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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

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Crash Into Me

You’d been MGK’s assistant for years, but you never thought you had a chance at anything more with him until one stoplight changes everything.

Request: “ok im so sorry if this is 2 specific but ive had this idea for ages abt pining!colson x an insecure/clueless!reader who has been his assistant forever. she gets into a car accident and calls him hours later to tell him that a temp will be taking her place for a few weeks (bc of injuries) and he's like ?? why?? she explains nonchalantly, then kells kinda freaks out and shows up at the hospital all worried”

Colson Baker X Reader

Warnings: Cursing, car accident (descriptive)

A/N: This was cute 😊

Word Count: 3185

“Alright Kells, I’m out for the night. I’ll email those tracks to the board when I get home and I’ll let you know if I get any updates for tomorrow’s press.” You told the blond man who was sitting on the couch as you put your laptop into your bag. You tried not to yawn as you heaved it over your shoulder, “anything else?”

You glanced at the kitchen clock that read 2 am and let out a small sigh. You were used to late nights given your job as assistant to a rockstar, but most nights you were able to leave before 8 pm. Tonight you and Colson had gotten really invested in the tracks you were editing and lost track of time.

“Y/N,” he turned to look at you with puppy dog eyes. He wanted something that you really weren’t gonna want to give him. “Could you come over early tomorrow to help me pick out what to wear for the Vanity Fair interview?”

You chuckled, “you know they have their own wardrobe department?”

He sighed, “yeah but you know me so much better than all those stylists. I trust your opinion more.”

You rolled your eyes as he tilted his head, begging you. “Fine, but I’m buying us coffee with your credit card.”

He broke out into a smile, “thank you, love you!” He called as you walked towards his front door.

“Whatever, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You told him, taking your car keys into your hands, and stepping out into the LA night. There was a soft breeze that shook the trees slightly, making you smile. It felt nice outside for the first time in a while.

Because of this, you decided to drive home with your windows rolled down, letting the wind flow through your hair. The roads were pretty barren by LA standards, so traffic was pretty much non-existent. You were sitting at a red light, your fingers tapping against your steering wheel as one of Colson’s songs played through your speakers softly.

You reached to turn up the volume as the light turned green. You pressed the gas, your car moving forward into the intersection. Suddenly you heard a loud squeal of brakes, looking over to your passenger window to the sight of two headlights barreling towards you. You tried to speed up to get out of the way, but it was too late.

The truck rammed straight into the side of your small car, pushing your vehicle over into the car next to you. You put your left arm up to shield you from any flying debris, but it was futile. The infrastructure of your car fell apart at the force, the dashboard collapsing onto your right leg. Luckily, your left leg managed to avoid the destruction.

You could barely feel the force of the whiplash due to the pain in your abdomen at the deployment of the airbag. Glass from the car next to you fell into your car through your open window, cutting into your skin.

And then all of a sudden, everything stopped. The truck that had hit you had stopped moving, allowing you to fully assess the damage. Your car was totaled for sure, and your leg was definitely crushed. You cried out in pain, breathing heavy and trying to see straight. You could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, giving you some sense of relief.

When the paramedics got to the scene, you were the last passenger to be taken out of the crash due to your car being in the center. A firefighter had to break the glass of your windshield, which was already cracked, in order to pull you out. When you told him your leg was stuck under the dashboard, he sent a team of men to lift it from your foot and another to pull you out of the wreckage.

They were all amazed you were still conscious but got very worried when you told them you couldn’t feel the pain in your leg. You rode in an ambulance to the hospital, the EMTs helping pick the glass from your skin and assessing your injuries. You made jokes with them to calm yourself down, something that you did with Colson and Rook whenever they got into accidents while you were out with them.

You thought about giving them Colson’s name when they asked about your emergency contact but decided against it. You didn’t want to worry him until absolutely necessary. You figured you’d see what the doctor had to say and if you wouldn’t be able to come back to work, then you would tell him.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what the doctor said. In fact, you wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital for at least a week due to your shattered leg, bruised abdomen, and concussion.

The leg would require at least 2 if not more surgeries to repair and you would be on close watch for development of a more serious brain injury. After that you most likely wouldn’t be able to be back on your feet for another 8 to 12 weeks, which was kind of a requirement for your job.

It was almost 5am, so you weren’t necessarily thinking straight when you called Colson from your cracked phone. He answered, his voice conveying how tired he was. “Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Hey Kells, I’m not gonna be able to come in early tomorrow, or at all. I’m gonna start looking for a temporary replacement tomorrow if I’m feeling up to it. Oh! And I couldn’t send those tracks to the board, sorry.” You told him, only half registering the words you were saying.

The confusion was evident in his voice, “what? Why do you need to find a replacement?”

You realized you had forgotten to tell him what happened. “Oh, yeah! It’s kind of funny.” You started, chuckling but then realizing that laughing made your stomach hurt even more. “And by funny, I mean not funny at all. I got into a car accident. Some dude ran into my car in an intersection and now I’m in the hospital.”

“Which hospital?” Colson asked, suddenly much more awake.

“Hollywood Presbyterian.” You told him, “why?”

He sounded like he was rushing around, which he was. “I’m coming to see you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “why? I’m fine, you don’t need to do that. You have a big interview tomorrow, you should sleep.”

Colson sighed, “fuck the interview, I’ll be there in a few.”

“Colson you don’t-“ You started, but he hung up before you could tell him not to come.

Why was he rushing to see you in the hospital? Sure, you were friends, but he had much more important things to worry about right now. And besides, you were more casual work friends. He wouldn’t even know you existed if you didn’t work for him. Sure, you had a huge crush on him, but he was your boss, you were just someone he asked to do things he didn’t want to do.

20 minutes later Colson ran into the hospital room, stopping when he saw you in the bed. Your face was red from chemical burn and a few cuts of glass. Your right leg was propped up with basic bandaging around it. His heart broke at the thought of how much pain you had probably been in.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, moving to sit in the chair on your left side.

You shrugged, “I’ve been better.”

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” He asked, eyes full of pity.

“I didn’t want to bother you unless it was serious. Figured I’d find out if I would have to miss work before telling you.” You said, squeezing your eyes shut as a headache washed over you.

Colson’s mouth gaped open, “you didn’t want to bother me? You got in a car crash and you weren’t gonna call me unless you would have to miss work?”

You shrugged again, “yeah. If my laptop wasn’t completely crushed in the accident I would’ve just found and sent a temp in tomorrow, but obviously that’s impossible.”

“Y/N you’re kidding me, right?” He asked, exasperated. You furrowed your eyebrows in response, causing a sigh to fall from his lips. “Y/N I don’t give a shit about a temp; I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, I’m fine. A little shaken and these headaches are killer, but they gave me a lot of pain medication so, I’m fine.” You smiled at him, your thoughts racing as you tried to figure out why he cared so much about how you were feeling.

He nodded, hand reaching out and landing on top of yours gently. “So, do they have to do surgery? What all did the doctors say?” He asked, worry in his eyes.

You nodded, “yeah, at least 2 surgeries. One around 11 am and then depending on how that one goes they’ll schedule the next. And they have to watch me to make sure my concussion doesn’t get worse.”

He pulled out his phone, typing away. “What are you doing?” You asked, suddenly feeling very tired.

“I just emailed the PR liaison for Vanity Fair and told them I wouldn’t be able to make it to the interview.” He responded.

“Why did you do that?” You asked through a yawn.

He looked at you like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, “because I have to be with you right now.”

You were very confused as to why he thought he had to be here. “Colson, I’ll be fine. You should go to the interview. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I do have to be here. I want to be here.” He said, sternly.

“Why?” You asked, trying to keep your eyes open.

“Because I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll just call you after the surgery, it’s no big deal.” You responded lazily.

He shook his head, “I want to stay here with you, Y/N. Okay? I care about you.”

You were too tired to process what he was saying at this point, so you just let out a hum. “I need to make sure you’re okay. I need to see you being okay. When you called me, I swear I was gonna have a heart attack if I didn’t see you.” He continued.

You were barely awake at this point, letting out a simple, “I’m okay” before slipping into unconsciousness.

Suddenly you were back in your car, “Bloody Valentine” playing from your speakers. The sky was dark green, almost like a painting. In front of you, the red light turned green. Like clockwork, you pressed the gas, moving into the intersection. Suddenly, the lights disappeared, and you heard the familiar chilling sound of breaks squealing. You looked over and saw those headlights coming towards you, getting closer and closer, brighter, and brighter.

You screamed at the sight, the familiar paralyzing fear coursing through your body again. “Y/N!” Your name played through the radio. That’s not in the song, you thought. “Y/N!” Colson’s voice rang out again before the truck made contact with your car.

You woke up in a cold sweat to Colson standing over you, hands shaking your shoulders lightly. “Y/N.” He said, relieved when your eyes began to open.

Your entire body was shaking like a poodle and your arms subconsciously reached for Colson, hanging onto his shirt for dear life. “It was just a dream.” He whispered as your eyes darted around the room. “You’re okay.” He reassured you.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered, hands leaving the fabric and moving to cover up your face. “I’m sorry.”

Colson sat on the bed next to you, legs hanging off the side as he stroked your face gently. “It’s okay, baby.” He turned to the nurse who opened the door, a worried expression on her face. He shook his head at her, “sorry, she just had a nightmare. She’s okay.” The nurse nodded but stayed in the room anyways, checking your vitals.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled again, the words seeming to be the only thing you could say.

Colson shook his head, “stop saying that, it’s okay.” You pouted at him, trying to scoot over so he would lay down next to you, but it was way too painful. “What are you doin?” He asked, a smile on his face.

You sighed, “wanted you to sit next to me but I can’t move because of this stupid leg.” You motioned to the leg in question.

Colson chuckled, “I can sit next to you in the chair.”

“That didn’t work last time.” You whined.

He looked at you with an expression that was both amused and confused. You were definitely still high on pain medication. “What didn’t work.”

“It didn’t stop the nightmare.” You frowned, hand reaching for his. He chuckled, standing up fully and looking at the nurse.

She flashed him an amused smile, “If you want, we can try to move her. I don’t know how much we can do without hurting her ribs, though.”

Colson nodded with a gracious smile, “hear that? We can’t move you because of your ribs.”

You glared at him, “I may be very high right now, but I’m not that high.” You said, making him giggle. “She said you could try.”

Colson let out an exasperated sigh, one arm going under your back and the other under your left leg. “Is this what it’s like taking care of me all the time?” He asked and you nodded your head firmly.

“Yep. Except I am much smaller than you, so you have less work to do with me.” You smiled as he lifted you off the bed, which quickly turned into a grimace. “Ow!” You yelped and Colson quickly set you down, slightly closer to the right side of the bed.

“Fuck, sorry princess. Are you okay?” He asked, voice soft.

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip to block the whimpers of pain that threatened to escape your mouth. “You probably don’t remember, but one time you were so crossed that you called me to pick you up from a party. But you couldn’t make it out of the car, so I had to carry you into your house. And then you demanded to sleep in your own room, so you made me drag you up the stairs instead of passing out on the couch like normal.”

Colson let out a breathy chuckle, glad you weren’t hurt too much. He carefully sat onto the cot next to you, pulling up his right leg to sit on the bed. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you into him slightly. You shifted so that you were comfortable, left hand finding his own left hand and holding it. He brought his left leg up onto the bed so he was fully laying with you.

Your head rest on his chest, a soft smile on your face as his thumb rubbed circles on your hand. The nurse left, satisfied that you wouldn’t hurt yourself further. Colson pressed a small kiss to the top of your head, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“What time is it?” You asked him, to which he responded by pulling out his phone and showing you the lock screen. 8:47am. You nodded, a frown on your face, “did you get any sleep?” You asked him softly.

“I’m fine, I was asleep for a few hours before you called me.”

You sighed, feeling guilty. “You should go home and get some sleep.”

You felt him shake his head from behind you, “I’m staying right here.”

Despite wanting to force him to go home, you couldn’t help the happiness you felt at his stubbornness to stay with you. “You know you don’t need to be here. I won’t be offended if you leave.”

He chuckled, “stop trying to get me to leave. I’m here. On my own accord, okay? I’m gonna take care of you.”

You paused, thinking about the word floating around your head. “Why?” you whispered.

Colson’s face scrunched in confusion, “what do you mean “why”? Because you’re my friend and I care about you.”

“I mean, yeah. But I’m not like a “drop everything” kind of friend, I’m just your assistant.” You muttered.

Colson made an “are-you-serious?” face and let out a snort. “Seriously? You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You mean the world to me, of course I’d drop everything for you.”

You couldn’t think of a response, his words making your heart race. “oh.” Was the best you could come up with.

“Y/N, seriously, you think way too low of yourself. You’re amazing.” He said, nose burying into your hair.

You shrugged, “you only say that because I take care of you when you’re drunk and help you do all the things you don’t want to do.”

Colson’s expression softened, a frown forming on his face. “I’m saying that because I think the world of you. You’re the kindest, funniest, coolest person I know. I meant it, when you told me you were in the hospital, my heart almost stopped. I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about you being hurt.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I wish you could see how much you mean to me.” He mumbled.

You were quiet for a little while, processing what he had said. “You’re only saying that because I’m in the hospital.” You muttered, a frown on your face. You were trying to keep your hopes low, knowing once you were out of here, he would regret saying any of this.

“Y/N, are you being serious right now? I’m saying this because I’ve been fucking in love with you for the past year and a half.” He said and you could feel your breath catch in your throat. “I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

You bit your lip, turning to look up to him. “I just- I didn’t want- you wouldn’t.” You stumbled over your words, taking a deep breath, and starting again. “I didn’t want to read too much into it or get my hopes up. I figured you’d never be into someone like me so I just told myself you were being nice. I thought you only treated me well because I worked for you.” You mumbled.

He frowned, holding you tighter to him, “I am so, so into you. You are the only woman in my life who has ever stuck by me through my worst shit. Like even when I was a total jackass you stayed with me. How could I not fall in love with you?”

You bit your lip, tears threatening to spill at his sweet sentiment. You’d never had anyone say something that kind about you. You’d always assumed people only kept you around because you did stuff for them, but here was the man you were in love with telling you that he cared about you for you.

“I love you too.” You whispered, leaning your head further into his chest.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst #colson imagine

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

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Suicidal Misunderstanding XI

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX - - - - - Part X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Anakin left his first ‘soul healing’ appointment feeling on edge. They hadn’t even discussed anything important! The healer mostly talked at him, giving him rules for future sessions. They had barely touched on the reason he was there, which was both a relief and slightly irritating. ...He was a little uncertain what to do with him time now.

Obi-Wan hadn’t responded to him at all during his visit that morning, laying motionless in an apparently self-induced coma, and he wasn’t allowed to sit with him again until the evening. He wasn’t allowed to look at anything to do with the war until Mace cleared him. Returning to his and Obi-Wan’s quarter’s was still unthinkable, even though he knew he’d have to go back at some point before Ashoka landed on planet.

The Chancellor had left him several messages inviting him for a visit, but he was dragging his feet, despite the serious temptation of an always comforting father-figure. The thought of actually seeing the man made him feel practically sick with anger and betrayal. Obi-Wan had been convinced that Palpatine was trying to tear them apart. And while Anakin didn’t quite believe that... he had told Obi-Wan about what he had done after his mother’s death. Maybe someday, when Obi-Wan was better, he would be able to believe it was all for the best, but for now...he was just angry.

He hadn’t really been angry at the man before, and didn’t enjoy the sensation.

Padme had told him she would be working from home as much as possible the next few days. While he didn’t want to be an annoyance, there wasn’t really anyone else he could turn to for advice or comfort right now, and she seemed almost as desperate for the reassurance of his company as he was of hers...and the Master of the Order seemed to at least tolerate their relationship, even if he didn’t know all the details.

He arrived at her apartment and promptly collapsed on the couch.

“Is it alright if I join you?” Padme asked softly.

Anakin smiled at her. “More than alright”

She sat down. He shifted so she could lean against him comfortably.

“Do you want to talk right now, or should I do some paperwork?” she asked neutrally.

He groaned. “It’s- I’m not sure if I’m being immature. Should I go see Palpatine?”

She stiffened. “The Chancellor? I- I thought we had specifically agreed not to talk about him if we could help it. Have his politics started to bother you?” she asked dryly.

He rolled his eyes. “No, I still believe he’s the best chance for ending the war quickly- you know my friendship with him is personal, not political.”

“This is a personal problem then. Does it...have something to do with Obi-Wan? Are you not supposed to tell him about- what happened?”

“No, I’m sure the council’s already informed him, he is the Chancellor, after all; they would have to tell him if a High General was out of commission,” he replied, a touch bitterly.

“But it does have something to do with Obi-Wan,” she nudged.

“Yeah. It- he was the one who told Obi-Wan. About me. With the Raiders.” he ground out, suppressing a flash of anger.

“Oh. Oh! I didn’t realize he knew. He- had he urged you to tell Obi-Wan before?” she asked, slightly guilty.

“No!” Anakin snarled back. “He swore to keep it a secret, told me that my revenge was justified.”

“I’m sorry- the Chancellor of the Republic told you that what you did was justified? Padme sounded shocked and Anakin turned to her with wide eyes.

“Do you...you told me you understood...but...we’ve never really talked about it since it happened, have we?” He replied miserably.

She pulled away, heart pounding. “Anakin...do you think what you did was justified?”

He looked down “At the time I told myself it was...but I don’t know. Even right after...I thought about the kids. You have no idea how much clearer everything seems when your channeling the force with anger even though afterwards...I told myself they were animals but...I...when I was talking to Obi-Wan I realized that...I think I was just scared that if the order ever found out I’d lose everything which made me angry...And the Chancellor agreed that animals sometimes needed to be put down...and you said you understood.” He looked up at her uncertain.

She let out a sigh of relief. Of course Anakin knew his action’s were wrong, if he was so torn up about it. She took his hands in hers, stroking softly.

“Anakin...I know it’s not exactly the same, but I do understand wanting revenge. I helped personally liberate and clean up many of the trade federation camps. I buried the rotting corpses of my people, who I left to die- then returned back to my office to watch Nate Gunray get out on parole. If someone had handed me the power to kill every single Neimodian at the right moment-” She let out a breath, seething.

“But...no one did. I couldn’t have gotten revenge like that, even if I had wanted to. And now...gods Anakin, understanding why isn’t the same as saying it’s justified- I might still hate the trade federation, but that doesn’t mean that every Neimoidian is guilt of their crime, no matter my personal feelings. I really, truly don’t know what to say about the Chancellor telling you what he did, or keeping your secret, or breaking your trust.”

They sat in silence for a moment as he digested everything.

“I...think I get what you mean about separating out justifying and understanding. Maybe that’s what he meant, and I just wasn’t smart enough to realize what he was saying at the time. I want to ask him, but I’m still mad and... I just don’t want to lose my friend because I’m angry.” he finished unhappily.

She sighed, then pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“Then tell him that. Leave him a message. A friend would understand holding off a conversation while you’re upset. And a politician should certainly understand holding back your feelings so they don’t dictate your actions.”

He smiled at her, “How did you get so wise?”

“I was a Queen, you know,” she replied haughtily.

“Oh a Queen, I hadn’t realized, do forgive my impertinence,” he said cheekily, pulling her closer.

She pushed him back. “Message first. He’s almost certainly in a Senate committee meeting right now, it’s the perfect time.”

He relented. They briefly hashed out what he was going to say. Then she drifted to the other room while he pulled out his mobile official senatorial comm-link, biting his lip nervously.

Much to his dismay, the Chancellor picked up on the last ring, holo opening up.

“Anakin, my boy! So good to hear from you; I had been getting worried. How are you?

Steeling himself, Anakin launched into their prepared monologue.

“Chancellor, you of all people know that I struggle with anger; I’m trying to work on not allowing it to dictate how I act towards those I value. That being said, in the interest of preserving our friendship and until Obi-Wan is fully healed, I think it’s best we avoid unnecessary communications.”

“Anakin! I don’t-” Palpatine tried to reply, but Anakin cut him off.

“Thank you again for your understanding. I will of course diligently reply to any military or professional requests sent through the proper channels.”

Anakin closed the connection with a click, heart pounding. The comm immediately lit back-up.

“What do I do?” he asked Padme, feeling nauseous.

Was this the right choice? Surely his friend would understand. He didn’t want to yell at the Chancellor just because he was still working through Obi-Wan’s issues and his issues with Obi-Wan! Or was he just acting out of fear? Maybe the Chancellor could help.

He started to reach for the comm, but Padme snatched it from the table first. She threw it to the ground, delicately lifted the hem of her dress, then pierced it with the heel of her shoe. It stopped mid trill.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“I love you.” He replied, looking at her adoringly.

“I know.”

Next (Part XII)

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #anidala #star wars au #TALK #ABOUT #YOUR #THOUGHTS #AND #FEELINGS #YOU #KRIFFING #IDIOTS #YES #YOU TOO #PADME

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whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 3 years ago

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Texts from the Lost Tomb, part 5.2

Also yes this is a 5 part story arc, why do you ask, no I’m not “avoiding real life work”

Main Chat

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW THERE ARE THOSE WHO WOULD COMPLAIN ABOUT BEING DRAGGED OUT OF BED AT AN UNGODLY HOUR FOR THE SAKE OF SOME JEWELRY AND FORCED INTO AN ADVENTURE

Wu Xie: And we are just so grateful you are above all that.

Zhang Qiling: You were fully awake and insisted we pack and go as soon as possible in case there was, and I quote, “more weird shit happening we can cash in on.”

