and the moment the doors close, Gwen groans.

“This is a lot of blood.” She states the obvious, grabbing buckets and filling them with water from one of the lab sinks. “You know, I can handle a lot of things. I can handle piss, throw up, hell, even shit. I can handle shit. But something about blood sets me off.” She shudders.

“Give me a bucket, the sooner we get this place mopped up the sooner we can leave.” You reach for one and she gives it to you.

You dump the entire bucket on the floor, and in the shallow wake of the murky water, a pair of fingers rolls out from underneath a large storage cabinet.

“No fucking way,” You gasp, bending down to pick the appendages up, “Fingers.”

“Fingers!?” Gwen covers her mouth, fully disgusted. “Okay, you stay here, I’m going to get Robert.”

The moment the steel doors close behind her, you sigh. What could have gone on here, you wonder, to have Robert in such a state? And the fingers, well clearly they had to belong to someone, which meant the blood had to as well. But there had been blood on Mr. Tarkin’s baton, the cattle-prod whatever he wanted to call it, hadn’t there?

Your stomach sinks at the thought that whatever the creature Mr. Tarkin has captured, bleeds just like all of you.

A low dull thunk comes from the tank, and you turn around slowly to face it.

Against all your better instincts, you turn to face it.

Where the tank was once empty, now there is something pushing through the fluorescent blue, something making its way closer to the glass. It is not screaming this time, nor is it banging its fists on the walls of the tank, and you drop the fingers, one hand outstretched.

You approach the glass, heart pounding pounding pounding, blood rushing in your ears, because it is a man, from what you can tell.

It’s not clear, not perfectly clear inside the tank, but you see a head and a wide torso, long thick legs and strong arms. He’s wearing some sort of breathing mask which obscures his face almost entirely, an apparatus that reminds you very much of the kinds that scuba divers wear, and he’s got a heavy looking metal collar clasped tightly around his throat.

It looks like a shock collar, but you’re not sure, you’re not sure of anything.

Though it is hard to see, there are definite wounds marking his body, fresh ones that speak to the blood all over the floor. You suck in a breath and just as you had done earlier, you place a hand against the glass of the tank.

This time when he – because it is a he and not an it – puts his palm against the glass from his own side, you don’t black out. You sigh with relief, and take another step closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at him when –

“Right this way Mr. Robert, yes two fingers.” Gwen’s voice carries into the room as the doors open for her and your boss.

You quickly yank your hand away from the tank and turn towards them, about to beckon her forward to show her the man in the tank, but when you look back through the glass, it’s empty. Nothing but the blue liquid as far as you can see.

In your pocket is a brown paper bag and you stuff the fingers inside it, folding the top down like a lunch parcel.

“Where are the body parts?” Mr. Roberts sweats, nervous nervous nervous.

“Here sir,” You give them over, explaining when he looks confused, “I’ve wrapped them for you.”

“You both can clock out and go home, I’ll sign your lists personally.” Mr. Roberts accepts the paper bag, and walks over to your carts where the clipboards rest nestled in amongst the bottles of cleaners and wipes. “And don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, the holiday applies to you as well. Go get some sleep.”

“Thank you sir! We very much appreciate that.” Gwendoline can barely contain her excitement at that.

“Well I appreciate you.” He stammers, genuinely grateful. “I don’t know anyone who can clean as well as quickly as you.”

He gives you a smile, and then rushes out of the lab with the paper bag, no doubt to the hospital.

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

Hours later, after you and Armitage have shared some lunch and you’ve bathed in the Nevada summer sun on your balcony, after the home cooked dinner he makes you and the movie you watch together downstairs at the cinema, when it’s officially late once again and Armitage is asleep in his bed, you slip into the hallway.

Careful to close your front door quietly, you tip-toe down the stairs at the end of the hall, the only real sound are the dimes jingling in your pocket.

There is a phone booth right on the corner, and no one pays you any mind as you step inside it, closing the glass door behind you. You drop the dime into the payphone, and when the operator tone buzzes, you dial the number on the rotary, memorized but never written down.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before someone on the other end of the line picks it up.

“She speaks to the earth with a loud voice.” You say evenly and clearly.

You look around, check over your shoulder, make sure that no one is watching or listening in on you, making sure no one is trailing you. When you find no such person, you relax a little.

“And the earth shouts back.” The man on the other end of the line finishes the code, before switching to his mother tongue and saying, “Go ahead.”

“They’ve got a hold of something,” You cannot refrain from letting some of the awe pollute your news, even in this language which feels thick in your mouth, your Russian sticking in your throat, emotional as you whisper, “Something incredible.”

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

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