Wu Xie: I mean it’s kind of interesting that the Zhang family sent a car for us. We could have driven. So what is going on there, I wonder?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW FOR A PARANOID AND CONNIVING LITTLE SHIT YOU STILL RADIATE OBLIVIOUS BAMBI ENERGY

HATE TO BE THE ADMIRAL ACKBAR HERE BUT ITS DEF A TRAP MY BOY

WHY DO U THINK WE ARE MESSAGING AND NOT TALKING DUMMY

WERE YOU IN A TOMB ON THE DAY THEY TAUGHT PPL STRANGER DANGER

BUT NO NO YOU WERE ALL “LETS GET IN THE VAN WITH THE FREE CANDY AND PUPPIES I BET WE’RE GOING TO THE CIRCUS”

THIS IS THE LAST STRAW IM LOJACKING YOU FOR REAL THIS TIME, SHOULDVE DONE THIS YEARS AGO

Zhang Qiling: I agree, in this particular case, with Pangzi. You should not have gotten in their vehicle while we were still inside the house. It forced us to follow you into the van to prevent separation, and they seemed to be expecting that. I don’t know whether Zhang Rishan intended this, but I don’t trust him.

Wu Xie: :( I got excited and didn’t think it through. I’m sorry.

Wang Pangzi: DONT YOU GIVE US THE BIG EYES WE ARE IMMUNE

MOSTLY

SPEAKING OF IMMUNE ITS REALLY FUCKIN COLD IN HERE AND UR STILL SICK, PUT YOUR JACKET ON STUPID

Wu Xie: oh relax, I’m fine. No fever at all today, remember? I feel a lot better, too.

Wang Pangzi: YOU LEAVE ME NO CHOICE BUT TO HAVE XIAO GE INTERVENE

Zhang Qiling: It is odd to say this, but Pangzi is right again. You are barely back on your feet and could easily get worse again. Wu Xie. Jacket. Now.

Wu Xie: Oh fine. Teaming up on me, I see. Happy now?

Wang Pangzi: FUCKING ECSTATIC. NOW BACK TO HOW WE MAY BE PULLING A LI CU

Wu Xie: If it is an abduction, it wouldn’t be them moving against the whole Wu family—not with Uncle Erbai in charge. Zhang Rishan strikes me as someone who doesn’t make a move unless he is sure of his plan, and this is all a bit last-minute to be a big shift. Besides, they let Xiao Ge keep his sword and we still have all our phones.

Wang Pangzi: TOOK AWAY MY EXPLOSIVES THO THE BASTARDS

Zhang Qiling: In fairness, you were waving them around and yelling that if they tried anything it was going to be “yippeekiyay motherfucker all up in this bitch.”

Wang Pangzi: IT SOUNDS LESS COOL COMING FROM YOU. I THINK I SEE THE TEAHOUSE?

Wu Xie: me too. That’s Zhang Rishan on the steps. This must be urgent. Everybody stay shiny.

Zhang Qiling: I will be getting out first. Wu Xie in the middle, Pangzi at the rear.

Wang Pangzi: AND WHAT A VIEW;)

An hour later…

Main Chat

Wu Xie: Is everyone okay? I tried knocking but nothing is getting through, these are some solid walls.

Wu Xie: guys???

Wang Pangzi: OOPS PHONE WAS ON SILENT AND I WAS BUSY YELLING AT THE CEILING

IM PRESENT AND PISSED OFF

Zhang Qiling: Apologies, I was trying to break down the door.

Wang Pangzi: SO THIS MAY NOT BE THE TIME TO SAY I TOLD YOU SO BUT WHILE WE’RE HERE

Wu Xie: fuck Pangzi, I know, okay??

I’m an idiot, I’m so fucking stupid. It’s not like it’s the first or fiftieth time I’ve put you two in danger, either.

Wang Pangzi: HEY HEY WHOA NOW

STOP SAYING RUDE SHIT ABOUT MY FRIEND

ITS GONNA BE OKAY

DESPITE KNOWING THIS WAS A BAD IDEA I STILL COULDNT PREDICT HOW MUCH CHAOTIC LUCK THIS FAMILY HAS

DAMN IT I HATE WHEN HEI XIAZI IS RIGHT ABOUT THINGS

Zhang Qiling: I’m sorry. This is my fault. My line has a ruthlessly pragmatic streak and they’ve clearly wanted to test us separately to see why the necklace reacted to our arrival like that. It does not excuse Zhang Rishan trapping us in these separate rooms.

Wang Pangzi: UHH BITCH I SAID THIS FAMILY NOT YOUR FAMILY

THIS AINT ABOUT THEM

YOUR FAMILY IS ON MY SHIT LIST EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY

THIS FAMILY MEANT US OBVS

UGH ANY SIGN OF THE BASTARDS?

Zhang Qiling: no. Wu Xie?

Zhang Qiling: Wu Xie, answer me.

Wang Pangzi: WU XIE

TIANZHEN

PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE DAMNIT YOU'RE SCARING XIAOGE

Zhang Qiling: I’m going to try breaking down the door again.

Wu Xie: Hello, Wang Pangzi and Zhang Qiling. My apologies for the rather inhospitable circumstances, but this seemed expedient considering the unknown qualities of the necklace. I could not be sure who was causing what, or what could happen next, and thus have temporarily set you in separate rooms for the sake of everyone’s safety.

Wang Pangzi: WTF GIVE HIM BACK HIS FUCKIN PHONE ZHANG RISHAN I KNOW ITS YOU YOU PRETENTIOUS ANTIQUE

WE DESTROYED THIS PLACE BEFORE AND WE CAN DO IT AGAIN

Zhang Qiling: Your concerns for everyone’s safety are noted. Thank you for whatever you believe you’ve done right here.

Now. If you release us immediately and return Wu Xie to us, we will consider leaving without direct personal retribution.

Wang Pangzi: WHAT HE SAID AND ALSO YOU SUCK

Wu Xie: I regret that this has happened, I hope to make it up to you in the future. For the purpose of today’s needs, however—I will have my men escort the two of you out if you so desire, but unfortunately Wu Xie will need to stay until we have finished examining him.

Wang Pangzi: EXAMINING??? YOU FUCKING PERV HANDS OFF HE MAY BE THE BELLE OF THE BALL BUT HIS DANCE CARD IS SPOKEN FOR

I SWEAR I DID NOT GO THROUGH TEN YEARS OF THIS STARCROSSED CLUSTERFUCK FOR YOU TO SWOOP IN AND STEAL MY FRIENDS BF

Wu Xie: There is no call for rudeness. He will not be harmed. The artifact was responding to him directly. It has not lit up like this in over 200 years, and I need to understand why it is responding, and responding to someone who is not our kin, which it has never done before. This could have implications for everyone in my family if it could protect someone at the right moment.

Wang Pangzi: OKAY BUT CONSIDERING OUR TRACK RECORD IN THIS BUILDING AND THE SITUATION AT HAND Y’ALL ARE ABOUT TO NEED PROTECTION

Wu Xie: The testing would be going better if Wu Xie wasn’t worrying himself unnecessarily over where you both are, it’s making our readings difficult.

Wang Pangzi: OH GEE SO SORRY YOUR KIDNAPPING VICTIMS ARENT THRILLED TO BE HERE TO SAMPLE YOUR CREEPY JEWELRY BOX BUT THAT SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM

Zhang Qiling: Zhang Rishan. I appreciate that you must think of our family first in your decisions. As must I. I hope you can appreciate what that means for decisions I make.

Wang Pangzi: HEHEHE SO TRUE BESTIE

YOU PISSED OFF THE WRONG GOTH TODAY BUDDY BOY

Zhang Qiling: A compromise: we stay with him as you run your tests. That will calm him and assuage Pangzi’s concerns and prevent me from…testing the limits of your lifespan.

Wu Xie: I accept that this may temporarily impact our relations, but am hopeful that you will come to understand that sometimes I need to make certain choices for this family that are…difficult. I will come to let you—One moment. Something seems to be happening.

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: OH SO WE ARE GONNA JUST POLITELY SIT WITH WU XIE AS STRANGERS POKE HIM WITH NEEDLES ARE WE HUH WELL LOOK WHOS BEING A HELPFUL LITTLE LAB ASSISTANT

Zhang Qiling: I’m attempting to convince him to let us out. Of course we will not simply sit there. Some lying to gain trust is necessary here.

Wang Pangzi: UR BEIN A SHADY BITCH XIAOGE AND ITS HOT

THATS WHY YOUR TATTOO IS SO BIG ITS FULL OF SECRETS

ALWAYS KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU TO—WAIT WHAT WAS THAT SOUND??

At the same time…

Bonnie and Clyde Chat

Xie Yuchen: …so, this is not what I expected to find.

Hei Yangjing: yeah kiddo is a bit freaked out:/ this sucks. I mean I get that they are concerned blah blah blah necklace goes brightbright but maybe we should go find the other two

or at least find a way to let Wu Xie know we are here, that room he’s in looks like a dungeon and not in a good way

Xie Yuchen: Does it look like I’m able to do anything right now? Also, I’m fairly certain they won’t be harmed. Zhang Rishan may be callous, but he isn’t stupid.

Hei Yangjing: r u kidding

he split up Romeo and Juliet, then left Romeo with a sword—seems pretty stupid to me

Xie Yuchen: Yeah I’m not going near that. He made his bed with that choice. What can you see? These Neanderthal guards are blocking my view.

Hei Yangjing: uh so there’s like a lab table situation

Wu Xie isn’t tied up, a good sign in this context

I can’t see what those people are holding, they’re talking a lot and some asshole just grabbed Wu Xie’s arm, looks like maybe they are putting in an IV?

The necklace is—oh. Oh shit.

#whomst #ultimate note #wu xie #dmbj #the lost tomb #pingxie #iron triangle #dmemebj

50 notes · View notes

hongism · 4 years ago

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 35

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 13.0k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: mentions of past abuse, violence, anxiety ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part two

It is nearing nightfall by the time you all return to the ship. Yunho has already gotten Hongjoong settled in the medbay with Jongho’s help, as well as set him up with an oxygen mask and an IV, and to be frank, the sight of the infamous pirate captain splayed out so helplessly was hard to see. Whatever you were feeling must have been increased tenfold for the man who stood at your side during the whole process because you could feel the panic oozing off his bones, a nagging sensation that fell on you as well. As much as he tried to help, Yunho asked him to let him and Jongho take care of it, and Seonghwa caved with a surprising amount of haste. For better or worse, you don’t have to stay long there before Seonghwa is pulling you out to head up to the main airlock. It can only be worse because of who is waiting for you there: none other than Han Jisung come to join the crew for inexplicable reasons unbeknownst to you right now. And that is why you shift to look at Seonghwa’s sharp side profile as the two of you walk to join Yeosang in waiting by the airlock.

“Why are we bringing him aboard?”

“We need Jisung for information, and it will be less of a hassle to have him aboard,” Seonghwa explains through a clipped sigh. “I don’t trust the man as far as I can throw him, but… at least I can keep an eye on him this way.”

“Why can’t we just have Wooyoung help us through the dreams instead?”

Seonghwa glances over at you, and your eyes meet for the briefest of moments before he looks forward once more.

“We don’t know how to communicate with him yet,” Seonghwa explains. His tone is a bit more gentle this time, nothing goading or forced but rather a genuine attempt to ease some of your bubbling anxieties. “You can’t talk to him, ask him questions, or consistently control his body long enough to figure out where they’re being held. Besides, they are locked in a cell, and you can’t very well ask a guard where they are. Until we learn more about this situation and your connection to each other, this is the best course of action.”

“Would Hongjoong let him on the ship?” You inquire. You can already assume the answer, and you’re only asking for some sort of confirmation that this is a bad idea, but Seonghwa presses his lips together to form a thin line.

“Hongjoong would understand how critical the situation at hand is.”

“Would you let him walk away without a fight too?” It is a bit out of line and far too bitter, but the words are already out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Seonghwa freezes in place, steps coming to a sudden halt whilst you just continue walking as though you didn’t say a word. You can feel the way his eyes glare holes into the back of your head, and the twinge in your chest that pains your heart surely does not come from you. A wave of pain hits you as you turn to look Seonghwa in the eye.

“Hongjoong is different,” he whispers. “You know that. It isn’t that I don’t love or care about you, because I do. I feel both those things when it comes to you, in ways I can’t even begin to describe, which is why I want you to be happy and have a chance at freedom.”

“With someone whom you don’t trust or know?”

“You know and trust him yourself, do you not?” Seonghwa counters without missing a beat. “Am I supposed to decided who you trust now? Was it not you who told me that I didn’t need to worry about you? Shouldn’t doubt your abilities? I’ve already told you that I am not happy about this situation at all, but still I will not decide this for you, even if you ask me to.”

“Then what am I supposed to think? Right now it feels like you only want me gone so you can feel less guilty about going back to Hongjoong at the end of the day.” You turn on your heel, fully prepared to leave him standing there on his own in the heat of your unreasonable annoyance. Seonghwa closes the distance between your bodies with a surprising haste and grabs hold of your wrist, spinning you back around to face him in no time. You hardly have time to breathe before he’s knocking the air out of you by pressing you up against the wall of the corridor. You know what’s coming next before it happens, and it’s for that exact reason that you dip your chin to the side as Seonghwa moves in to plant his lips atop yours.

A dry and emotionless laugh escapes his lips instead, and you stare at the floor with eyes burning more than ever. Seonghwa slams a hand down hard on the space of metal beside your head.

“I should never have been selfish with you,” he mutters. You try not to think about how much bitterness his tone holds. “That was a mistake on my part. There is no security or certainty in a life like ours, nothing I can provide that would give you either of those things. I’m sorry for making you believe that I could ever give you something as certain as that.”

A thought dashes across the forefront of your mind, one that tells you to swallow the hurt nagging at your chest and take comfort in his body instead, but it doesn’t last long. You know better, and you know it wouldn’t fix anything in the long run. It will only make it harder on both of you if you let yourselves get any more attached before your inevitable demise that ends in you leaving with Jisung.

“Do you regret this?” Your voice could not possibly be more quiet than it is now. You lift a shaky hand to his chest, pressing your palm hard against the spot that now emanates the most pain. “Getting close and such?” Seonghwa shifts to place his hand over yours but hesitates at the last second. His lips twist into a strained smile.

“I do, but only because it is ending with you in pain. No, I don’t regret any of the time I spent with you, and I still mean everything I told you. Perhaps this is for the best. I am content with the time I got to spend with you, and I won’t ask for anything more than that.”

“All I wanted you to do was stop me,” you plea as though it will make him change his mind right here and now.

“There’s nothing to stop yet, Y/N.”

“Do you need me to show you how badly I don’t want to go for you to stop me?” Seonghwa exhales a deep heave of air and pulls away from you.

“What do you want more than anything else?”

“San back safely.” Seonghwa barely finishes his question by the time you’re answering, but in your mind, there is no need for any sort of hesitation. If Seonghwa is surprised at all, he doesn’t let it slip through; all he does is smile back at you. You only realize your mistake after the fact, stuttering in your next rush to speak. “A-And Mingi and W-Wooyoung as well.”

“What about after that then?”

His question doesn’t stump you because you don’t know the answer. You know what it is you want when this is all over. You want to rest, to stop running, for all this mess to be done with, and you don’t want to have to worry about your safety at every turn. You don’t want to wake up in a cold sweat afraid that the people you care about could be dead. You desperately want peace, but you aren’t brave enough to make the sacrifices that will get you there. Even so, there is no way you could admit it now because that would only make Seonghwa right.

“Your silence is answer enough for me.”

“That isn’t what I want with Jisung though,” you insist. “He is my past, not my future. I never let myself imagine a scenario in which I would see him again. I’ve made it this far with you all. I don’t want to leave you behind now. And even after we get the others back, I still won’t want to leave them behind either.”

“That may be the case, Y/N, but it’s — the truth of the matter is that no matter what, my first duty will always be to protect Hongjoong as his lieutenant. Perhaps that is why those lingering feelings of love are still present, but it also means that I don’t know if I can give you my love and promise to stop loving him as well. That’s — that’s beside the point though.” Seonghwa shakes his head, hand coming up to comb through his dark locks for a second before dropping back to his side. “If how I feel about Hongjoong is something you aren’t okay with, then I don’t want you to wait on me or my feelings. That isn’t what I want for you. However, this conversation can continue another time. We’ve kept Yeosang waiting long enough.”

There isn’t an opportunity to say anything more because Seonghwa steps away and returns to walking down the corridor without even waiting to see if you’ll follow. You have to jog to catch up with his broad strides, falling into step beside him with a bit more hesitance in your movements this time.

“Has… has Jisung learned anything yet?”

“The person behind all of this is still not guaranteed. Vladimir was merely an instrument for these plans, but according to Jisung, he said that there would be a special exchange on Dorado for Mingi and the others. Since you were originally the one they wanted, there is still uncertainty about what they plan to do with Wooyoung and San. Mingi, on the other hand, is set to be sent to a recreational facility on Dorado that specializes in Berserker training for pirate and bandit crews. They plan to reprogram him back into – into the Brute of Kebos, at which point he will be sent back to Vladimir. That’s apparently the bargain he made to agree to this plan. You were the prize meant for the other party but obviously, that fell through.”

“Why me of all people? With all the people on this ship, why am I significant in the slightest? Especially on Dorado of all places?”

Seonghwa shakes his head from side to side.

“Vladimir didn’t mention anything in the past few meetings Jisung has attended. We don’t even have the slightest clue as to why they want you, and still no word on who these people even are. Of course, the Ghost of Eros is valuable, there’s no doubt about that, but not this far from Eros and the Aurum system. And they certainly wouldn’t go to these lengths to get you.” His words die there, voice falling flat along with the sentence, and you watch him in silence for several seconds before he shifts to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It is evident that someone in the universe is looking for you, and they are taking great risks to get you.”

“They will have to try a lot harder than that if they want me.”

Seonghwa blinks back at you, eyes perceptive and searching as always. He seems to figure something out at that moment because his stare widens a bit before dropping to the floor without a word.

“What’s wrong?” You inquire, leaning closer to look at his face better.

“Nothing. Just a hunch. I’ll let you know if it becomes a concern later.” He shrugs off the concern and lets his hand fall off your shoulder to motion down the corridor. Yeosang has surely grown impatient by now, and it’s that thought that causes your steps and Seonghwa’s to increase in pace to meet him at the airlock. Only, once you finally reach that place, you find that he is not alone, and Jisung stands directly across from the taller blond, starkly out of place in front of Yeosang. You don’t need to visibly see Yeosang’s expression to know that the Elitist is glaring at Jisung – it’s evident in the way Yeosang speaks through his body with the tense shoulders and crossed arms, chin inclined just enough to be condescending, yet Jisung doesn’t seem phased by the man in the slightest. In fact, he just turns to you, eyes bright as ever, and grins from ear to ear like a Cheshire.

“Hey, little lady.” Something in the way he speaks those words with that smile that is branded on your brain and hand quickly darting out in your direction triggers a memory you didn’t know you had.

“Stop being a fucking idiot! You know I’m better than you, don’t you?” A hand stretches out towards you, writhing forward like a snake in the darkness, and you flinch away from the touch despite knowing that the man won’t lay a hand on you. “The next person who dares to say that to you will die a painful death.”

“J-Jisung?”

“I don’t care what kind of monster I become in their eyes. If I go to hell, so be it. They touch you, they die. Those are the rules, aren’t they? If anyone other than me lays a single finger on you…” Jisung trails off, lips twisting into a smile that is far too cruel for his gentle and precious features. “I will deliver a slow and deliberate death to each of them.”

Jisung’s hand is about to brush over your wrist – the one that bears the brand of your betrayal – when Yeosang steps between your body and his, hand coming up to knock Jisung’s own out of the way.

“It would be best for you to not cause any issues while you’re here,” the Elitist murmurs. He cocks his head to the side, maintaining that cruel and cocky air about his shoulders as he looks down at Jisung. “I’m not one for forgiveness, and you are merely here as a guest. Someone who isn’t important to the crew and has no place here. You would do well to remember that before trying to lay a hand on anyone in the crew.”

A scowl overtakes Jisung’s expression, and the man steps back to put some distance between himself and Yeosang.

“I knew her for five years. Perhaps you are the one who needs to remember your place, no?” Jisung jerks his chin forward a bit. “Or does the Royal Betrayer still think he has some impact and power over others?”

Yeosang might have lunged straight through Jisung’s throat for that comment if not for the way Seonghwa rushes to clamp his hand down hard on the man’s shoulder. He tugs Yeosang back with as much force as he can, but the simmering expression of anger on the lieutenant’s features is directed solely at Jisung.

“I would advise you to watch your mouth, Han. As acting caption, I decide your place on this ship, and that is as a guest. We need you for the time being but not in the long run, thus you ought to learn your place and remember that well.” Seonghwa plasters a stretched grin over his lips. “Now, if you would please follow me to the bridge, we can discuss in more detail the plans moving forward.”

He motions past Yeosang’s shoulder to the corridor leading to the bridge, but Jisung’s only response is to continue staring at you without saying anything for several seconds. Seonghwa’s gaze flits over to Yeosang, and the pair exchange a discreet nod before Yeosang shifts in your direction. His hand finds your arm, clamping down hard on the skin as he moves to pull you along, but another hand snakes out to push between the two of you.

“Is it not common courtesy amongst royalty to ask a lady before touching her?” Jisung bears a smile but venom drips from his tone in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

“I hate the military. Every single general and commander is corrupt beyond belief. There’s no circle in hell low enough for them. But those higher-ups? The royals who sit on their thrones and sip their expensive wine while prancing around like utter fools as the rest of us folk suffer and die on the streets… they’re the worst scum in the entire universe.”

Jisung has never liked people in positions of power, but his incessant rants about royals were always the worst to sit through because he could go on for hours and hours. Thus, it doesn’t surprise you to see him bearing such a disdain for Yeosang. Even so, you do find it a bit odd seeing as Yeosang is hardly in a position of power now, and he is no longer a royal so there isn’t much he could do with that nonexistent power.

“Think you can just take anything for yourself, is that it?”

“Han Jisung,” Seonghwa hisses, teeth so tightly pressed together that the air whistles through them. “I have no qualms tying you to a chair in the brig and extracting information from you that way. You should consider me to be merciful because if Scourge were here, he would have already dragged you there by your ankles. Learn your place before I force you to.”

One corner of Jisung’s lips tugs upwards as he grins at the lieutenant.

“Aye, aye, acting Captain.”

You can breathe easy again after that thankfully because Seonghwa manages to tug Jisung down the hall without any further disturbances. Yeosang stands completely still and watches the two retreat without saying a word for a short period of time.

“Your taste in men is questionable at best,” he grumbles after a bit, eyes continuing to bore holes into Jisung’s back.

“He just—” You stop yourself before any sort of defense slips out. It isn’t your job to defend him anymore. You have no need to protect him or say anything good about him at all. Yet even though you don’t need to, that inherent need to do so still resides in your gut. “He doesn’t like people in positions of power.”

“Is that so?” Yeosang hums to himself then shakes his head. “Come on. We can discuss the dreams you’ve been having and things you’ve noticed since coming on the ship while they’re discussing plans.”

It’s enough indication for you to realize that he no longer wants to discuss Jisung, and that is frankly fine by you. The silence it leaves you in, however, is not welcome. You don’t realize how vehemently you are rubbing at the brand on the inside of your wrist until Yeosang glances over at you and comments on the repetitive motion.

“You’re going to rub the skin raw if you keep doing that.”

“O-Oh,” you exhale, clenching your fingers into a tight fist and dropping your arms to your side. That’s all he says for the rest of the arguably short walk to his quarters, and he maintains a distance of several feet between you the entire time.

“You can sit on the bed as long as you don’t touch anything,” Yeosang mutters once inside his room.

It’s a basic and unadorned room, something you didn’t expect from a man who grew up surrounded by excessive lavishness, but for some odd reason, it is so inexplicably Yeosang that you can’t be too surprised. The blond heads straight for a small desk pushed into the corner of the room, one that sits beside a tall bookshelf similar to the ones you see in Seonghwa’s room. You do as told and sit on the corner of the bed so close to the edge that you practically fall off. There’s no need to be comfortable if you aren’t going to be staying for long after all.

“I don't need you messing anything else up so just stay put,” Yeosang says as he sinks onto the cushioned seat behind the desk. You pin him to the spot with a glare.

“Messing anything else up? What’s your issue with me?” You spit, arms coming up to cross over your chest.

“Hm? Does there have to be a reason for me to not like you?”

“I don’t get what your fucking problem with me is. Ever since joining the crew, I have done nothing that directly hurts you or puts you in danger, so what the fuck is your issue with me?”

“Is that so?” Yeosang arches a brow in your direction and matches your glare with one of his own. “If not for you, Wooyoung would still be here. Did you forget about that?”

That bites a bit too hard at your skin; it digs its way into your system and buries itself there to eat away at your bones. It’s the same guilt that has been eating away at you for the past few days, and you don’t need Yeosang to bring it up now and make it worse for you.

“Like it or not, I have a connection with Wooyoung and we have to work together to get him, San, and Mingi back.”

“I hate you,” Yeosang hisses. “I hate everything about you. And I especially hate your connection with Wooyoung. You are going to ruin him, and I hate you for it.” The tone he speaks with betrays the fact that there is more to it than that, but you aren’t particularly in the mood to have a tell-all discussion about all the reasons why Yeosang hates you. A pent-up confession, yes, but still not quite all there is to know.

“It’s not my fault that there’s something there. I didn’t ask for this, and I certainly don’t want it. I would be perfectly content being some damn Normie who didn’t have to worry about something like this,” you ramble without stopping to take a breath once. You blink furiously at the man as you catch your breath, eyes still blazing with uncontained rage when you decide to speak again. “It sounds like you are just jealous that you can’t be the one with a connection to him. Did you get everything you wanted when you were a prince? Is Wooyoung the one thing you can’t have?”

Yeosang lifts an old book off his desk and chucks it at the wall adjacent to him. It slams hard against the metal with a clang. You manage not to flinch in the slightest, staring Yeosang down with the same amount of heat as before.

“Allow me to have an ounce of jealousy! I got to choose absolutely nothing in my life while I was a prince, contrary to popular belief. Everything was selected for me, whether it was by my bastard father or the whore that was my mother. Hell, even my younger brother got to choose more than I did! I didn’t choose Wooyoung, but my love for him is one of the only things I ever got to choose back then. Does that let you just waltz in here and have this inexplicable connection to him? When fate told us that we were never even supposed to meet? I won’t ask for your forgiveness in this matter, because I have every right in the universe to be angered and jealous.”

“Then at least stop hating me for something I could not choose,” you demand, nose wrinkling in disgust as you spit the words in Yeosang’s direction.

“Protecting Wooyoung at all costs is the only thing that truly matters to me.” Yeosang lets out a deep sigh and looks down at the desk before him. “I’ll stop hating you when you prove yourself not to be a threat to Wooyoung’s safety.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“Getting Wooyoung back in one piece would be a fantastic place to start, don’t you think? Do you not feel that same way about San?” There’s a twitch in the corner of your eye that won’t go away even after Yeosang finishes speaking.

“I don’t like what you are trying to imply with that, Yeosang.”

“Take it as you will,” the man states in response. He angles his sharp chin towards you, blond hair wavering a bit with the sudden motion. “Your feelings might still be a mystery to me, but I have known San for years. I know him well enough to see how clear his feelings are for you and what you mean to him. Is that not what is holding you back from our dearest lieutenant?”

A bitter taste of ambiguity resides in his tone, and it’s something that you cannot get out of your mind. Yet the more you think about it, the more confusing it seems to get because there is no clear answer to Yeosang’s question. All this time, you figured it was Seonghwa who was holding back thanks to how he feels about Hongjoong. Sure, there was a possibility of your past love for Jisung getting in the way too but the realization that you would have to lose this crew in order to go back to him quickly dispelled the romantic notion of returning to him. San was never part of the picture — at least not in the way you think Yeosang is insinuating.

“What do you mean?” You ask after several breaths of terse silence. Yeosang doesn’t answer quite yet; he returns to staring blankly at the wood of his desk, fingers of his right hand coming up to rub at the inside of his left wrist without reason. You’re well aware of what lies under the fabric of his black shirt, the brand on his skin that you bear on your own, and the losses that came along with such a mark.

“In order to give your all to someone,” he starts in a quiet tone, “you have to be willing to make sacrifices. I gave up a lot to save Wooyoung, but seeing the look on his face once we were finally free made all of it worth it. I would never go back unless it was to fully guarantee Wooyoung’s safety. You still haven’t found that moment with Seonghwa have you?”

Your eyes give away the answer to that question in the way your darting gaze slips to the floor and avoids Yeosang’s insistent aura.

“Seonghwa mentioned the deal you made with Han to gain his cooperation in this mess. And how you don’t truly want to follow through with your end of the deal, yet you’re doing it anyway. For what reason?” You open your mouth to respond only to realize that it is merely meant as a rhetorical question when Yeosang continues speaking. “Because you are guaranteeing San’s safety, you would go to a place you don’t truly want to go. You would do something that every ounce in your body disdains to an unbelievable degree simply because it guarantees one person’s safety.”

“I’m doing it for Wooyoung and Mingi too,” you counter with too much haste, and it betrays the truth about the matter and your defensiveness. Yeosang’s lips quirk up into a slight smile. You would almost say that the gesture seems genuine in that moment.

“You say that with your words yet your eyes tell all. It’s on you to recognize it.” He cuts himself short there and shakes his head a bit. “That’s all… that’s all beside the point, however, since this is supposed to be about your dreams.”

“And what exactly is it you need to know about my dreams?” You tilt your head to the side as you ask the question, arms coming up to fold over your chest in a desperate attempt to defend yourself from his scrutiny.

“Well, first of all, there’s something I’m curious about.” Yeosang shifts to pull something from the drawer, and when he resurfaces, he has a small bound leather journal in hand. “Wooyoung has had an incessant dream for years now — all the years I’ve known him actually — of a girl drowning in a black lake. He watches her head go underwater but can’t make out her features well enough to recognize her. He dives in to save her, swims to grab her, does everything he can to save him, but something always pulls her deeper and deeper. He can never reach her. He can never hear her screams. He can never see her face. All he can do is reach out for her hand and that’s it. But when you came aboard, that dream suddenly stopped happening altogether. He hasn’t had it since meeting you.”

“I’ve – I’ve never had any sort of dream like that. Just… one dream about seeing a man with dark hair across a black lake. But h-his back was to me, so I couldn’t see his face. For all I know it was some random person and not Wooyoung.”

“And the other one?” Yeosang asks out of the blue. He arches a brow, eyes searching yours for answers, and you’re a bit taken aback by the question since you don’t recall mentioning a second dream to anyone other than Wooyoung. Ah… “He mentioned that one day in the medbay, where the two of you were late to the meeting on the bridge — you woke up shouting his name and asked him something odd.”

“Well, yes, but that… I had a dream about seeing Wooyoung in chains and the same collar he has now, but it didn’t feel quite like a dream. Moreso a memory than anything else.” Yeosang draws his lips into a tight purse.

“I can’t help you there.” The dismissive nature of his tone sends a sudden spike of rage through you, and you level the Elitist with a harsh glare.

“What do you mean you can’t help me? If that truly is a memory, then I deserve to know what my own past is as much as Wooyoung does!”

“I — calm down, Y/N. I’m not saying that I am choosing not to help you; genuinely I cannot. I don’t know anything about that. Wooyoung’s past — the one prior to when the two of us met — I have no knowledge of it, and according to everything he’s told me, he doesn’t either. Before the batch of slaves he was in came to Aera, their minds were wiped. Just as yours was for the military.”

Several years back, there had been one night in particular with your unit where all of you were up late in your bunks to exchange old ghost stories and legends, but something Hyunwoo had said at the time stuck out to you the most then.

“What do slaves and soldiers have in common? The cost of their service is worth more than a lifetime.”

And at the time, you hadn’t known exactly what that would mean in the long run, but now you think it makes quite a bit more sense. You sacrificed fourteen years of your life to join the military and be their property. Gave up an entire lifetime in service to the crown, and for what? You were no less a slave than Wooyoung must have been. How many years did they steal from him?

“Wooyoung knows fairly little about his time before coming to the palace on Aera. Even saying fairly little is being more than generous. Perhaps the only thing I genuinely sympathize with as it concerns you is that. Your pass was stolen from you, and there is no guarantee that you will ever get it back. While my childhood was far from pleasant, it always pains me when Wooyoung asks to hear about the times before him because I know that he doesn’t that. There is no ‘before me’ for him, just the day he stepped off a slave vessel and greeted my family.”

“You don’t mean — how long exactly have the two of you known each other?”

“Since we were nine years old,” Yeosang replies, a soft and genuine smile painting his lips. “Fourteen years. We’ve spent over two-thirds of our lives together, yet it’s still not enough to take away the fact that Wooyoung has a chunk of his life missing entirely in memories.”

“Were you… his master?” Your mind can’t move past the fact that they have been together all this time, through the years that Wooyoung was a slave and onwards. You haven’t had anyone be a steady rock for such a long time; the longest you’ve ever spent with someone to your knowledge was four years at best. But fourteen? That is the amount of time missing from your own memories. Is it possible that you had someone the way Yeosang and Wooyoung had each other for so long? A foundation in your life meant to ground you?

“No, never. He was assigned to my side, yes, but my mother was his true master.” Yeosang’s expression grows grave in that moment, and you know the look in his eyes well enough to guess that it is a sensitive and touchy subject that you should avoid. Thus, you shake your head ever so slightly to dispel the curiosity and move to a separate question.

“Then how did the two of you come to be here together?” You know a vague telling of the story of Kang Minhee, the Royal Betrayer who abandoned his dying father when it was his time to take up the crown, but nowhere in those stories is another person mentioned. No slave, no Wooyoung, no trace of any other name besides Yeosang’s original one.

“My father was sick, and the stress it put on my mother’s shoulders made her more cruel. I couldn’t bear to see her harm Wooyoung anymore, and thus I did what I thought was best and set him free in the night. Told him to go off and gain passage on a merchant’s ship to get off the planet. Then, as a stroke of vengeance against my mother, I stole documents concerning one of her many affairs and threatened to bring them to my father so that he would know she was a cheap whore on his deathbed. But even princes can’t get away with such things. My mother swapped the documents and told the guards that I stole highly confidential war declarations among other things instead, and thus I was charged with treason, given my brand, and stuck in jail.”

“Obviously you got out,” you murmur, leaning a bit closer as Yeosang tells his tale. “And met up with Wooyoung at some point.”

“Wooyoung is the only reason I got out. Rather than leaving the planet as I asked him to, he caught wind of how Kang Minhee had been placed behind bars for treasonous actions, and he thought it was because I helped him escape. He made a deal with a pirate crew to help gain my freedom, and Wooyoung personally set me free after six torturous nights of separation. I… being apart from Wooyoung for even that long was worse than treason itself. As my assistant, Wooyoung had a bed in my room so he could be at my side no matter the hour. He came with me anywhere and everywhere, even when it came to shadowing my father on his military tasks.”

There lies an unspoken cry of desperation in his words. You aren’t too dense to miss it, but the acknowledgment of said cry leaves a searing pain in your chest.

Yeosang drops his gaze to the desk. Something melancholy and sad takes over his expression, like he’s turning the pages back in a book and revisiting older chapters of his life that are less than pleasant, and for a moment, your heart goes out to him. The person he has had in his life for fourteen years — no doubt someone he never parted from even for a week — is no longer by his side. Again you feel that pull to bring Wooyoung back if only for Yeosang’s sake, for the sake of a faulty Elitist who found something more powerful than sheer reason and logic.

“We’ll get him back, Yeosang,” you whisper. “I’ll make sure of it.”

…

Your eyes open to a thick and palpable darkness that leaves you more than a little disoriented for several seconds. The scenery refuses to change around you even as you blink against the shadows to adjust to the shifting light. You blindly feel around for Seonghwa’s presence, stretching your hand out to find his form since the two of you were supposed to come to the Dreamscape together, but you can’t find him anywhere around you.

“Seonghwa?”

“Y/N,” he exhales, bringing an immediate wave of calm over your shoulders. A hand brushes over yours in the shadows, and you clasp tight at the fingers without second thought. “Something isn’t right.”

You don’t need to be a scholar or have infinite knowledge about this place to recognize that, but Seonghwa’s confusion brings a knot of panic to your gut.

“Where are we?”

“The Dreamscape but…” Seonghwa trails off as something collides with wood, echoing a hollow sound, and his body stops moving immediately upon impact. “Hold on, there’s — it feels like a door.” Seonghwa fumbles around a bit at the wood before the panel slides open, disappearing into the side of the wall, and pale yellow light filters over you. You can’t see past Seonghwa’s broad shoulders, but the slight pulse of his fingers squeezing yours tighter doesn’t bring any relief to your bones. He keeps you there behind him even as he steps into the dimly lit room.

A small fire crackles somewhere ahead, the only sound in the den of silence you’ve entered. When you at last step around Seonghwa’s back to stand at your side, your heart practically stops dead in your chest because of the form that sits before the fireplace.

“What’s going on?” Seonghwa asks before you have a chance to get anything out. None other than Daichi sits in front of the fire, hands clasped tight over his lap as he watches the flames dance before his eyes. Upon hearing, Seonghwa’s question, the old man jerks his chin to face the two of you. A heated glare greets you before anything else, along with a rage you haven’t seen from the man in a long while.

“I warned you, Kazuya.” Unless you’ve suddenly occupied another unknown form, there is no way that Daichi is speaking to you, and the way the old man’s gaze shifts to your companion only confirms that suspicion. Umiko, Tsukio, and Kazuya? What significance are those names supposed to hold? “I told you both, in fact. I said not to go looking for more Sirens!”

Daichi pushes up from his chair all of a sudden, seeming to grow in stature without warning as he looms over the fire, and crude shadows twist his features in ugly shapes and patterns.

“It is your job to guide Sirens to each other,” Seonghwa hisses as he pulls forward to match Daichi’s heat.

“And yet I told you not to do exactly that! It may be my job, but it is not my duty to do so. I too am allowed to have free will.”

“Then we have the same luxury! Who are you to keep us from finding others of our kind? Have we not been alone for long enough? Was it not you who guided us to find each other in the first place?”

“That was a stroke of faulty luck!” Daichi counters, and it causes Seonghwa to falter a bit. “Let this serve as a lesson in cruelty, boy. This place, this Dreamscape, it is mine to shape and mold. I have let you walk around too freely without consequence.”

If Seonghwa has anything else to add to the argument, he does not get the opportunity to say it because Daichi pushes forward, body contorting and melding into a blur before your eyes as he steps through the fire and out of sight. You can hardly stand and gape at the scene that just transpired in front of you for long though; new voices rise to your ears, soft and warm tones that speak in hushed whispers. You turn as Seonghwa does, finding two new forms who seems utterly oblivious to your presence in the dim room. A young woman, hardly older than thirty by the looks of it, and a tall child with jet black hair stand on the creaking floorboards near the door. They don’t face you or even spare you the slightest of glances, too caught up in their own little world to breathe in your direction.

“Darling, it’s time to run off to your hiding spot. Your favorite one, you remember?” The woman combs a few long fingers through the boy’s hair, brushing it off his forehead. “I’ll count down from ten, and by the time I’m done, you must be completely hidden. You know what to do, my angel.”

She nudges his shoulder once, and it prompts the boy to lunge into action, little legs working hard to dash through the room and out of sight before she can even begin counting.

“Ten…”

“Seonghwa, what is this?” You murmur. Your gaze is so transfixed on the scene unfolding before you, and Seonghwa seems to be in a similar predicament but his face wears too much concern for you to feel at ease in this place. There lies an odd tension in the air, one that tells you this is not some fun child’s game that the mother and her son are playing.

“Thr—”

“Where the fuck is he?” The door jerks and wobbles as it is flung open, and in its place stands a man nearly as tall as the doorframe with similarly dark hair and a fair complexion. His brows are so closely knit that you can’t see the skin between them, evidence of the rage that falls off his body in waves.

“Donghy—” The sharp and resounding smack of an impact too cruel for words interrupts her, and you turn away with a gasp on your lips. Seonghwa’s body jolts forward in their direction, but you snatch him by the wrist before he can move far.

“Th-They can’t see us, Seonghwa,” you huff out, unable to look over your shoulder again. “They would have seen us by now if we could do anything.” Seonghwa offers no response but his hand tightens into a clenched fist that causes his knuckles to bleed white.

“Where is that little brat? I finally worked out a good deal on the bastard, a quick trade for slave traders.”

“I – I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. H-He ran away earlier because I was yelling at him!”

“Did the fucker break another of your dishes?”

“No, no, he just – he wouldn’t shut up while I was trying to read. I… I don’t know where he is. I went out looking for him but couldn’t find him anywhere!”

“You’re just as useless as he is! Can’t even keep the fucker inside for two seconds while I go out and get the money for us?” Seonghwa tugs his arm out of your grasp, pushing away from you as best he can, and you follow him blindly to another door off to the side.

“W-Where exactly are we, Seonghwa?” You inquire, falling into step beside him. “What’s going on? Is this — is this a memory? Wooyoung’s?”

“No. It’s mine.” Seonghwa twists at the waist. You inhale so sharply that the air burns your throat and lungs, eyes blown wide at the shock of the revelation. A single long finger reaches out to point down to something near the fireplace, and you squint hard at the spot before realizing that a small vent sits at that exact spot on the wall. “I hid in that vent for four days to avoid my father at age six. By the time those four days were up, the slave dealer he had made a deal with had grown impatient and left the planet. And my mother took the brunt of my punishment for me.”

Seonghwa turns back to the door before him and pushes through it. You follow close at his heels, hand hovering over the center of his back. The memory seemed less than pleasant for him, and you didn’t miss the disdain in his tone as he spoke about it, but offering comfort right now feels a bit out of place. The scenery shifts as you pass through the door, but only enough for you to realize that these doors aren’t going to get you anywhere. You now stand in a different house, one that is much more run-down and decrepit from the looks of it. The young boy – the young Seonghwa, to be more accurate – stands in the doorway at the front of the room, rain soaking his skin and dripping from his dark bangs. There isn’t time to look around and take in the surroundings more because the same woman from the first memory comes rushing into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing, Seonghwa? You’re supposed to be at the military base training with the other recruits! Why are you here?” She stops in front of the boy and clasps her hands tight around his shoulders. All the boy can manage in response is a small shake of his head, and silence envelops the pair for so long that it grows uncomfortable.

“I-I was rejected,” the young Seonghwa says at last. “They… they turned me away. I’m s-sorry, Mother, I’m so—”

“Shh, my angel, it’s alright. Let me see your face.” The woman stoops to be eye level with the boy, hands reaching up to cup his face. As she lifts his head, you get a clearer look at the state of his face; it’s littered with bruises along with a split lip and a cut along his cheekbone where the skin has broken. “What happened!? Seonghwa, honey, wh-what happened to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The boy shrugs his mother’s touch off with a huff of air.

You shift to look at the real version of Seonghwa by your side, but his gaze remains locked on the scene unfolding in the room with glistening eyes that hurt to look at.

“The other recruits… at the time, they took me to an alleyway and bean me down like a dog,” he explains over the discussion between his memories. “All because I was born in a lower class, born in the Slums, not one of the Elitists who came from the Upper Echelon like them. Not good enough for the military even at age ten.” He exhales a loud scoff, teeth sinking into his lower lip so hard that you think he’s about to bite straight through the skin there. Seonghwa says nothing more; instead, he pushes back through the door you two just stepped through, only to welcome a new scene that causes him to freeze so quickly that you knock against his back.

“Go, Seonghwa! Why can’t you just go?” His mother is on her knees before the figment of his memories, an older version of himself that is not much taller than the one you just saw. “Do what they want! For my sake, if nothing else. They offered so much money for you, more money than we’ve ever seen in our lives. If you would just go, they’ll give it to us! I’ll have enough money to live happily for the rest of my life without having to go out on the streets and sell my body. Don’t you want that for me? Doesn’t my own son want me to have that freedom? Ever since your father passed and left us alone, I’ve been suffering so much. Can’t my angel just go with them for my sake?”

“I – I don’t want to go with them. They want me to – I don’t want to sell my body to them, Mother. I-I’m too young, please.”

It’s not the response the woman wants to hear, and she throws her hands down on her son’s shoulders, shoving the boy back until he stumbles and hits the creaking floorboards harshly. The Seonghwa at your side doesn’t let the memory continue past that point. He steps around you, fists clenched tight by his side and chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. You aren’t sure how much more of these memories you can take, and that feeling must be increased tenfold for Seonghwa since this is his life he’s being forced to relive. There doesn’t seem to be an end in sight, this cruel torture of Daichi’s making returning again as you follow Seonghwa back through the door. This time, however, you step out into a rainy street, cold droplets painting your skin and sticking to your white gown.

There stands another Seonghwa in front of you, one that is a bit more like the real one who is at your side but still holds a bit of youth and innocence to his features.

“It was pointless to try to keep you safe,” a voice hisses through the din of the rain. It’s his mother again, and this time she stands in a doorway completely shielded from the rain as her son takes the brunt of the barrage from above. “This was the only chance I had at a decent life. I could’ve moved to the Upper Echelon with all that money, but you just had to go and ruin it for me. Like you always do. You should never have been born! Look where it’s gotten me! That plague my father had was passed down to you and I have suffered every day because of it. I should have thrown you to the wolves the moment I learned what you are. You won’t be my fucking problem anymore, though. Go! Get out of here and don’t ever come back! You are not my son, you never have been, and never will be!”

“Imagine a child’s worst crime being that he was born to a world that didn’t want him.” The man at your side shifts to look you in the eye now, face contorting with disgust as he watches his memory play back. “All because I was born as a Siren. I spent sixteen years of my life being hated and turned away because of what I was. Even by people who didn’t know my identity. No one wanted me, and the only ones who were willing to pay for me were people who wanted me for my body and not what or who I was. And then…”

Seonghwa turns away with a smile. He pulls back once more and reaches back for the door behind him. You follow him without comment, unspoken curiosities at your lips as you step into a room full of overwhelming noise and the stench of alcohol. A bar, no doubt, and one that Seonghwa recognizes in an instant based on the way his shoulders fold back and he perks up at the sight of it.

“And then I found Hongjoong,” he whispers, dark eyes swimming with waves of emotions. You mimic his line of sight to find a near unrecognizable version of Hongjoong standing before a run-down bar counter with a mop of long brown hair styled in a messy mullet that runs down the back of his shoulders. And sure enough, another version of Seonghwa stumbles in as well, seemingly a continuation of the last memory with the way his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead.

“Are you the one looking for recruits?” He pants as he comes up to the counter, stopping beside Hongjoong’s form.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Hongjoong offers a shrug and swirls his drink around a bit, watching the golden liquor inside jostle. “And it seems like some morally right asshole is asking me now.”

Seonghwa pushes his shoulders back a bit and frowns at the man before him.

“I ask that you give me a chance.”

“Then prove yourself. Are you truly prepared to do whatever it takes to be a pirate? Especially one on my crew? If you know how to shoot a gun properly and could kill an innocent with no qualms, then I suppose you could join the crew.”

Seonghwa moves in a flash. His hand snatches up the pistol on Hongjoong’s left leg and lifts it to the young captain’s temple, pressing the cool barrel against his skin without a drop of hesitation.

“I asked for an innocent, and I am anything but that.”

Seonghwa’s arm shifts to point the gun at the bartender across from Hongjoong, and he doesn’t even blink before firing the gun just to the left of the man’s head. The din in the bar falls to a hush at that, all eyes moving to where Seonghwa stands and where the bartender has now fallen to the ground in a state of shock. An airy laugh leaves Hongjoong’s lips, and his head tilts back in amusement.

“You’re hired. Here, old man, some extra credits for your troubles as well as another drink for my new companion here.” Hongjoong slips a credit chip across the counter, eyeing the bartender with wary eyes as he pulls himself back to his feet. The din behind them picks up once more without any issue. “What’s your name and age? You hardly look older than me.”

“Um, Park Seonghwa, sixteen.”

“Kim Hongjoong, sixteen.”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a pirate captain?” Seonghwa asks, head falling to the side in curiosity. Hongjoong pushes himself to his feet and steps around his barstool. He stands far shorter than Seonghwa, but that doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest as he crowds Seonghwa against the counter. The taller boy grabs the wood and leans back over it to put some distance between him in Hongjoong, inhaling sharply as the other pushes further in. Hongjoong’s hands fall on either side of Seonghwa’s and effectively pin him to the counter. Seonghwa has to tilt his head down to see Hongjoong properly, eyes wobbling as one corner of Hongjoong’s lips twists upwards.

“Are we going to have a problem with authority, Seonghwa?” The words are like honey on Hongjoong’s tongue. The taller simply gives a sharp shake of his head. Hongjoong hums to himself, tongue peeking out to drag over the front of his teeth. “I think we’ll get along quite nicely then.” Hongjoong leaves him with one more cruel smirk before pulling back completely and returning to his seat. He motions to the empty space beside him, which Seonghwa fills almost immediately. The bartender returns at that moment, setting new drinks on the counter with a hushed whisper.

“Keep mum about the alcohol, I can’t be going out of business now.”

Hongjoong just smiles and flicks another credit chip over to the man, then raises his glass to Seonghwa.

“To a new partnership.”

“Cheers,” Seonghwa echoes in a mumble, mirroring Hongjoong’s motion.

The man at your side cracks the slightest of smiles.

“To think that at the time, my worst nightmare was merely existing.”

“And now?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

“Not being able to save Hongjoong from himself.”

You hardly realize how lost in the memory you are until something resounds behind you, almost like a voice crying your name in the darkness behind that door, and you don’t pay the man at your side any notice before turning to face the wood. It’s clearer now, the voices behind it, the soft mumblings that blossom into something loud and bright, and once you realize who those voices belong to, you waste no time in grabbing the handle and pushing your way into the memory. Seonghwa must notice your movements because he follows close at your heels, although this time it isn’t one of his memories that you step into. It’s something different, something you can’t quite recall but you recognize the faces strewn throughout the room nonetheless.

You’re suddenly back on Eros, home with your unit, all of them except for Hyunwoo. Jisung stands over a table that is littered with maps and old papers as the others stand around him.

“Why are you leading this when it’s not your place, Jisung?” Juyeon is the one to pose the question, and you can’t keep from just staring at his features to drink in the sight of him since it’s been so long since you last saw him before you like this. “We all agreed to appoint Hyunwoo as leader, even you.”

“Hyunwoo isn’t here, is he?” Jisung snarls, reeling on his friend with a fire in his eyes. “He’s off mooching with the generals because they love him so fucking much! He doesn’t have to worry like the rest of us do; he’s no pathetic runt like the rest of us are.”

“Careful there, Jisung,” Soojin scoffs from Juyeon’s side. Her hair is just as bright and daring as you remember, a stark red that stands out against her skin and accentuates that natural beauty she always held. “That’s your inferiority complex slipping through.”

“What she means is — listen, Sung, I know you want to get this done, but we can’t make plans without Hyunwoo. And frankly… no one is going to follow you.” Juyeon exchanges a quick glance with the woman at his side, then another with the youngest of your troupe, Ash. “Let’s call it a night and wait for Hyunwoo to come back.”

Jisung doesn’t get to speak another word. Juyeon leads the way out of the room, disappearing into the darkness along with Soojin and Ash, and suddenly it’s like you and Seonghwa are left alone with just this weird figment of Jisung. A noise echoes from the corner. You shift to find the source, but when you do, your throat closes in on itself. It’s you. Some version of you, at least, one that you can’t even recognize well because of how young you seem to be. Wide, doe eyes that hold no hurt in them, features not marred by the harshness of your life that followed. Even if you don’t recognize this memory, you know for certain it isn’t one that happened after the ordeal with Hyunwoo and the king.

“You aren’t allowed to leave,” Jisung mutters, barely sparing your younger form a glance. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Out of all people, you have the least right to walk out that door. You’re just like me, just a runt who isn’t good for anything. The two of us need to stick together.”

“What’s the plan then?” She asks, and Jisung grins back at the girl.

“I’ll explain everything.”

“T-This isn’t right,” you choke out, reaching for Seonghwa’s arm. “This never happened. I don’t — I don’t remember this at all.” An odd sense of impending doom overwhelms you as you watch yourself approach the table beside Jisung, and you decide right then that you cannot handle being in this place any longer. You stumble backward, hand hitting the door hard and shoving against it in a desperate attempt to get out of the room.

The new scene you find isn’t any better than the last. Jisung sits in the middle of a monotone room, arms and legs bound to the chair under him. Some tall old man stands in front of his chair and Hyunwoo is at his side, looking as alive as can be, so much so that you choke on air and fall to your knees in an instant. Seonghwa’s hand finds your shoulder and clasps at it to offer some sort of comfort. In the corner opposite where you’re kneeling, the younger version of you is drawn tight into a ball with arms folded around her knees. Hyunwoo pulls away from the man beside him to come closer to the young girl – you, the innocent and young you who didn’t know how cruel the world could be at that point.

“Don’t watch this, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says as he folds an arm around her shoulders.

“Why is this happening? What’s going on? Hyun, I don’t understand why – why is he being punished?”

“Jisung was out of line. He… killed fourteen people. That wasn’t the mission, the mission wasn’t to kill anyone. It was just a simple recon mission. No one was supposed to die, especially not innocent people.”

“And why then are fourteen people dead?” The old man asks. The question is obviously directed at Jisung, but all he offers in response is to spit on the general’s feet with a sneer. The man swings his foot up, catching Jisung in the chin with a sharp kick that sends the younger sprawling across the floor in his chair.

“I did nothing wrong! All I did was get rid of more competition that would stop us later on. People are afraid of us now. Our team is gaining a name for ourselves at last, and you fat fucks in power feel just as threatened as the rest of society, don’t you? We’re fearsome now. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, cruel. That’s what we’re known for.”

The old man presses his foot down hard on the side of Jisung’s face and leans over his body.

“That isn’t what you’re supposed to be known for. You are part of the military. You are supposed to obey the law and uphold the rules like everyone else. Not murder innocent people who weren’t even in the crossfire!”

Jisung’s eyes blaze with unbridled rage, bringing a bit of a crazed gleam to his dark orbs.

“They called Y/N a runt! A useless slave! I’m supposed to sit back and allow that disrespect to happen? They had to pay for their crimes! They were far from innocent.”

You turn to Seonghwa, desperate for him to help you to your feet and get you out of this hell, but as you move, his face bleeds to white. Next thing you know, the ground disappears out from under you and you enter a freefall. A brilliant blood-red moon shines above you, taunting you with its glow as you drop, and it grows smaller and smaller the further down you fall. Your freefall only stops when you collide harshly with a body of water, and the black waters swallow you up and pull you under with no resistance. You thrash against the darkness, fighting your way to swim back up to the surface, but it’s to no avail because you can’t move. Something constricts your throat, chokes the air out of your lungs, and you watch helplessly as air bubbles float up to the surface without you.

Something sharp closes around your ankle. Looking down offers no help because of how dark the waters are. You have no time to tug away from it before it pulls you down further, and the red light of the moon grows fainter and fainter with each passing second. As a last-ditch effort, you push all the air in your lungs into a scream that rings through the water. And that must do the trick, because as the sound pulses through the lake, something blindingly bright appears above you like a small beacon of hope in the night. It grows larger as it swims closer to where you continue to sink, and just as it starts coming into focus, whatever has a hold on your foot lets go of you as though burned. Hands wade through the murk to cradle your face, soft thumbs combing over your cheeks, and the light dulls just enough for you to see the face of your savior.

And when you do, your heart nearly quits functioning right then and there because it’s none other than Wooyoung who floats above you, hair bright and glowing a soft lavender around his head. His cheeks are puffed full of air and his eyes are so wide that they look like round gems in the glittering light. He doesn’t speak, nor does he give you any indication whatsoever of what is going on; all the man does is slip his hands lower to fold around your waist before he begins to swim back up to the surface. The lack of air in your system has you reeling and dizzy, along with the overwhelming confusion that radiates through your body as well.

When the two of you finally breach the surface of the water, you are close to losing consciousness. The sudden intake of fresh oxygen keeps you conscious for now, and you let your body go completely limp in Wooyoung’s grasp as he pulls you to the edge of the water. The light from his hair fades back into a muted black, wet strands clinging to his forehead and neck. You only bring yourself to use your muscles again once you reach the shallows, knees coming to rest on the sand so you can sit up straight and face the man. He doesn’t wait even a second before clasping your face in his hands again.

“I know you,” he chokes out, voice too thick with emotion for your liking. The statement is startling enough as it is, although you have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t merely mean he knows you as Y/N L/N. “The girl who appeared in my dreams for years. The – the one I couldn’t reach. I can finally see you. Y/N, I…”

“Wooyoung has had an incessant dream for years now — all the years I’ve known him actually — of a girl drowning in a black lake. He watches her head go underwater but can’t make out her features well enough to recognize her. He dives in to save her, swims to grab her, does everything he can to save him, but something always pulls her deeper and deeper. He can never reach her. He can never hear her screams. He can never see her face. All he can do is reach out for her hand and that’s it.”

“I finally found you, Umiko.” Something about the way Wooyoung speaks and the glistening tears in his eyes brings you to tears yourself, a choked sob forcing its way out of your mouth for some reason unbeknownst to you. The moment leaves too soon.

A hand grasps your shoulder and yanks you back before you know it, tearing you away from Wooyoung’s grasp. Your attacker solidifies it with a kick to the center of your chest, and you slam back against the shallows. Daichi stands above you, a rage to his aura that you have never felt before. That’s all the warning you get from him. He swings his foot back down at your head this time, and you roll away from the attack only to be swung at by his fist.

“Why are you doing this?” You yell as you dodge the powerful attacks as best you can.

“Tsukio is the Siren I warned you about, you fool!” Daichi shouts back, heel clipping the edge of your shoulder. The comment puts enough confusion in you for him to gain the upper hand, and he hits the side of your head with the back of his hand. “Do you not remember? ‘Someone near you is a dangerous threat, one that you’ve never encountered before. You must be careful. Guard yourself wisely.’”

Daichi pushes you flat against the sand and clasps his hands around the middle of your throat.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Come – come back? W-What do you mean?” The pressure around your throat increases just enough for you to cough, but you continue to push words out of your mouth like your life depends on it. “Did I know him before? Did I know Wooyoung somehow? That d-dream. Was it truly a dream or w-was it a memory?”

“I’ve always told you that you were something unique and special, Umiko.” Daichi squeezes harder, and black spots fill the edges of your vision. “You assumed I meant that it was your identity as a Siren and were too bitter to listen to anything I told you. Both you and Kazuya should not pry for more answers. I will tell you absolutely nothing.” With that, Daichi pushes your head under the water, and it’s just deep enough for you to not be able to breathe. “Consider this to be your one and only warning, Umiko. Next time, I will end you.”

You jolt back into a state of full consciousness by choking on air and throwing your body upright. The room swirls for several seconds before coming into focus, and you find yourself seated on the floor beside Seonghwa’s bed with no recollection of falling off at any point. There is a body in front of you and another on your left side, but their faces don’t process in your mind until you’ve caught your breath a bit. It’s Jongho at your side, who presses a hand to your sweat-slick forehead with so much concern in his eyes that it’s overwhelming, and Yunho is knelt by your feet with a similar expression of concern.

“Wh-Why are you here?” You ask, throat burning from the few words. Yunho glances over at Jongho, and the pair exchange unspoken words in their eyes.

“You pinged all our wristbands, Y/N. Called through the comms and said you needed help and that Seonghwa wouldn’t wake up,” Yunho murmurs.

“Where? Where is Seonghwa?” Yunho motions towards the bed on your right, and you peer over the mattress to find Seonghwa sitting at the opposite edge of the bed with his head in his hands and elbows propped on his knees. Yeosang is in front of him, squatted to be eye level with the man, and he rests a hand atop one of Seonghwa’s knees.

“Seonghwa… when we came in, his body was in a state of shock, and his heart w-wasn’t — he was completely unresponsive. I almost couldn’t get him awake at all. On top of everything else we’re dealing with, why does this have to happen too?” Yunho drops his chin and exhales a shaky laugh. It’s a haunting reality that Seonghwa almost died in his sleep because of Daichi and his warning, but nothing ever felt quite as real as it did this time. “This must be some sort of bad omen.”

Yunho drops a hand to your leg before pushing himself to his feet. He steps around the bed and makes a beeline for Seonghwa now, leaving you in Jongho’s care for the time being.

“What the hell happened?” Jongho asks once Yunho is out of earshot.

“I… it was – just a bad nightmare.” You can’t look Jongho in the eye when you speak the lie, too ashamed to even be lying in the first place, and it’s only when your gaze wanders around the room a bit that you realize one person in particular isn’t present. “Where’s Jisung?”

“We saw him to a spare bedroom after dinner, so I’d assume he must still be in there.”

“He didn’t come out with the commotion?”

“What could he do even if he did?” Jongho shrugs a bit and lets his hand drop to your shoulder. He makes a good point in his statement, and it’s enough to shut you up and not prod the subject further.

“I need Seonghwa to the medbay with me so I can run some sleep tests and make sure everything is normal in the brain and heart,” Yunho states, peeking over to where you and Jongho are still seated. “Y/N, I’m a bit concerned about you not remembering calling for help, so I’d like you to—”

“No,” you interject, swallowing roughly. Yeosang looks at you over Seonghwa’s shoulder, and your eyes meet for the briefest of moments. He inclines his chin a bit as though trying to tell you something, but you can’t decipher what the hell he’s trying to say in the slightest.

“Jongho, you help Seonghwa to the medbay with Yunho. I’ll stay with Y/N for the time being.” Yeosang’s suggestion seems to catch everyone off-guard, including you, but based on the look in his eyes, there’s something else going on so you can’t find it in you to fight it. Jongho glances down at you.

“Is that – will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Jongho, I promise,” you murmur back, placing a hand over where his rests on your shoulder. “Go with Seonghwa and make sure he’s okay first. I just feel exhausted right now honestly.”

“Okay, if you need anything—”

“I’ll call you, Jongho. Okay?” You press a weak smile onto your lips. The Berserker seems content enough with your words, and he helps you to your feet before stepping around the bed to do the same for Seonghwa. You sink back onto the mattress almost immediately, watching with a heavy heart as Jongho loops Seonghwa’s arm around his shoulders and helps carry the man out of the room. You wait to speak again until after the door slips shut and leave you alone with Yeosang. “What happened?”

“You didn’t call the others right away,” he says, tone so quiet you have to lean in to catch it. “Wooyoung called me asking for help.”

“Wooyoung — he what? In m-my body?”

“Yes, I thought – I thought it was a joke at first but he confirmed it was him, so I came over as quickly as I could. He said that you were crying out for his help so loudly that he passed out to come to you. Did you go to his body?”

“I was unconscious the entire time. But Wooyoung… he came to me in my dream.”

“Wooyoung was brief in his explanation to me, but he seems to think that it can only happen when one of you needs help too. He only heard you when you needed him, and he said that just before you came to him the first time in the cell… he was crying out for some sort of help. Then you showed up.”

“No, I don’t mean that he came to my body in my dream,” you say as you push yourself further onto the bed and face Yeosang head-on. “I was drowning in a black lake, and Wooyoung saved me.”

“His dream?” Yeosang’s expression melts into one of shock. He draws his lips into a tight ‘o’ then stares down at the floor. “He mentioned finding someone. He kept ranting on and on about how he finally found her. I was trying to get him to focus on the issue at hand, but he just wanted to talk about that.”

“But he didn’t wake me up. How did he help then?” Perhaps he was trying to pull you out of the dream before Daichi interrupted. But Wooyoung couldn’t have possibly been in your body at the same time that he was in your dream, so it must have happened after Daichi attacked you since Yeosang said Wooyoung mentioned finding you.

“It wasn’t about helping you, Y/N,” Yeosang whispers. He glances down at the spot where Seonghwa was just seated. “You asked him to help you save Seonghwa.” It hits then that as you were fighting for your life between drowning in a lake without relief and being attacked by Daichi, your subconscious was only worried about whether Seonghwa was okay or not. “He had to take control to call for help, but before he called me, he pulled Seonghwa’s body out of shock at least enough to get his heart going again. He stalled the shock long enough to get Yunho over here after talking to me first. He called the rest through your wristband after. Something must have happened on his end though because as soon as he finished speaking, your body dropped and went unconscious again.”

“Did Seonghwa mention what he saw?” You inquire, but a large part of you is too afraid to hear the answer.

“You weren’t with him?”

“We… were separated at some point.”

“He didn’t say anything about what he saw, but he was too shaken up to even speak. One would think that based on the visceral reaction his body had, it was something far beyond his worst nightmare.” Your body moves before your mind does, and you are suddenly on your feet again upon hearing Yeosang’s words. He regards you with a puzzled stare for a moment, eyes watching you move around the bed and to the door on unsteady feet. “Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to Jisung. I… I have some questions about my past.”

✧✧✧ a/n: hi hi HI guess WHO yeah its me its been a minute im SORRY this chapter just did not want to cooperate no matter what every time i sat down to write until today it was like No. but then i hit my stride and wrote like 6k today oopsie anyway hi info dump im so sorry about how much info there is in this one and sldfjlsdkf there’s a lot of backstory and symbolism and im afraid it’s a Mess but it iz what it iz so we’re rolling with it and im kinda delirious so that’s All i’ll say so yeehaw let me know how you feel what you think i love u all!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #mists of celeste #mingi x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #ateez angst fluff smut #ateez series #ateez pirates #ateez space pirates

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

��Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

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plush-rabbit · 3 years ago

Text

The Pregnancy - Overhaul + Chronostatis

Request: ive been thinking abt don't move+sequels reader, i can only see them being more hostile if they get pregnant, how do you think it would go, would overhaul and chrono be more understanding like the they know best fic or would they stay trashy and mean like in a bundle of joy , especially in a scenario where reader self harm or try to end the pregnancy/hurt the baby

Warnings: Self-Harm Implications

A/N: Headcanons because it’s easier for me to brainstorm with this idea rather than a fic. Hope you don’t mind<3 (also not related to bundle of joy!!) Also please read the request, it can get a bit heavy for the last half!!

Kai and Hari would be very involved in your life. While you have freedom to wander around the base,you must do so with either one of them or someone that they have entrusted to walk you around. They won’t be risking you wandering by yourself in their base and potentially getting hurt in any means. Pregnancy or not, you are important to them, and for you to be hurt under their supposed watch is something that they won’t have. They want to make sure that you’re safe, taking any necessary precautions to ensure that no harm does befall on you.

They both view themselves as the parent in the child’s life. To them, it doesn’t matter who is the biological dad as long as they are involved in the raising of the child. They hardly compete for your attention- only truly seeing each other as a competitor when there is intimacy involved. Other than that, they both go to the doctor’s appointment with you and even help buy items for the child and the room. They realize that any sort of competition that could arise would result in stress for you and could harm the child, so they decided to work together, to be the partners that are most suited for you and your own wellbeing- including the baby.

During your pregnancy term, their protectiveness and need to be involved , make them come off as overbearing and often lead to you being overstimulated because of them. You’re grateful that they’re caring in this process and that they’re trying to maintain the healthy nature of the baby, but it's all too much. They involve themselves in your life- nothing of yours is private. You are monitored constantly, watched and treated as if you are proecielan that sits at the edge of a shelf. The only added benefit of having your life shared between them is that they also now fully involve you in their own lives- everything intricate, personal and even the workings of the Shie Hassaikai. You know what time their meetings are- having to work them around your own appointments- and who they are dealing with and why. You are now treated as their equal rather than a pet- or at least now you’re able to know more than before.

In order to ensure the safety and health of the child, Chisaki makes sure to plan all your meals accordingly. He’s precise, cutting certain portions and making sure to eat the food before he has Kurono deliver it to you. He spends his time making sure that the food is prepped and contains nutrients that are best while also making sure that it’s something that you are allowed to eat. Your cravings are the worst of it- he can handle the cramps and the moodiness, but you just get some rather unhealthy cravings for certain food that he won’t allow you to eat. He can handle your whining and pouting, but he won’t allow you to eat something so high in sugar. Though, if you were to start to tear up or give him the silent treatment, Chisaki would be willing to find some sort of alternative to your cravings, not wanting you to be in a foul mood- especially towards him.

On the other hand, Kurono is much more easy going. He's still very observant about you and protective towards you and the baby, but he is more willinging to sneak you in a few pieces of candy for you to eat. While Chisaki may be the one to prepare the food for you, he’s busy with items that pertain to the business which leaves for Kurono to sit with you and enjoy a meal. He’s there for his own enjoyment but to also make sure that you eat most of the food that has been prepared for you. If you are unable to, he is forgiving on that part, knowing that your pregnancy has made it difficult for you to enjoy certain foods and has worsened your appetite. There is no real solution to this that he can offer other than bringing you a nutritional shake for you to at least give you some energy. After you’re done with that, he’ll surprise you with pieces of candy, telling you to savor them because he's unsure of when he will be able to bring more. While you eat them, he’ll play with your hair, telling you that he’s glad he can have some alone time with you.

If you were to self harm, your partners would not react well. They’ll constantly question what signs they missed that you were unhappy, blame outside forces and even your pregnant]cy, citing all sorts of hormonal change that’s been going on. They’ll fix whatever they can, taking you to a parper hospital rather than treating you at the base. While Chisaki would be able to heal any of your wounds with his quirk, he’s fearful as to how his quirk and your body would react with a pregnancy. He isn’t going to risk the child’s life with something so serious. Instead, you’re taken to the hospital, a lie agreed upon by all three of you that you simply had injured yourself while prepping dinner.

However, if you were to try to terminate the pregnancy, they would be furious. You’re the child's parent as well, they’re the child’s fathers. They support any decision that you want to make about your body, but to do somethin so reckless- and to a family member, no less- they are beyond angry. You’re lucky for the baby to be well, the attempt in vain. They, however, cannot do anything to you before or after, so they simply try to move past it. They can’t strap you down to a bed until you come to full term due to exercise being important and they can’t restrict your access to the child because that’ll only ruin the bond between the entire family. They simply have you take melatonin, talking besides each other once you are in deep sleep, trying to figure out what they can do to ensure that this incident doesn’t happen again.

The base is baby proofed. Your room and the area that you reside in are placed under complete care- corners rounded out with plastic grips, cabinets locked and only members given the codes, anything sharp placed inside of locked cabinets, even pens and other writing utensils are carefully monitored to make sure that they are not left out in the open. Your privacy is taken away, the only privacy that you are given is in the bathroom and even that comes with a time limit. You are not allowed to do things yourself, you are watched and taken care of. Your glass cups are replaced with plastic, your eating utensils softed and food already pre-cut. You have lost all autonomy with your stunt.

Possibly the worst thing to arise from this is losing their trust. You have to earn it back and it’s entirely difficult to do so. You have no free will and they walk you around, deciding that no one else can take care of you like they can. No amount of pleading nor tears will have them change their mind so soon. Their words are always the same- “they aren’t trying to punish you even if it seems like that, but you have to understand that what you did wasn’t right.” You’re talked down to, told that you don’t know what’s right for you. They’ll sleep beside you, a lock on all the doors and their arms above you, keeping you trapped with them and forced to sleep in the same bed as them.

Due to your declining mental health, both Kai and Hari decide to be your therapist, or at least your outlet. They want to help you but it’s difficult for you to be let out- who knows what lies you would spread, they muse. It doesn’t matter what you say- you could insult them, cry and beg for death, or even just talk about a meal you dislike- all that matters is that you speak to them. They want to help you and having you suffer with your thought salone, believing that no one is there to help you, is something that they simply will not have. They care for you, but you must understand that your lack of freedom is something that you brought upon yourself. If it were anything else but this, they would have allowed you freedom much quicker, but you put the child in jeopardy and for that, you have to suffer the consequences and sit in your guilt until they feel that you’re better.

#tw self harm #tw dubious consent #tw pregnancy #tw forced marriage #tagging to be safe #this is heavy #llike in a different way than what i usally write #but it was fun to dissect what would happen #i hope this doesnt come off as pro-life #i just wanted to make sure that it was like understood that they dont want their kid gone #theyre controlling and in love #i think its sweet #like i know myself #if im kidnapped and confessed to #ill be like damn #okay whens the wedding #i know myself too well

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pepperpills · 3 years ago

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The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey guys, The Harvest is coming closer to its end, i hope you enjoy this chapter and new things might be coming ahead, thank you all for reading it >.<

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord Part III - The Hunt

Part IV – Soft Torture

In the next days, you finished the new wing and brough him to see it. He was grateful, he took a while analysing your sketches, strumming the shelves covered with books and the metallic tool boxes. When he was done, he impulsively took your head in his hands and kissed you in the forehead. You blushed, but by that time he already crossed the door and was calling you to help.

Then, you spent hours helping him move his stuff to that wing, especially the non-metallic ones, which he had no power over. Your hands touched while doing it and every time it happened, an electric discharged flowed through you – and him.

After you were done, you left him to explore his new set up as excited as he was with it. You still had your cleaning stuff when coming back to the main area and there was time, plenty of free time. Thus, you stopped on level B3 to take care of a dusty stroller that was pissing you off with its dirt.

You were minding your own business, singing your favourite childhood song while wiping the dust off the power box when you heard a drill. You instantly froze, imagining what caused it.

The area was poorly lite, but you saw that red brightness in the pitch dark, you wouldn’t confound it as it was part of the nightmares you had at your first days at the factory. It was, indeed, a lost Soldat.

You held a scream, your hand quickly covered your open mouth, but it was too late, it paid attention to you, way before you saw it, then it started walking towards your direction with that drill making a death sound.

The world around you didn’t make sense. You looked for exits, but it was about to sprint and you were in a corner, unable to run anywhere. A single tear rolled down your face and you closed your eyes not willing to see it.

“NO.” Heisenberg screamed, showing up at the right moment. “STOP!” He demanded, but the thing was now coming to him. “Stupid shit.” He cursed, violently throwing his cigar on the ground, putting it out with his boot.

With that said, the reactor on the Soldat’s chest exploded, casting hundreds of small parts all over the place, one hit you in the cheek. No one moved, it simply disintegrated and the creature fell to its knees, deactivated, exploding right away, sending more trash to the air.

Heisenberg walked rapidly to you and held your shoulders. When he noticed your cheek, he cleaned it and licked your blood out of his finger. You were way too shaken by the Soldat, but his grip slowly brought you to the real world.

“You okay?” He whispered, his expression lines showing how worried he was.

He got so scared of losing you for that malfunctioning son of a bitch that his heart sunk when he saw you. It was too late for him to continue pretending he didn’t care that much for you.

“Yeah, it didn’t get me at all. Thank you.” You were utterly grateful he tamed that thing, otherwise… Otherwise you probably would be one of the bodies in the stretchers.

Heisenberg then buried his face in your neck, sighing. He sounded relieved.

“Thought I was gonna lose you there, buttercup.” He told your neck, his voice stuffy.

“I thought so too.” You confessed, also feeling relieved. “Do you care?” You had to ask, simply had to know if he cared even though he just saved you.

“Of course I do.” He answered immediately, but not rushing.

Knowing that was reassuring. You felt safe. You felt home. He felt scared for the possibility of your death and couldn’t stop holding you. You thought he was going to bite you like a zombie would, instead, he rubbed his lips on your skin.

You moaned with the touch. It was involuntary, but you felt that you made a mistake. First you tried to be his friend when both of you felt alone, then you would give anything for him to order you to take off your clothes like in that first day, but wouldn’t dare say that, you were getting too mushy.

“S-sorry…” You started apologizing, he let your neck go, but then his face was millimetres from yours.

“Don’t be sorry.” Karl firmly took your waist and put you up on the now clean stroller, your butt sitting on a wood box.

He had to have you. There was this urgent feeling on his stomach he couldn’t resist, it was being silenced for too long, since you arrived. That hunger took control of him and he griped your hair.

He is too strong, but you didn’t want to resist, at that moment, you were about to do whatever he desired, you had simply given up to it as you yourself were thirst for his touch.

The adrenaline was still running crazily through you, like you had been shocked, you thought it was even stronger than before, growing, driving you to hallucinate as you saw coloured lights dancing in your vision. Coloured, festive lights.

“Fuck, buttercup, you have a way to get to me.” He cursed, kissing you chin, making you moan again. “Oh, you are so hopeless like this.” Heisenberg laughed; his chuckles made your entire body resonate.

“Please, let me have you, Karl.” You found yourself begging, you would be on your knees if he wasn’t so close, taming you.

He stepped back, a tiny step so he could look at you. He was smiling, his eyes seemed to have fallen upon a prey, one he would treat with good manners. His hand reached your neck, pressing it, not too hard, but not softly, so you could feel his scars and you moaned to that.

He spread your legs with his knee, not gentle, not brutal, but demanding. You let him do it, feeling the blood down there. You felt a chilled object between your thighs, it touched your clit over your tight pants. It started rubbing as Heisenberg kissed every centimetre of your face and his hands wandered around your body, owing it.

You were soaked, your panties were completely wet at that point, maybe even more than the rain made before, and that metal thing kept rubbing your bud driving you insane. You moaned loudly, moaned like an animal and he joined you with husky groans.

You closed your legs around his waist and forced him to come closer. He cried out in pleasure, even though fully clothed. You felt him hard, so damn hard you thought you couldn’t take it.

His pace was getting faster controlling the metal stimulating you, it was feeling too intense, all your feelings mixing up with his sudden touch, the adrenaline running through out your body, his beard tingling your neck as he groaned, making your eyes roll in pleasure. You came the first time like that, your water wetting him.

You took his face in your hands and glued your lips to one another. The kiss was intense, you completely forgot to breath as his tongue met yours, playing rough games in your mouth. You had to scratch his skin under his clothes, to this, he arched his back, a warm sensation flooding his body as it felt held after so long, so glad to finally take you, so hungry to devour you, he couldn’t help but to feel he was close, not done with these games, but close to his first time in a while anyway. That was the time for him to cum. He held you tightly, burring his face on your shoulder, moaning like crazy and came in his pants. You came again, with him.

“God damn it.” That was all he could say, panting.

“For fuck’s sake.” You joined him, leaning your back on the stroller to rest.

The dancing lights were still there, lullabying you now that you both orgasmed. You were calm, calmer than you had never been, completely distant from the Soldat’s treat, the Village, anything. Nothing could reach you at the factory, nothing besides his scarred hands.

You thought it was over, but you still felt drunk with pleasure, willing to taste more of it, more of him. Karl had an idea. One that you would like. He took you in his arms, so easily you felt little while pressing your face to his collarbone, the electricity in your body giving you delightful goosebumps. You hugged his neck and your legs hugged his waist. He started walking.

At first, you didn’t know where he was taking you, then you recognized the path among all those look alike corridors. You two were heading to the soft torture room. It didn’t make you anxious, though. You were curious.

He actually walked there, not surfing any metal plaque. It didn’t take long to get to your destination. He made the door open with his powers, never letting you go even for a second like you were too precious to trust the floor to support you.

That room was the most organized room of the factory. You could see he started using that as a storeroom due to several cardboard boxes leaning against the walls. The gears and toys were as new. You doubted someone had ever used them.

The room was painted black, decorated with real swords, axes and chains, the last ones maybe could be of use. There was a whip rack with different whips that made you excited, willing to test them all, also, some toys and instruments were suspended on a metal board close to a Berkley horse. Heisenberg didn’t guide you to any of those, though.

“Do you think you can take it, kitten?” He whispered affably in your ear.

“I want to take anything.” You told him, sanguinely.

He chuckled and lead you to another piece of furniture. That one you had seen on history books. It was the wrist stocks. Usually, it would be made of wood, but his were metallic and would move as he desired, so you could alternate positions.

Karl let you go, gently, you stepped barefoot on the ground having lost your shoes at the stroller and he made you sit on a chair next to the stocks. You kissed for what seemed to be eternity, every single one of your senses being stimulated at once. He gruffly took his overcoat off, without untouching your lips and started massaging your nipples. You cried out in pleasure, feeling it drain on your thighs.

You drove him crazy. He was doing his best to be at least moderate to you, but you weren’t helping at all. Your groans made him be harsh, it was your doing, he kept thinking. He ripped your shirt off effortlessly, giving you a shock. Your boobs came out swinging, making him howl and burry his face on them. He felt welcomed by your warmth, consoled by your soft skin. He didn’t want to rise his nose from them, but he did in order to rend your pants.

It was a real relief to be finally free from your clothes. In that manner, you took his shirt off, laying your hand on his chest for a silent while. It was entrancing to be able to touch him like that, to feel his heavy breathing, strolling your fingers on his belly. But when you reached his pants and started unbuttoning it, he snorted and pushed you back.

“Not now, sugar.” He denied, smiling at your disconsolate face. “First things first.” Heisenberg added as he lifted you, placing you lastly at the stocks.

You saw how hard he was under those pants. His cock was begging to be tamed, to be treated, to be tasted. You could drool if your kept thinking these things, but you couldn’t help, it was centimetres from your face now and was certainly calling you. You inclined a little, he didn’t perceive, and gave a long, naughty lick on his cock, tasting the humidity there, trying the flavour of his cum. It tasted like “I want more”.

He groaned loudly, hopelessly. Heisenberg got a little annoyed by your disobedience and decided he could be a bit harder on you.

“Bad kitten.” He called you.

Your wrists were now retained, you were sitting completely naked on a massage bed and he still had his pants on which meant a little more play. Out of nowhere, nipple clamps flew to you and bite your nipples. You screamed in pleasure. It hurt a little, pressing your delicate skin.

Heisenberg was enjoying himself, maliciously smiling. At that sight, he had to touch himself. His hand reached his cock over the fabric and cuddled it for some time as he tightened the grip on your nipples.

After a while like this, he decided it was about time and his pants fell off, revealing a big, pulsating, needy rod on that made you moan on its homage.

“Now, kitten, show me you can take it all.” He said, approaching you, taking advantage of your opened mouth.

You finally had it, an explosion of flavours and sensation took command of you. His cum was sweet, now your favourite candy, his cock was almost too much for your mouth, but you proudly took it all on you salivating tongue, leading it deep down your throat, making a mess of saliva. A mess he loved. Heisenberg was simply howling in pleasure, his husky voice dominated by voluptuousness, he was roaring over the machinery noises.

If you kept going longer, he was going to cum on your precious mouth, would fill it with his god’s milk. But he wasn’t done with you. Oh no. He took his cock out of your mouth and you felt the bed leaning backwards.

“Lay.” Heisenberg ordered as he climbed your body, positioned between your legs.

You laid. He roughly rubbed his smouldering boner on your clit. You both groaned intensely. He played you a little more, then he started entering. Your pussy wasn’t used to it, to big things coming in and out of it like that, but it sure loved the sensation.

His thighs were pressed to yours, rubbing his hair body on your skin as he moved forward into you. You thought you were dead, nothing that good could be possible. But it was, you had him inside your pussy, reaching so deep as the bed inclination helped to get as far as he could.

At first, he tried to go steady, not willing to hurt you more, but as you moaned, he couldn’t help but burying his cock on you. You made it feel welcomed, hot and squeezed by your walls.

Heisenberg was losing it. You were losing it. You both moved in synchrony, the nipple clamps awakening every pleasure sensor on your body, feeling him entirely.

He invested inside you for what felt like hours of pure pleasure. You two sang the lust song together. Karl knew he couldn’t hold on longer.

“Now, kitten, you gonna have it.” He whispered between his teeth, griping your hair.

You hugged his waist with your legs, forcing him to stay deep down. He groaned, thunders in your vision. He was coming hot, plentiful, absolutely satisfied. Heisenberg came inside you and when he found the courage to step out and you let go your legs, cum drained from your pussy.

“Karl…” You could only mumble, panting.

“Kitten.” He answered, releasing your wrists and laying by your side.

He pushed you to his chest where you gladly laid your sleepy head. He cuddled your hair as your draw circles on his belly.

“It was the best thing I ever felt.” You said, at last.

“You had me there, kitten.” Heisenberg confessed, his heart racing. “You fucked me good.” He added, smiling. You smiled too.

Both of you were tired, sleepy. His cuddles made your eyes shut and your hug embraced him. You fell asleep in the soft torture room, on the massage bed. Naked and together, at last.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years ago

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So We Refuse To Take it Tragically

A/N: I’ve just accepted my fate is to be obsessed with this man, so here’s yet another Obi-Wan fic. There will be a second part to this, and I’m thinking a mini series of in-between moments. I won’t give spoilers, but this is NOT my normal type of fic, but he’s an exception to every rule in my book, apparently. Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my beta on this, I don’t know where this would be without you!

Thank you also to @beskars for her post here that birthed this. Always blessing us with fuel for the thirst.

And to the one I know IRL that found my tumblr, one I will refer to as Top Voice, this is your final warning to gtfo before feasting your eyes on unprecedented filth and sap.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! Fem Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Cumeating, hair pulling, Comfort Sex, ANGST!! (It has a happy ending later, I promise, but it starts after ROTS, so it’s par for the course) If you’re gonna write not-particularly-pertinent-to-plot-porn, might as well make it unnecessarily detailed, right? As usual, too many feelings for porn, More warnings will be in the tags to prevent spoilers

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

Tatooine is no place for a baby.

There are no soft surfaces, nor comforts, nor surplus of anything. It’s desolate and deprived and oppressive, but you watch as Obi-Wan shields the child from its harsh, sand-pelting winds with his whole body, despite the fact the child fits in the space between his wrist and elbow. It’s overzealous, but you don’t say anything of it.

The past two days have ripped away nearly everything he held dear, insisting on devastating every tender place. Nothing sacred has been left untouched.

He broke the code long before he met you, and you know part of why his love for you came so easily, why he had no qualms with breaking his vows, was because he’d long since loved the man that became his family in every way that matters.

Love and Light so tightly knit together the fabric of his being one could not be separated from the other.

And you could take on the entire Force with your two fists for how it had rewarded him for it with Hate and Darkness coming from someone so close it shattered something foundational in Obi-Wan.

Yet even now, there isn’t Darkness surrounding his signature. There’s brokenness and his ever-present equilibrium has been replaced by jagged shards. But despite it all, those rugged pieces still reflect light erratically in their shine.

It’s a loss and betrayal that spans many different planes: on one level, there’s nowhere you look in the galaxy beyond just the two of you that isn’t marked by the Empire’s rise in power, marking the end of the Republic he fought for and the fall of the Jedi, his community, comrades, and only home he’d ever known. And on another level, you’ve seen the weight of war and worse in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but nothing, nothing like this.

The pain is panoramic, but it’s also profoundly personal.

Even still, his attention isn’t on himself, but on the fussy bundle in his arms.

You wonder: is it the galaxy that doesn’t allow this man time to heal? Or is it his own choice to throw himself into the need of others so he has a tangible reason to avoid his own torments?

When he places the baby into the arms of the young couple, you know the times ahead will give the answer to that.

Because there aren't the cries of the past few nights to wake either of you, there’s silence.

You long to fill it, to try to bridge this insurmountable void with something, anything you could say. But you know it’s bigger than you. So, so much bigger than you.

Monumental obstacles and tremendous loss find themselves standing in the threshold of an abandoned hut smaller than your flat was on Coruscant.

“Well… it’s not much to look at, certainly. But the moisture vaporator seems to be in repairable condition, and we’re just far enough from town to avoid any curious neighbors. What do you think?” He turns to you, and his eyes, dark circles under and all, turn sharp in their assessment of your response.

“I told you. I’m going wherever you are so long as you’ll let me.” Your voice is gentle but adamant as you remind him.

He walks up from the living room to the threshold of the kitchen where you are, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “Be that as it may, I’m asking your input on where we’re going, or living, as your happiness means a great deal to me.”

There’s still no smile, but it’s the brightest his energy has felt since the last time you saw him before he came to your door in Coruscant days ago, whispering a rushed, heartfelt farewell, which you quickly countered with an emphatic, unshakable, “I’m coming with you.”

You look up at him, gliding your hand across his cheek into the hair at the nape of his neck. There’s Darkness at the door of his soul that he’s fighting off every moment, and he has the audacity to speak of your happiness.

You don’t dare bring up his. It’s irony, at best.

So you smile, timid, knowing the gesture in itself might be blasphemous to the tone, but genuine all the same. “We can make a life here. I know we can.”

He scans your eyes, looking to find the authenticity in your statement. “Are you certain?”

He’s not asking about the hut anymore. Or, at least, not just the hut.

“Obi-Wan, I never had any delusion that any life I had with you would be easy. I thought I’d only ever be getting you in secret, sparse moments. Although I’d never, ever wish for it to be under the circumstances that it is, having you like this is better than I ever hoped.”

There’s silence as he processes your words, then a wry twist of his features. “How I wish that your expectations needn’t be so low.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” You incline your head, trying to find the words to convey what you mean.

“Nothing any person or any planet anywhere has to offer me holds a candle to what I’ve found in you, nor will it ever. I’d never trade unshakable wholeness for the transience of materialistic happiness.”

You know this has to resound with him. Is it not within the core set of values he was taught to forsake comfort in any avenue for something far greater?

His eyes flick between yours, gauging, and you can feel him reaching out to feel at your signature to solidify the truth.

If you knew him any less, you might be insulted at his questioning of your trustworthiness. But it’s not you he doesn’t trust. It’s something good willingly giving itself to him that causes his wariness.

The Force can have your middle finger along with your fists.

Then he’s relaxing into you, letting out an exhale that seems heavy with more than just air, and burying his nose in your hair for his next inhale.

****

By the end of the day, you’ve gathered enough supplies for basic necessities and to start on the repairs of the hut. You both snarf down a ration bar before shortly thereafter clearing the blown-in sand off what must have been the bed of the home. It’s a half circle indenture in the wall, and it has a dip obviously made for a mattress or cushion of some sort, but as all that’s available are the blankets bought in town today, you set to fluffing them to some semblance of comfort.

Fatigue pulls you into it far sooner than the suns setting. Last night was your first night without Luke, spent in a room you rented in town. Today was spent traveling to and from the hut, discussing details on what needs to be done, and you? You are absolutely exhausted. You can only imagine what he must feel like.

Obi-Wan secures the lock on the door before sitting on the side of the bed, looking off into nothing for a long, long moment.

You push up to your side, placing a hand on his back. “Obi…”

His shoulder nudges toward your hand, but he cuts you off. “It’s going to get quite cold when the suns set, and since the stove isn’t properly ventilating yet, we’re going to have to work with body heat.”

“I’ll try to mask my reluctance,” you retort.

He turns his face to you then, and just a smidge of humor sweeps across his eyes before he sheds his cloak, followed by everything else until only his pants remain. You’ve long since stripped down to your own sleeping comfort level, so before he can fold his cloak along with the rest of his discarded clothing, you take it and cover yourself with it.

He shakes his head a little at you once he’s done, settling down next to you, throwing the covers over both of you.

“Tell me what you need.” You’re face to face with him, but his expression is unreadable.

“I… I don’t know.” He considers you as if you held the answer to the question you just asked him.

“What about want, then? What do you want, Obi-Wan?” You wish he didn’t have his shields perpetually raised these days. It’d be so much easier to just read his energy.

His hand reaches up so he can stroke your cheek with his thumb. “You’re tired, darling. Rest.”

Ah, there it is. If the answer to the question of desire is him counter offering his own response with the fact you’re tired…

“So are you. But you still want.” You press your body fully against his, dropping your voice down to a whisper. “And so do I.”

You won’t push anymore than that, letting him take or leave the invitation. For you, it’s not even a question. It’s been four months since you last saw him. Since you’d last felt his touch.

You’d spent the last few nights in each other’s arms, but between Luke's shrill cries and the deafening devastation of the events of the days prior, it’d been just that: sleep. Or, what tousled, disturbed counterfeit the circumstance offered you both.

For him, though, there’s an abysmal weariness that digs far beyond lack of sleep, and you don’t dare infringe upon him in any way.

But there’s still a longing present, and even without his Force signature to guide you into his feelings, he can’t hide his eyes.

You watch the moment he makes a decision solidify across his countenance right before he presses his lips against yours. You sigh into it, letting the draw of his skin on yours pull you into orbit.

Because that’s exactly what happens. It’s a kiss for a kiss’ sake, for flavor and fervency and the fullness of each other, but it quickly gains its own momentum when his tongue parts your lips truly.

It’s an acute absence. Not having his energy surrounding you with his shields so far up. But it also gives sharp attention to the press of skin against skin, makes it an anchor and an outlet for all that is still too tender to even acknowledge.

You find grip in his hair, purposefully running your hands the opposite of the way he combs it as he takes your face in both hands and pulls you into him all the more.

When you both need to breathe, he only moves so far away that his lips still brush against yours on every exhale. “I..” he starts, then stops.

The hand still in his hair rakes through it gently, scratching your fingertips against his scalp as you wait for him to complete his thought.

“Let me taste you,” he says at last. You know it's a question from the way he stills, waiting for permission, but it’s phrased as nothing like it.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical quest…”

“Oh, hush.” He’s already nudging you over onto your back, situating his body over yours, claiming your lips again. You allow yourself to sink into it, cherishing his weight over you, his hand roaming your ribcage, before pulling back to speak.

“I’m sorry, are you now getting on to me for my sass? Because… oh!”

He finds a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, pinching softly with a small tug.

“By all means, continue. I was most intrigued.” His smirk is back, but it fixes you with a tinge of worry when it again proves to be a smile only skin deep.

You place two fingers just shy of his forehead, but he catches your wrist in an almost painful clasp. The alarm casted by his expression quickly is washed away by a carefully constructed impassiveness, and your heart sinks.

He has to see it, because he bows his head in apology. “Not tonight.”

And before you have any room to respond, he’s shifting himself down as he lifts your shirt up, placing a single taunting, wet kiss on each nipple before moving even further down, nipping at the skin right below your belly button.

He’s distracting you from what he’s not allowing you access to, and you know it, and you let him anyway. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Distraction from the barrage of the mind. If that’s what he needs, that’s what you’ll give.

As he toys with the hem of your underthings, and you lift your hips to assist their removal, you realize it’s exactly what you need too.

Except he apparently isn’t planning to remove your underwear at all. With a casual flick of his hand, your legs are parted and held like that with a no-nonsense sprout of Force energy. Then he’s simply pulling the cloth to the side and brings his mouth torturously closer, but stops just before contact.

You push up to your elbows to tell him you can’t take much of those teasing breaths he’s taking, blowing hot air against sensitive nerve endings. But when you hear his breath stutter as he just looks, unhurried in admiration, you decide against it, even as you flush at the undivided attention. Sprawling his palms out over your inner thighs, he dips down to press his mouth between his fingers, sucking not-so-gently into the soft skin, sending the flesh into tremors before he’s even really done anything to you.

He says your name as he opens you up with his fingers, parting your folds so everything is bared to his view. You start to squirm, the exposure starting to feel a little too heady, and you’re starting to appeal with the beginning of his name when he leans forward, straight away connecting his lips to your clit. You try to thrust up into it as some shameful noise leaves you, but there’s only so much movement you have with your legs still pinned.

He loves to tease, so you don’t expect him to retract the energy that constricted your legs at the first resistance. Instead, he slides his hands under your ass, pulling you on to his tongue and lets you push your hips into him unchecked.

He hums at your enthusiasm, the reverberation sending your hands into his hair again, which gifts you with even more noises from him.

It doesn’t take long at all, and you’re coming undone on his tongue, biting into your forearm to dampen your cry.

He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, signaling your tender surrender. He obeys, looking up at you from between your thighs, absolutely besotted, eyes shining a shade brighter than before.

Then. Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps his eyes on yours before dipping his head and tilting his jaw, running his beard right where you’re still open and vulnerable, abrasion grating in a way you know you’ll be feeling all day tomorrow.

He licks his lips as he moves back up to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on him.

He goes easily when you gesture for him to lie on his back so you can straddle him, carefully avoiding any contact where he’s throbbing for you. His hands fall right to your waist, stroking gently as he waits for you to initiate.

You focus your study on the section of his hair that’s fallen in his face, twirling a finger in it, happy to have anywhere to look but his eyes.

He’d normally at least be in your mind by now, and even though you understand it, well, the drought of it is as appropriate for the planet as anything.

You remember too late to raise your own shields against any accidentally too-loud thoughts, as Obi-Wan cups his hand on your chin, forcing your gaze to his, saying your name quietly in calling.

“You have to know, it isn’t anything to do with…”

You interrupt him. “No. No. I won’t have you addressing my insecurities of all things in light of…”

“Please listen, love. I need you to know, it hasn’t anything to do with the love I have for you. That hasn’t changed and never will. I think I need… “ He pauses, solemn in thought. “Time,” he finishes finally.

You knew this already in the pit of your stomach, but hearing him say it, hearing him affirm that it isn’t you insufficiency… you hate that you needed it as much as you did.

And if he needs time? That’s what you’ll give. But he also has a want, evidenced by the brush of him against you when you scoot yourself down his torso.

You take the hem of his pants with you when you continue down, ridding him of them and his shorts. But when you wrap your hand around him and begin to lower your mouth, he grips your chin again, shaking his head.

“I can’t… please, just.” It’s always an anomaly when he’s at a loss for words, usually ever-so articulate.

A gasp chokes out of you when you feel the phantom of his mind. Not in full, no. With barriers, and it’s projected out, not at all the same sensation to being within it.

It’s desperation. For how long it’s been, for how drained he feels, how he’s not sure how long this will last, and how much he yearns to be inside you.

There’s not even a second of debate in your mind as you take your position on his lap again, lifting your hips, intention apparent. He takes his cock in hand, holding steady so you can start to seat yourself onto the thick push of him.

The hitch in his breath is your only warning before he seizes the undersides of your thighs, halting you from taking him any further.

His eyes are tightly shut, and you know from watching him before that his facial expression is an attempt at borderline meditation, except it’s several long seconds before he achieves anything resembling calm.

It’s as good a time as any to push his hands off you and squirm around to take him a little deeper. You plan on rubbing your victory in, but your smirk is wiped away with a whine at the elation. Instead of stopping you again, he almost imperceptibly thrusts up, and it’s your turn to falter, slamming your hands into his chest, nails digging in, working against your weight trying to pull you down onto him.

It goes on like that, until you’re both bordering on hysteria before you’ve even fully taken him. You can’t figure out if it’s a worse torment to keep delaying or continuing.

Obi-Wan seems to have come to his own conclusion to that, as he finally opens his eyes, locking them with yours as he places his palms flat on the tops of your thighs and pushes down until your skin is flush with his.

You pull a hand up, biting on your fist, trying to stifle the exclamation in your throat.

He pulls it away, voice ragged as he speaks. “I want to hear you, little one. We needn’t hide anymore.”

It’s a dimensional statement. For one, no one is around for miles, a stark contrast to your quarters on Coruscant where you at least attempted to be considerate of your too-near neighbors when it came to noise. For another, it’s the irony of being in hiding from the Empire, but being allowed to be open in your relationship with each other finally.

And the deepest irony is that you both have your barriers up so firmly right now all you can concentrate on is bared skin.

Oh, but what a beautiful spanse of bared skin he is. Freckled and almost luminously pale, bending and curving with the strength of the form underneath.

He sits up slowly, generating a breathless plea from both of you at the new angle. A search of your eyes asks you a question, and you’re nodding, kissing him with the full brunt of your craving.

You slide up and then down again just as he drives up, and you’ve found your rhythm, just like that.

His hands push you onto him every time you pull up, and his tongue laves your breasts, sucking and biting along your collarbone, as you rake your nails down his chest, over the backs of his shoulders, his scalp, anything you can touch.

It’s enough to send him into a chorus of groans, shoving himself hard up into you.

He doesn’t even speak it aloud, just projects the apologetic warning that he’s on the edge.

When his thumb finds your clit, everything in you goes tense despite the relief. You clench around him, hard, and he instantly moves his hands to your shoulder blades pulling you flush against him as he lets out an unrestrained sound against your breasts.

You push his thumb away from where it’s stilled against you, replacing it with your own. His fingers twitch in their bruising grip, and you can feel him throbbing inside you.

You stay like that for a moment, just letting him ride out his bliss, whispering sweet affirmations into his hair.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are glassed over. You wonder if it’s ecstasy that is the cause, or something from the bedrock boiling to the surface.

He doesn’t give you a chance to elaborate, flipping you over on to your back. The moment he withdraws, you can feel the mess dripping down your inner thighs.

It takes everything in you to not come at the sight alone as Obi-Wan dips further down your body, parting you and lapping his tongue right where you’re weeping evidence of desire.

You know you have to be making a mess of his face and beard, but he certainly doesn’t seem to mind, indulging on his own spill infused with yours.

When he adds two fingers in you and curls them strategically, searing heat shoots through your lower stomach as you arch against his mouth, his name a high whisper with absolutely no suppression, echoing across the empty stone walls of the home.

He leaves a final tender kiss against you before lying down next to you, pulling you into his arms, and you pull him into yours right back when your limbs remember how to function.

His head drops against yours, and his eyes flutter shut, taking a deep inhale, like he’s trying to fill his lungs with more than just oxygen.

Nothing is fine, and the world is crumbling. But right now, as the suns finally leave the house in dark, as you clasp each other in tight embrace, as sleep pulls you under, you can pretend it’s fine. If only for a moment.

*******

There’s a flash of feeling that startles you awake and into the disorientation that comes from waking in a new place. The sensation worsens when you feel the reverberations of the equivalent of a slammed door in the Force.

You sit up quickly and look over to Obi-Wan, who sits on the side of the bed, head in his hands, fingers brutal in their grip.

You move toward him, and he turns around at the sound. “Go back to sleep, darling. it’s nothing.”

When you fix him with a gaze that essentially translates “bantha fodder,” he just lies back down, pulling your back into his chest, and you doubt the fact you can’t see his face like this is a mistake.

The rhythm of his breathing betrays the fact he is nowhere near sleep, but you find yourself fading off soon again anyway.

****

When you wake in the morning, you’re alone in the bed, which is no surprise. He’s not one to lounge, and if the height of the suns peaking through the window has anything to say, he’s already been up for a while.

His cloak is still tangled in the blankets, though, and you wrap yourself in it, padding outside after doing something about your morning breath.

The hut is situated on a cliff, overlooking a barren valley. The suns glare with their unrelenting eyes of heat even so early in the day, and you stare back as best you can without squinting, daring them to do their worst. They know nothing of the misery that’s already visited this home. They have no hope of competing.

You find Obi-Wan cross-legged near the edge of the cliff. Cross-legged and levitating.

Of course, you know he can do things like this. It’s just such a different thing to see him doing it . You’ve never had a proper morning with him like this, seeing his routine. He was always up before the sun, you with him, gathering moments and soaking them in before he had to leave again.

He looks almost peaceful now, not at rest, but peaceful.

How?

How does he still have so much trust in the Force?

A more lighthearted thought emerges through the grim train, as you notice he’s opted to not put his tunic back on yet.

It doesn’t matter out here, you suppose, there isn’t any other living being for miles around. For that matter, you wonder why he even left the pants.

His voice damn near startles you, not even opening his eyes to address you.

“Although that may be the case, there are some locations more bearable to get sunburn than others.”

You blush at being caught, and gently ensure your thoughts aren’t accidentally projected again, but he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it.

“Join me?”

As he opens his eyes and descends the couple inches down back onto the ground, you feel your heart do the same. He’s taught you little things, here and there, and you’ve enjoyed it, learning to tap into that constant humming you never had the tools to channel before.

But now?

What interest do you have with The Force that failed the man who served it without fail? You could burn it down for the atrocities it’s committed even in negligence against the man you love.

But there’s been enough burning.

Obi-Wan won’t speak of what transpired on Mustafar, but you’ve caught glimpses. Last night wasn’t the first night you’ve had him back, and it wasn’t the first you’d woken to a severe troubling in his aura.

You’re still not sure if Luke is a fussy baby or simply a very responsive one, as it seemed Obi-Wan was already awake before Luke started crying.

It was only mere seconds before his shields came slamming down, firmly in place, every time.

You can’t tell if he’s trying to shelter you from his feelings or blockade them away from himself.

Maybe both.

But those seconds? They’re long enough. For just a flash of a charred, severed body. Of hateful, pleading, golden eyes.

There’s been enough burning.

“I can’t ever be a Jedi, Obi.”

“That’s not what I’m asking of you.”

He knows your criticisms as well as your compliments over the Jedi. You’ve both discussed it at great length many times, always over a firm understanding and respect, but you’ve never really had long enough to have a conclusion. But you’re not going to push now, not with the fall of it all still so close behind him.

“I should think our relationship itself is testimony that I don’t inherently agree or adhere to all Jedi teachings.”

You drop your eyes, trying to ignore the sweat starting to trickle down your skin from the relentless heat. “I thought maybe you were with me in spite of your better judgement.”

His brow furrows. “At first, that’s what I may have thought too, but it made itself clear that although what transpired between us was forbidden by the Code…” he trails off for a moment, almost hesitant. “...the way Light was and is exemplified any time I have you in my arms presented a solidified case that not always is the Jedi way synonymous with the will of the Force.”

He says it wholeheartedly, but you can tell it pains him. It’s easy to never speak ill of the dead, either of individuals or groups. To glorify and wipe away any transgressions to ensure their memory sparkles as you grieve it.

The harder thing is to grieve everything, both the good you lost and the bad you experienced from the same source.

And there’s another level there. Something that has him patting the spot beside him and giving a heartbreakingly forced smile.

Even through it all, wariness of aspects of his own religion included, he seeks unity with the Force without reservation or resentment.

You don’t fight him anymore.

The war is over, but the battle has just begun, and so help you Maker, you’re going to fight for him to have the chance to heal.

So you sit, mimicking his position.

When he smiles again, it’s much smaller but not at all fake.

“First, clear your mind.”

*****

The days are afflicted with an underlying gloom, full of work that busies the hands but leaves the mind to wander, which wasn’t at all a luxurious thing.

But the nights are filled with unclaimed time, time in an abundance you never had with each other before.

Sometimes it’s shot with silence from the weight of the day, reveling in the presence of another as you work together on the supper dishes.

Or sometimes there’s almost an excitement, despite the labor ahead, of the plans for the place that’s now your home.

“Wouldn’t we have to have some sort of larger equipment to hoist that over the cliff edge?” You wonder aloud to Obi-Wan, speaking of the replacement unit for finally getting some very basic temperature control for the hut. “The way around back is too rough and would scratch it up, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to try pushing it up manu…”

You stop at his smirk he’s trying to hide with tilting his tea cup higher over his lips.

“...Or there’s a Jedi solution to this problem that requires neither, and you’re just letting me ramble on anyway.” You punctuate the end of your statement by tossing a pillow his direction, which just stops. Midair.

There’s so much legend surrounding Jedi, you haven’t really been sure what’s factual and what’s fairytale.

You certainly knew of some of his abilities, but he didn’t tend to elaborate on details of his missions before, and you never argued, knowing it was a liability for you to have that kind of information if anyone ever found out what you meant to Obi-Wan.

He chuckles, not even trying to look a little guilty.

Once you remember to shut your mouth, you get back to planning. “And that same principle just applies to objects of any size?”

He nods. “Same principle, just more concentration required.”

You tuck your feet under you on your chair as you think on that for a second. You’ll have to ask him to teach you that one next. Mediation alone could get rather dull.

“So, for instance, if a great amount of concentration is being spent Force-lifting an object up the cliff, it would leave a Jedi vulnerable to, say… projectiles thrown?” You throw another pillow at him, which just as easily halts next to the other, gravity defiant.

He could have lowered the first one by now. You raise a brow at the knowledge he’s putting on a show for you.

“You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”

More often than not, the time of the evenings are spent loving and lounging in sheets, savoring the difference of unhurried lovemaking, with no heart-wrenching farewell on the horizon.

But every time you gently ask to reach his mind, he pushes the request and your hand away.

*******

Obi-Wan’s visits to see Luke are met with a level of hostility. The man, Owen, seems wary of him, doing everything he can to cut the visit short as you and the woman, Beru, if you remember correctly, look silently to each other for some relief in the tension.

They already likely know his actual name, but you’re careful to only address Obi as “Ben” here, along with everywhere else that isn’t your hut. It’s precautionary, but if it’s for the sake of protecting Luke and Obi-Wan himself, you’ll do it without any further questions.

But Luke seems to be doing well, and that is ultimately what matters most. It’s hard to believe how quickly he’s grown in the mere weeks that you’ve been here.

The boy might be by far Obi-Wan’s greatest purpose being on this planet, but it’s not his only.

Master Yoda had given him Jedi texts, yes, but also another task for his time here.

You’re thankful to talk about either, as it seems to be one of the few things he’ll open up to you about as it pertains to himself.

But when he goes to meditate alone, calling for his mentor, his father in every right of the term, he comes back more empty than he left.

When you look at him with a too-knowing look, too infiltrating for his comfort, he easily slides into a quip.

“My old master, it seems, won’t appear unless on his own terms. I’m not sure what else I expected, honestly.”

******

You also learn that the man does not cook. Not that you consider yourself an expert, but at the very minimum, you know how to use spices, which on Tatooine come as hot as their weather.

“Is it a Jedi thing to have tasteless food, or is that just you?” You tease as he dices some sort of root at your direction while you sift through the cabinet.

His eyes are full of mischief when he’s quiet for a moment before speaking up. “I would argue there’s concrete evidence that I’m quite happy to indulge in the pleasures of taste.”

You can’t help your blush as his very pointed look.

Dinner is long forgotten after that, but the night is delectable all the same.

*****

Something has shifted in your own Force signature. Something you can’t put your finger on.

It doesn’t seem harmful or threatening in essence, but it makes you wary in a way that makes your skin itch with more than the dryness.

You try not to think much of it. After all, there’s plenty to do between tending to the vaporator, hunting, fending off the Sand People, and your learning to wield the Force.

After rumors of Tusken raiders being nearby, you ask Obi-Wan to teach you combat. This would be starting long before he normally would teach someone, he explained, but he does it anyway. It’s not exactly using the Force at first, having to start with how to even move your body in the event of attack, slowly enhancing those skills with the Force as you become more confident in them.

You look forward to it more than any other task. It gives you a strength you haven’t had before, and it’s a whole different level of connection to the Force when you trust it physically, not just in your mind.

It’s also another level of trust with Obi-Wan, knowing he’d never hurt you even as he enters the role of a potential threat, guiding you through how to handle it.

So you don’t know why today your stomach won’t agree to the way you want your body to move. You push through it anyway, despite Obi-Wan’s concerned questioning.

You lose your lunch into the rocks, and you really wish he wouldn’t pick you up to take you back into the hut, because the shift of what’s up and what’s down doesn’t help at all.

And you wish he wouldn’t dote over you the rest of the day, as if you didn’t feel useless enough already, as if the illness didn’t leave as quickly as it came.

You make a mental note to ensure you don’t let yourself become dehydrated again to that point.

*****

The trips into town are kept to a minimum, trying to keep curiosity away from the new couple. Also, there wasn’t much to do except barter and spend credits, something you both tried not to do a great deal of.

Obi-Wan was sent off with enough Republic credits to get you started here, but it was hit or miss if the vendors took them that day, and he also didn’t want to spend too much at once.

Nothing was more suspicious than surplus here.

The woman you brought the limited produce available from seemed… different this trip.

Obi-Wan was a couple of stalls down from you, negotiating with a man who had obviously jacked up the price on the items needed. Poor man didn’t know what he was in for.

You turned your attention back on to the woman in front of you, and tried to decipher what was different this time and why it felt so familiar.

As you pointed to a basket of hubba gourds, inquiring of the price, she gave you one that you knew for a fact was higher than last time.

You counter offered the same price as last time you were here, and she firmly stated her price again. Ready to stand your ground, you go to state your price again, she puts her hand to her belly, bringing her skirt in around, revealing a small bump.

“Can’t afford your low-ball offers with this one on the way, understand?”

The sky suddenly falls around you in thunderous clamor as the physical realm around you moves on, unaffected and unreachable. Almost mechanically, you place the credits she asked for on the table, not even capable of addressing the obvious manipulation.

Understanding drenches you in its brutal weight as you realize the source why she felt so different this time.

Your hands shake in their clasp on the basket as you pull yourself into a side alley, heaving your breakfast up.

Because you recognize the same difference in her is the exact same one that has changed your Force signature.

It’s because there’s a flickering light of another being’s Force signature within you.

Tagged as requested: @maybege

#obi-wan #obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #Obi-Wan fanfic #tw: violence #tw: pregnancy #tw: trauma #obi-wan x reader #obi wan x oc

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hellowkatey · 4 years ago

Text

Febuwhump Day 17

Prompt: truth serum (alternate prompt 1)

Read on AO3

Unpleasant Truths

Anakin opens his mouth to say something but is immediately interrupted.

"Nope," Obi-Wan says with a swift shake of the head that makes a tendril of hair fall into his face. "Not a word, Anakin."

"Oh come on, Master."

"Not. A. Word."

"Do we have anything better to do?"

"Well, no," Obi-Wan says, and then cringes. Anakin has a feeling that wasn't the answer he wanted to give.

Anakin and Obi-Wan sit in adjacent beds of the med bay aboard The Resolute. There was only one private exam room left for them to take up, so they opted to share. While they aren't particularly hurt-- no more than any usual battle-- they were captured and exposed to a particularly potent truth serum. Nobody is really sure what to do with them. Least of all, one another. Anakin supposes his former master figured the lesser evil was to lock them in a room together-- no secrets accidentally being revealed to those without clearance.

However, they don't know how long this serum is supposed to last. They're waiting for Kix to come back with bloodwork.

"How will we know when it's worn off if we don't ask questions?" Anakin suggests. Obi-Wan doesn't look in the least bit amused.

"Because I know you. You're going to ask about things that amuse you or that you want to be nosy about," he raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that right?"

The knight swallows hard, the truth on the tip of his tongue. Of course, he is powerless in preventing it from slipping.

"Yes," he mutters.

"So no talking. We will wait for labs."

"You're no fun," Anakin lays back on the bed and points over at him. "And you know I'm telling the truth about that."

They sit in the prescribed silence for an hour or so before the door opens and Kix comes strolling in with a datapad and a set of IVs.

"Hello generals, how are we doing?"

"Not ideal," Obi-Wan says.

"Bored," Anakin chimes in. Kix looks a tad caught off guard-- maybe not used to them answering so truthfully about their condition. His brown eyes flicker between them before he decides to just give them the report.

"So the good news is the serum appears to be non-lethal. We just have to wait for it to filter out of your systems."

"I assume there is bad news then?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Well... the problem is, it embeds itself into the brain and spinal fluid. I have no way of knowing how long it will be in effect without doing an unnecessarily invasive procedure."

"Well that's..." Obi-Wan trails off, glancing at Anakin. "disappointing."

"Do you have a guess on how long, Kix?"

He seems to wager this in his head. "Six hours? More or less."

Great. There goes my afternoon.

Kix excuses himself, promises to return if they learn anymore. As soon as he's out the door, Obi-Wan lays back, letting his head fall against the pillow, and lets out an exacerbated sigh. Anakin can feel him in the beginnings of meditation, the Force around them drawing into his presence and making it shine like a beacon. And then it releases, and Obi-Wan groans again.

"What's wrong?"

"This blasted drug is muddying up the Force. I can't concentrate."

"Oh no, you might have to spend the next six hours actually conscious," Anakin rolls his eyes.

"Meditating passes the time."

"Talking passes the time."

"Anakin," he sighs.

"Oh yes, what a tragedy to spend time with me."

The Jedi Master looks at him now, his eyebrows knit together. "I like spending time with you, Anakin. Do you think I don't?"

"Well... yeah."

"What could make you think that?"

He bites on his tongue, knowing fully well it won't help a thing. "You... dismiss me. Or seem annoyed by me. Or... I don't know... treat me like I'm still a little kid."

The truth falls heavy between them, and suddenly Anakin wishes they'd stuck to the code of silence. Obi-Wan's face shifts into something that he can only categorize as devastation. Even though it's true that he feels that sometimes his master wants nothing to do with him, he never wanted him to know that.

"Anakin... I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes trained intensely on him. "I didn't realize..."

"Obi-Wan, don't apologize. I guess... I wanted what you and Qui-Gon had." He remembers fondly the brief memories of a young padawan Obi-Wan and his master. The little looks they had that meant more than they seemed. The inside jokes and synergy when they fought alongside one another. Anakin thinks he and Obi-Wan have some of that. They are two parts of a deadly machine on the battlefield, and they share their own little jokes but sometimes there's just this disconnect. Like he trusts him with his life, but not with the secret of his wife. He doesn't think it's supposed to be this way.

But surprisingly, Obi-Wan stiffens at his comment. Anakin wonders if the serum also makes his body language more readable because he's never seen his master so expressive. "What Qui-Gon and I... Anakin when you told me you thought I didn't like spending time with you, it made me worried that I had grown to be too much like Qui-Gon."

"What do you mean?"

He stares off into space a moment. Obviously fighting against the serum, which only makes Anakin more worried about his answer. Never has he ever heard a bad word about Master Jinn, so he isn't sure what it could have been.

"Qui-Gon and I... had a rocky relationship. He didn't want another padawan, but Yoda was quite insistent. He took me, it was a long time before he accepted me."

"Then... how did you become his padawan?"

"I... well to make a long story short I was willing to detonate a bomb that would kill me but save the agricorps settlement, and I suppose he took that as reassurance I wouldn't let him down," Obi-Wan presses his lips together. "Too bad he was wrong about that."

Now Anakin is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his master with confusion. "What do you mean he was wrong?"

"Well, I did leave the order shortly after, which thoroughly shattered his expectations."

"Wait, what?" There is just... so much to unpack in the few things he just revealed. But Obi-Wan looks at him with a face that pleas him to stop. So Anakin relaxes, holding in the urge to ask more questions. "Will you tell me about this when we aren't under truth serum?"

"Yes," he answers. Definitively. Without hesitation. So Anakin nods and sits back on the bed, his head still whirring with questions.

"Can I... ask why you felt Qui-Gon didn't like you? I always thought-- I don't know, that you guys were a team."

He crosses his arms over his chest, focusing on an invisible spot on the ceiling. "We had different ideas of how to do things. That's why Yoda wanted us together. I was an angry and headstrong youngling, and he was a rebel the council needed to find a way to reel in."

Anakin scoffs. "You? Angry?"

A small smile appears on his face. "I packed a nasty right hook in my initiate days. So when I was faced with a Master who disregarded the rules, I assumed the role of the logical rule follower."

"And then you never gave up that role."

"I had punk for a padawan, what else was I to do?"

Anakin looks down at his lap, a small smile on his face.

"Is this why you don't talk about your padawan years very often?"

"The memory of Qui-Gon is... painful. As are many of the experiences I had as a child," he winces.

Well, this is depressing, Anakin thinks, wishing he could ask more but he knows it would be wrong to do so. The mystery of Obi-Wan's past has suddenly been blown right open and he isn't quite sure what to make of it. Left the order? Denied by Qui-Gon? In his head, he had this image of his tiny master, fresh-faced and spouting off Jedi Code at every chance.

"Why does nobody ever talk about that stuff?" Anakin asks, wondering how he's gone over a decade as a Jedi without hearing a word about his master's unusual apprenticeship.

"It wasn't widely known. The council and a few others," Obi-wan stares at him, sadness in his eyes. "But there is no honor in tainting the reputation of the dead."

"But you..." Anakin lets out a shaky breath. "I talked about him all the time. And you never told me?"

"Qui-Gon... was your hero. He saved you, and I- I didn't want that to change for you," he pauses, his face paler now. "Anakin, he wasn't a bad man. He was great Jedi, deeply caring for others and a fantastic master-- I have no doubt had he lived, you two would have made a powerful... and troublesome pair."

Anakin isn't sure what to say about it. He is ashamed of the number of times he was mad at his master and wished a different reality for himself. He doesn't even know the entire extent of whatever Obi-Wan is referring to, but somehow he just... knows.

He's heard rumors before. The story of the Jedi Master who gave up his padawan to train a new initiate he thought was promising. The padawans considered it a horror story to tell when they snuck out of their rooms at night to walk the darkened halls. It took Anakin longer than he's willing to admit to realize the story was about him and Master Jinn's dismissal of Obi-Wan. The way Anakin remembered it was he declared Obi-Wan ready to be a knight and that he would then be free to take Anakin.

Apparently, that wasn't the case. He didn't understand the gravity of the gesture then, and never really thought about it too hard after.

But now... now he thinks about that story again-- that apparently Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had issues in the past-- and maybe there was a lot more there than he even knows.

"When this is over, will you tell me everything, Master?"

"No," he says. No hesitation or waver in his voice.

"No?"

"There are some things I can't tell you."

"But why?"

To Anakin's surprise, he chuckles. "I am allowed my secrets, just as you are allowed yours."

This, of course, sends Anakin into a bit of internal panic. Is he just assuming I also have secrets or... does he know?

"I guess... that's fair."

"When this is over we will rest, and then I will tell you some things about my apprenticeship. And you may ask whatever questions you have then."

He supposes that's good enough. The nice thing about truth serum is he knows Obi-Wan isn't making empty promises. They leave things there for a while, Anakin falling asleep for a bit, and when he awakes, it's Obi-Wan who is surprisingly dozing off. Five hours pass. Anakin has moved to the end of Obi-Wan's bed to lay diagonally across it on his stomach, and Obi-Wan sits cross-legged against the headboard.

"Have you ever been in love, Master?" Anakin asks, looking up expecting a slap to the back of the head for such a question, but instead Obi-Wan smiles a little bit.

"Would it surprise you if I said yes?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, it is."

Anakin blinks. He had his suspicions, but to hear it aloud...

"The Duchess?"

"Yes."

"And others?"

"A few."

"A few?"

He chuckles.

"To love is not prohibited, it is to put such love ahead of one's duty."

He's never thought about it like that.

"Have you been in love, Anakin?"

"Yes," he says. I'm in love, he thinks to himself.

Obi-Wan hesitates a moment, looking down at him with uncertainty that Anakin thinks he knows the source of. He supposes it's only fair, he's dug into his past relentlessly the past few hours but... his wife isn't just his past, she's his present. His future. Though a part of him wants to tell Obi-Wan about her more than anything, a part of him also knows that his knowing will put him in a horrible position with the council. The secret will undoubtedly come out, and he will be expelled from the Order or be forced to give her up. And nothing can make him give Padmé up.

"Padmé?"

Anakin looks at him. The neutrality of his face just makes him more nervous. He looks his former master dead in the eye.

"Padmé and I... are only close friends, Master."

Obi-Wan nods. Anakin hides his stress by burying his face in the comforter.

Well... looks like the serum has worn off.

Anakin decides to wait another half an hour before he lets Obi-Wan know that, though. Just to be safe.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday17 #truth serum #oh look im catching up #or trying #anakin and obi-wan try to talk about things

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astudyinfreewill · 5 years ago

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hey this may be a stupid question, but it's already been a long time since ive read trk so i don't remember everything properly, so can you explain to me why exactly ganseys behavior in the book is seen as problematic??

hey! don’t worry, there are no stupid questions in my book. in fairness, it’s not about gansey’s behaviour in trk, it’s about his behaviour throughout the whole series. most of his problematic actions all come down to the same basic flaw: self-centeredness. for all that gansey is a generous and loving person, he can’t help but make everything about himself. he is driven by anxiety to define his place in the world beyond his privilege, yet he is blinded by that very same privilege - a bad combination, and one that leads him to show very little empathy for the people he loves.

like many teenagers, he’s looking for affirmation from his friends... but then resents them for not giving it, while failing to see that (most of) his friends are dealing with traumatic issues. when his friends reject his input - because it is not what they need or want at the moment - gansey always, always takes it personally. at no point does he try to ask himself, okay, if this isn’t what my friends need, then what do they need from me and how can i be a better friend? instead, he goes straight into self-pity mode, complaining that his friends reject his support and walk away from him. thing is... it’s not real support if it only makes him feel better and not them.

i don’t really have the time to write an extensive meta on all of the interactions where gansey’s lack of empathy comes into play, but here’s a list of just the most glaring ones in the series, in no particular order:

gansey consistently tries to pay for adam’s way and persuade him to move in with him, even though adam has told him multiple times that he is uncomfortable with it because independence is key to his sense of self as an abuse survivor. sometimes he does this even when he’s fully aware that it will start a fight. despite that, adam is usually the one apologizing, at least on page

notably in trb there’s a scene where gansey tries to get adam to move in with him, but when adam asks what’s going to happen if gansey leaves henrietta - is adam just supposed to drop out of aglionby and follow him? - gansey doesn’t reassure him that’s not gonna happen. he just says adam will have to start again at a new school.

as i said above, this is not true support because it helps gansey feel better without inconveniencing him, but it is not what adam wants. if gansey wanted to support adam, he’d at least promise he would stay in henrietta for their final year of high school, instead of expecting adam to follow him around the world.

when adam rejects that offer and says he’ll stay in the trailer park, gansey takes it incredibly personally and his first response is to victim-blame adam for his abuse, saying things like: “you let your dad pound the shit out of you. you’re as bad as [your abusive mother]. you think you deserve it.” when adam still refuses to move in, and tells him, rightfully so, that gansey doesn’t know what it’s like for him, gansey follows that up with “don’t pretend you have anything to be proud of”. this is past mean and straight into cruel.

adam is the one who apologizes after this fight. let that sink in.

when thinking back on ronan’s suicide attempt, it is strongly implied in the text - and was made explicit in deleted scenes - that gansey appears to have taken ronan’s suicide attempt not just as a traumatic event, but as a slight against him, and is always vaguely guilt-trippy when it comes up (i.e. you promised me you wouldn’t get suicidal again)

gansey does illegal things on ronan’s behalf, multiple times, without ever wondering if this is what ronan wants, see: bribing school officials to keep ronan in school when ronan explicitly wants to drop out, because staying in school is what gansey thinks he should do. even if gansey’s heart was in the right place (i believe in staying in school), he is essentially involving ronan in illegal dealings against his will.

gansey is happy to share his search for glendower with the others, and delegate tasks to them (adam especially) as long as they do things his way. when adam acts against one of his decisions, gansey is absolutely unable to let that go. and while i understand that he is hurt by the breach of trust, because adam went behind his back, his language is telling: “i did tell him that we were to wait, right?”. you don’t “tell” your friends what they “are to do”. that’s not an equal relationship.

this is also seen in the way gansey acts with ronan in more of a parental role, actively ordering him about. you know there is a problem when an outside character refers to ronan as “gansey’s dog” and neither gansey nor ronan disagree with this.

there’s the infamous hospital scene in trb, too, which has been excellently analysed in this meta post by @bleachersmp3 and @mericatblackwood, but i’ll say a few words about it anyway

in this scene, adam has just been beaten into losing his hearing. he has just come out of the hospital, bruised and traumatised, and has been told he will now have a permanent disability as a result of his abuse. he is now also homeless, because by pressing charges against his father to protect ronan, he has ensured his parents will kick him out for good. so he is forced to move into monmouth - something we have been told from the start of the book he absolutely did not want, because it was critical to his sense of self not to depend on gansey’s wealth. so, he’s bitter about it.

and okay, that’s not entirely fair, because it wasn’t gansey’s fault. but if your friend had just undergone such horrific trauma, surely you would be a little lenient, and understand they’re not being objective atm, right? well, not gansey. instead, gansey launches into a tirade at him: “what is your problem, adam? [...] is there something about my place that’s too repugnant for you? [...] I’m sick of tiptoeing around your principles!”

when adam snaps at him that he’s being condescending by using highbrow words (we can assume that this is a discussion they’ve had before, because adam tries to get gansey to use more everyday words multiple times in the book, especially when it’s clear that blue doesn’t understand something, so it’s something gansey already know adam finds condescending), gansey goes straight to victim-blaming again, this time with a classist twist thrown in: “i’m sorry your father never taught you the meaning of repugnant. he was too busy smashing your head against the wall of your trailer while you apologized for being alive.”

gansey does not apologize at any point after this fight.

when adam sacrifices himself to cabeswater - which he does explicitly to stop whelk from murdering one of them and save gansey - gansey takes it as a slight against him, because it goes against what he told adam to do, and sadly asks adam “why? was i so awful?”, showing he has completely misunderstood adam’s reasons. adam tells him, and not for the last time: “it was never about you”.

it clearly doesn’t sink in bc they have the same discussion in the dream thieves, when gansey again asks him why did he go to cabeswater against his orders. he does this in an emotionally manipulative way, too - implying that ronan and blue both think badly of him while gansey has been defending him so adam owes him. adam again tries to tell him “it wasn’t about you”, which gansey refuses to believe, and reminds adam that the glendower search “belongs” to him. adam replies that if gansey wants adam’s help - which gansey relies upon frequently, as it seems like adam is assigned a very large share of research and coming up with ideas - he needs to treat him as an equal

after the fight, when adam has a mental breakdown due to the combination of stress, ptsd, and magically-induced hallucinations, and is found wandering along a highway, clearly dissociating and undergoing amnesia, gansey is still so bitter about their fight that he contemplates leaving him behind in dc, so that “adam will have to apologize for once” (for once???)

consider all this emphasis gansey puts on how much adam betrayed his trust; consider that gansey then spends nearly two books seeing blue behind adam’s back (starting in tdt, through bllb, and halfway through trk)

consider that despite the fact adam takes the reveal gracefully and thanks gansey for his honesty, when adam later in trk is honest with gansey about his feelings for ronan, gansey’s immediate reaction is to assume adam is using ronan as a sexuality experiment and warns him not to break ronan’s heart, because ronan is just so fragile and adam is just so cold

consider that the only basis gansey has for making this assumption is that “adam has hurt him (gansey) so many times before”, but never stops to think about his own responsibility in their disagreements, or whether he ever hurt adam

as you can see, the vast majority of these are in the first two books, with the exception of the “shovel talk” in trk. i would like to say gansey grows over the series, but i think unfortunately it’s more to do with the fact that starting with bllb, the plot is split between gansey/blue and adam/ronan, so gansey just doesn’t get as many interactions with adam and ronan (he’s still bribing school officials on ronan’s behalf though, including selling monmouth which at the time is where ronan is also living).

gansey isn’t a bad person, and doesn’t (always) mean badly. he does love his friends. unfortunately, his refusal to see things from anyone’s perspective but his own makes him a toxic friend on a great number of occasions.

#trc #meta #gansey #toxic friendship #mp #gotta stop here because i need to work and also i'm getting upset #long post #suicide mention tw #anonymous #answer #my meta

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whitexwingedxdoves · 4 years ago

Text

Scream part 4

Scream. Part Four: Help Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Platonic Peter Parker x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warning: Swearing, fighting, little fluffy. Summary: Scream pleas with Venom to help her, when he refuses you strike a deal with her. A/N: Gets a little heated in this one. I’m not sure how many more parts there will be but im excited with what I have planned for this. I barley had time to proof read this one so, sorry if theres any mistakes; Ive been editing my podcast at the same time ha. If you want to be tagged, just ask <3 Master list of chapters

When you finally woke up, you found yourself in what you could only presume was a cell. Though it wasn’t bars and a metal bed, no. It looked comfortable and the walls almost seemed invisible if it wasn’t for the blue hue. What the hell happened.

You stopped panicking long enough to notice Bucky was sat in a chair just outside your cell. You allowed your eyes pan over him for a moment. His body seemed calm but the look on his face screamed worry. “You’re awake” he words were soft and despite your current situation, they made a part of you melt like butter. He pushed himself off the chair taking a few steps closer to your cell. “what-what happened?” you stumbled over your words as they seemed to crack in your throat. You listened to every word that spilt from his lips, explaining how Venom knocked you out, that Venom’s host was called Eddie Brock and despite them both being arseholes, Eddie seemed much more rational. He ended his little speech claiming that they had come up with an agreement, You were to stay with the Avengers, try to control the Symbiote or completely get rid but Tony argued his point of how it had to be your choice and despite Venom’s obvious opposition, Eddie managed to get him on board. You sat with the information you were given for a moment, allowing it to sink in. You clearly had a big choice to make. I want to talk to him. It sounded like she was crying and instantly broke your heart. “She want’s to talk to him! I want to talk to him” your words seemed a little too stern but you stood your ground. Bucky nodded before leaving the room without another word.

You were only alone for a couple of seconds until a large framed man walked through the sliding doors. You watched the way he carried himself and already you could tell that Bucky was telling the truth, he was an arsehole. He stopped in front of you cell, a smirk etched onto his face which caused your eyes to roll. “She wants to talk to Venom” you demanded, in which he cockily shrugged and instantly morphed into the large Symbiote, it didn’t take long until Scream made her appearance. She was silent for a moment, you could feel your eyes welling up at the emotion she held. “You have to help me” though she stood confidently, her words showed weakness, even more so when he laughed at her. “You have to help me!” she repeated, her words louder now, causing Venom to growl slightly at her. “Help you? Look at you, no amount of help would stop you from being so pathetic” he spat at her, you could feel the anger bubble through your blood as his words cut through you. “You can’t just leave me here like this. We’re suppose to be family!” anyone with ears could hear the pain in her words. “You have to help me understand” she pleaded but you couldn’t take it anymore.

For the first time since she bonded with you, you took control. Forcing yourself to appear, your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at Venom. “Let me talk to Eddie!” you spat at him, your face showing nothing but disgust at the actions of the Klyntar. He laughed before his form shifted back to Eddie. “Can’t you talk to him” you so hoped that he would agree, that he would be the middle man, Scream needed so bad but alas, he just shook his head, a small laugh left his lips. “Look, it’s not my problem, I’ve got better things to do. I can’t babysit yet another Symbiote” he shrugged. Your eyes narrowed at the man as he turned on his heels to leave the room. “You’re both cowards.” You whispered, as he waved you off.

You sat back slight on the bed that was provided in the cell, trying to figure out what to do. You thoughts rushing from one scenario to another. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to let them pull her from you. We can do this together. Despite her silence, you felt her gratitude towards you. If you can promise me, you wont try and kill everyone. I’ll help you, I’ll help you figure it all out! She promised and with that you called to Friday and asked to see Tony.

When you told Tony your plan of helping Scream, he was a little unsure but soon came around. You got him to agree to let the part he extracted from you, back into your body so that she could fully bond with you. Once you rested after you felt the rest of Scream find its place in you, you headed towards the gym. You saw Peter go in there not long ago and you figured he would probably be the best bet to help you with these new powers. With each step you could feel Scream getting stronger, it scared you a little, considering how much of a loose cannon she had been but you chose to trust your instinct.

Pushing the door open to the gym, you looked around to spot Peter, sitting on the edge of a boxing ring swinging his legs, listening to Happy drone on about the importance of understanding his strength. The bored expression on the teens face wasn’t lost on you causing you to giggle a little. Both their head snapping towards you before you started taking steps towards them. “Sorry to interrupt the pep talk” you giggled finally reaching them, you hand settled on Happy’s shoulder for a second. “You mind if I steal the kid for a moment?” you questioned he seemed reluctant at first but nodded, realising himself from your touch and throwing a look Peter’s way as if to say their conversation was yet but over.

You waited until the man left the room before turning to boy. Giving him a small smile before propping yourself next to him. “How you feeling?” he questioned, his voice a little shaky. You almost forgot how terrified he looked at you after he first met you. You nodded slowly pressing your lips into a thin line. “Actually, I feel great!” you admitted, placing your palms on your thighs. “I actually came here to ask you a favour!” you’re face scrunched up a little as you awaited his response. “Yeah- yeah sure. What is it?” you allowed a small smile to grace your face as he stumbled over his words. Assuming the boy had been fully informed of the decision you made, you sighed a little. “Well, considering you and Scream seem to share the same sort of... powers, I was hoping you could help me- help her figure them out” your words were slightly unsure of asking him to do such a thing. He took a moment, figuring out his decision before finally nodding, a little too aggressively.

You had probably been in the gym with the boy for hours at this point, constantly morphing in and out of your natural form as Peter taught you how to use your powers, the ones he shared with you anyway, despite being completely taken back by the webs that shot from her skin compared to the device he wore to make it happen. You on the other hand experienced scaling the celling for the first time, you couldn’t deny the fear that spread through your entire body, despite not having any control over it. Finally you had completely exhausted yourself but the boy barley broke a sweat, your head snapped at the sound of the door swinging open. Now standing in place of the door was Bucky, laughing slightly at how the two of you contrasted each other. You looked up at him like a saving grace for a moment, thankful to be done with this training experience. You noticed he was holding something in his hand but you couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“I think i’ve taken up too much of your time, Kid!” your words were breathless as you peeled yourself off the canvas you once sat on and patted him on the shoulder. Making your way over to the taller man, with a grateful smile on your face. He greeted you with a sly laugh, slightly mocking the way you obviously couldn’t match Peter’s stamina. Without a word, he held up a DVD case and displayed it on his chest. You’re eyes glossed over it for a moment before returning to his gaze with a rather large smile. “Fight Club?!” mixing you confusion with excitement as he escorted you out of the room. “Yeah, figure you’ve had a long day and you seemed almost offended knowing I haven’t seen it yet” a light chuckle left his lips as you both made your way towards your rooms. You didn’t say much of anything else before you reached your room, you told him you just needed to shower and signalled to the beads of sweat rolling across your body, he nodded and made his way to his room leaving you to do just that.

After you felt sufficiently clean and swapped your clothes for some that laid spare in one of the dressers, you made your way to Bucky’s room, lightly brushing your knuckles over the door. It took a couple of seconds before he answered with that forced smile of his. Though you knew it was genuine you couldn’t help but wonder if after all this time he’d simply forgotten how to smile. He lead you towards the bed before handing you a beer. You took in the sight of his dark room for a second before pressing the bottle on your lips, allowing the cold liquid run down your throat. You watched him fumble around with the DVD case attempting to figure out how his TV even worked. You didn’t offer any help, it was far too entertaining to get involved.

Finally he conquered the TV and sat back on his bed, holding onto the remote. He patted the mattress beside him, signalling you to climb on and you did just that. You allowed your body to curl up as you rested your back on the headrest of the bed, slightly turned in Bucky’s direction, resting the cold bottle on your thigh. When he noticed you had gotten comfortable, he pressed play and relaxed himself. You couldn’t help yourself looking at him every time something good was about to happen, needing to take in his reaction and never being disappointed. Every so often, he’d catch your gaze but instead of commenting on it, he’d ask about the plot line or one of the actor’s. You where taken back a little as he reacted the same way you did when Brad Pitt appeared on screen with nothing on but washing up gloves but it only made you laugh.

With your beer’s finished and the room now filled with the sound of Where is my mind by the pixies, you allowed yourself to stretch out a little. “So...” you pestered the older man, nudging him slightly with your knee. He just nodded in response, looking up at you. “Good, hu?” you giggled slightly placing the empty bottle on his night stand. You listened to the song for a moment, unintentionally singing along as you seemed distracted. You snapped back to reality as you felt eyes on you, looking up at Bucky, you couldn’t help but note how incredibly handsome he was in this moment. The way his eyes seemed to soak you up, the smile that got a little more natural every time he allowed one to pass. “Thank you” you whispered softly, slightly taken back by the way he looked at you. You’re eyes now filled with admiration for the man, you admired how he took the time out of his own busy day to make yours a little easier. He just shook his head at your words, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. The air suddenly feeling far to thick for your lungs as he got closer and closer to your face. The heat radiated off your cheeks as you felt his breath blow on you hair gently, each strand slightly tickling your face. Before you could even register what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. You didn’t react at first, taken back by the sudden gesture but as soon as you managed to wrap your head around it, you leaned into his lips kissing him back a little more hungrily than it started. You felt his arm wrap around your waist pushing you on your back gently as he hovered over you. Your hands explored his hair, grasping at it a little as he laid you down so delicately. Your breathing became short and restless as his hands explored the rest of your body, tickling slightly as he allowed his finger tips to tease the hem of your shirt. Oh, that’s hot!

Startled by the voice in your head, you pulled away from a moment only to receive a confused look from Bucky, attempting to ignore it, you pulled him back to your lips, easily falling back into his grasp. I wonder what he does with the metal arm. You groaned slightly at the voice in your head, praying and begging she would just leave, let you have your moment. Of course she didn’t, every so often she would say something to pull you from the moment until you had, had enough. Finally you pushed away from Bucky completely. “Go away!” you shouted, your hands resting on your temples. Bucky seemed a little taken back by your sudden out burst, sitting up right on the bed. “I thought you wanted to –“ he started before you turned your attention to him, a defeated look on your face. “No, I do – I really do but” now turning away from him, you could feel your face getting slightly flushed. “She keeps talking to me” you admitted only to be met with his laugh. You felt the weight of the mattress shift as he made his way closer to you, you felt the strap of your shirt fall onto your forearm before the sensation of the cold kisses he planted in it place, slowly making his way to your ear. “I know how we can shut her up”

tag list : @sadbutradbarnes @sweetdayme4427

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel symbiotes #peter parker x y/n #platonic peter parker x reader

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chrysalispen · 3 years ago

Text

iv. never give the heart outright

AO3 link HERE Chapter under cut.

====

The day Aurelia Laskaris left Gridania dawned damp and foggy: as mundane and unremarkable a sendoff as one could possibly wish. The heat wave had relented overnight and the wind with it, and the trees’ leaves hung still and sparkling with droplets of dew. Pale rays of early morning sun filtered through the low-hanging wisps of cloud and collected dust motes and small insects in their wake. The quality of it reminded her of L’haiya’s lace curtains, the way their softness and the delicate patterns and filtered sunbeams had always framed the sitting room windows of her girlhood home.

The driver of the chocobo carriage aimed to set out from the city before full daybreak. Thus she stood in drowsy silence along with half a dozen other passengers set to board, watching the lalafellin teamster as he and the Canopy’s porters secured the larger bags. Barring any unforeseen incidents, the carriage’s route would take them south past Quarrymill, through the marshes near old Amdapor, and south into the high desert of northeastern Thanalan until they reached Ul’dah.

It had taken her all of three days to conclude her affairs: there was, after all, no property for her to sell, nor any anxious relatives to wheedle her into remaining.

Watching the small man loop his handfuls of hempen rope to secure over boxes and bags and other people’s assorted belongings, Aurelia felt a certain twinge of wistfulness that she had not expected. The forest city was not quite home, but it had served as the closest thing she had to one for nearly five years. But it was not enough to keep her. The excitement of the road ahead had not left her, and she faced the morning with bright eyes and a clear mind. The sun was up and so was she.

Keveh’to did not share her optimism, that much was obvious with a mere glance. The Miqo’te stood at her side with an expression one could only describe as pained. His ears lay flat against his fluffy hair, and his fawn-colored bottlebrush tail lashed emphatic and agitated beats against her leg.

“I know I’ve asked you half a dozen times now,” he said quietly, “but are you absolutely certain about this?"

Her answer was the same as it had been each time he had asked:

“As certain as I shall ever be.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Yes, well,” she felt a twinge of annoyance at his pessimism surface at last, “as one recalls, ‘twas you who made the suggestion that I consider further study afield.”

"When you told me you’d give the matter some thought, I didn’t expect you to come back to Miounne’s place the same day with a letter of introduction already scripted and sealed.” His arms folded over his chest and he stared up into the canopy. “E-Sumi-Yan must have had that letter already waiting to give to you, whatever he said.”

“Perhaps. It’s not as though he would have told me if he did.” Aurelia looked down at herself and smoothed the pleats of her skirt yet again. All of it, from head to toe, was new. It felt so odd; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had new clothing. “Thank you again,” she continued, somewhat awkwardly. “For the traveling attire. It's quite fine.”

Keveh’to shrugged. A dull rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck. “It’s Ul’dah,” he said. “They’ll toss you out the gates on your arse if you show up looking like a beggar.”

“Hells below,” she tried to make a jest of it with a soft laugh, “you make it sound as though they’ll have a fashion inspector awaiting my arrival.”

“No. But I’ve known my share of that lot, and ‘tis not unlikely they’ll hit you with a demand for a hefty bribe at least once.”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories from some of the others.”

“And for goodness’ sake, Relia- please do yourself a favor and be careful about the company you keep. No one needs to know about you-know-what.” He tapped his temple with a humorless smile. “Ul’dah is a great deal more cosmopolitan than our humble little forest abode, but even they might balk at that.”

The stare she gave him could best be described as obstinate, with the hard set of her jawline. “...I might be ignorant of many Eorzean customs, but I should like to think I am not that much of a fool.”

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

“Rest assured, I do appreciate the thought.” Still so glum. She frowned at him, “I thought that this decision would have pleased you. You made no secret you were tired of watching me mope about.”

“I- yes. But-”

He opened his mouth, stuttered into empty air, then sighed.

The other passengers milled about them in a somnolent shuffle, muttering to each other and passing bags back and forth. A pair of snowy-haired elezen twins in clothing as new and fine as her own brushed past Aurelia and Keveh’to without sparing a second glance, their identical braids and hair-ribbons stirring in a cool and sluggish breeze from the riverbank. She waited for the pair to pass well out of earshot before she continued, as gently as she could manage:

“This isn’t goodbye forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“They gave me honorary citizenship. I think I’m obligated to at least visit from time to time.” Another jest, one which failed in a like manner as the other to crack his solemn visage. “But I do fully plan on returning once I’ve completed my studies.”

“Right. I understand that. It’s…” His ears swiveled forward, then back, still flattened unhappily against his hair. “...Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, go on.”

“It’s a trifling personal matter. Naught that you should worry about.”

“If you have something to say-”

That stony stoicism faded at last, relaxing into a smile, but it was as sad a smile as she had ever seen Keveh’to Epocan give anyone. “Matter of fact, I did. Once. But I see now that I’ve gone and waited too long,” he said cryptically. “Saying it now won’t change anything, and I wager I’d only feel worse if it did.”

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Truly, I am.”

His smile stretched into a grin. It made him look far more like the man she had come to know, the friend who teased and needled her and let her talk herself into momentous decisions. “You’ve no cause to be sorry for anything, my friend. The fault is mine own if there’s fault to be placed. I’m just being sentimental, I suppose. And, mayhap, a touch selfish.”

“Last call for luggage,” bellowed one of the porters. “If ye don’t bring it up now, ye’ll be carryin’ it yerselves! ‘Tis a long road ahead! Last call for luggage!”

Aurelia looked down at herself, then the bags at her feet. She only had the three pieces: her salvaged field kit, her herbal bag, and the pack which held in it those few trifling personal possessions she owned, including her mother’s memento mori. The field kit’s thick carbonweave strap perched on her shoulder, its tripartite-link imperial insignia long since removed by her own hand (Rhaya Wolndara’s angry reaction to the sight of it had been a valuable lesson in precaution) and its once-hefty weight now considerably lightened with even her most conservative usage of its contents over the years.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with transparently forced cheer, “let’s be about it. This lot won’t load itself.”

“The field kit needs to stay with me,” she drew out of reach when he stretched out a hand to take it from her shoulder. “Too many fragile items. Glass and the like. I’ll not trust it to the vagaries of a draught chocobo.”

“Fair enough.”

He picked up the others and made his way toward the waiting porter as the small collection of passengers began to mill towards the slatted steps. A Highlander man drowsed near the front of the carriage, hand wrapped loosely about a wine bottle and otherwise oblivious to the world. Aurelia double-checked the small leather belt she wore to make sure the letters Miounne and E-Sumi-Yan had penned were intact; a fine mess it would be if she were to lose them on the journey.

“Aurelia!”

The matronly Duskwight proprietress of the Carline Canopy stood head and shoulders over most of the passengers, and she quickly drew their attention as she made her way towards the small gathering with a swift and decisive stride. The Garlean offered her a small smile.

“Good morning to you, Miounne,” she said. “Come to see me off, have you?”

“I certainly have. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving us this morning without breaking your fast, girl,” was Miounne’s brisk reply, though she returned the smile as she held out her hands. In them, she carried a steaming tin cup and a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I set aside one of my eel pies for you. ‘Tis a bit chilly as well, so I thought some hot tea might do you well on the road. Don’t worry about the cup; I have plenty of them.”

Touched by the gesture, Aurelia carefully took the cup and the wrapped pie, one in each hand.

“You didn’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Miounne said, a wry smirk tilting her lips. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But I did. The pie is heavy and should keep your belly full for a day or two. You’ll be changing carriages at the station in Highbridge to the Sunroad trail; you’ll want to get more supplies while you’re there-- make sure you have plenty of fresh water. There’s naught betwixt Drybone and the city save malms of scrubland, and this time of year the water holes will be too low to sustain travelers. I imagine the Calamity will have made the pickings slim for hunting as well.”

Aurelia nodded.

“Once you pass through the city gates, make your way to the Quicksand. That’s where the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild operates; the proprietress’ name is Momodi Modi. I sent word ahead that she’s to expect your arrival within the sennight. All you need to do is give her your name and mine.”

“I... yes. I’ll do that.”

“And please, Aurelia dear- do take care in Ul’dah. It is a very different sort of city from ours. You are a kind woman with the best of intentions and there are those who would…” Miounne hesitated. “...Well. I’ll not fearmonger; I’ll wager you’ve heard enough of that. But I would ask the Twelve to watch over you nonetheless- if that’s all right, of course.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she watched Keveh’to’s back, the way his officer’s overcoat pulled taut across the shoulders as he passed her bags to the porter, then cast her eyes down at Miounne’s parting gifts.

The sight brought back a memory of the last time she had left behind the familiar to set out for the unknown: fresh from her schooling, set to board a train at the capital’s processing center after she had enlisted in the imperial army. No one had accompanied her. Not to give her well wishes or helpful directions, or even to wave their farewells from the platform as the train departed for the tunnels bored beneath the mountains and into the heart of Castrum Pinnaculum. She had gone to the station alone, had left alone, and for the first few weeks of basic training, she had struggled alone.

But she was not alone now. Perhaps she no longer owned a marvel of a garden, or slept in a fine bed, or wore silks, but since coming to Eorzea she had made more friends in this past handful of years than in the previous decade. That had to count for something.

Aurelia stared into the steaming teacup and swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat with considerable effort, then looked at the other woman with glassy blue eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said at last. “And thank you, Miounne. For everything.”

Before the woman could muster a response Aurelia had turned away and hurried towards the lowered carriage steps. She didn’t want to lose her nerve or shed tears, not today, and she still had one more farewell to give.

Keveh’to reached the steps first; he plucked the carbonweave strap from her shoulder and slung it over his own the moment she drew near. “Let me pass that up to you once you’re seated,” he said. “You can’t carry both your breakfast and this great bloody thing onto the carriage.”

She was the last to board. The wooden stair was showing its age and it creaked even under Aurelia’s slight weight as she made her way onto the covered deck. The platinum-headed Elezen twins she had seen earlier sat in the back near the cargo across from the last empty space: the one in blue was wholly absorbed in perusing a tome while the one in red dozed upon their companion’s shoulder. Neither of them paid her any mind as she set her teacup and snugly wrapped meal upon the open seat. Nor did any of the others, for that matter.

Mayhap this part was not so very different from that long ago train ride after all.

Aurelia chuckled aloud, though the sound lacked humor, and turned towards the other end of the carriage at the sound of swift footsteps. Keveh’to had come up behind her to deliver her remaining bag. The half-empty imperial field kit, still large and cumbersome for all it lacked much of the weight it once bore, smacked with a quiet dull thud against his thigh with each step. His expression was unreadable as he set it down at her feet.

“Suppose Mother Miounne already said it so I don’t need to,” he said, “but I will, anyroad. Take care of yourself and be careful who you trust. And if there is trouble and you need to leave for any reason, you always have a home here.”

“Keveh’to-” Before she could finish what she had meant to say his arms had wrapped about her shoulders in a heavy embrace, tail wound around her calf.

“Write to us once in a while, will you?” he muttered in her ear. “Just… just so we know you’re doing alright. Even if it’s something about your alchemy that I- I mean, we don’t understand.”

“Or care about,” Aurelia said wryly. She knew full well that Keveh’to was not asking her to write to Miounne. Her arms tightened about his shoulders in return, just for a brief moment. “...I’ll write as often as I can manage.”

“Good.”

The Miqo’te looked for a moment as though he wanted to say - or do - something more, but instead released her with all haste, tail flickering and ears swiveling with his discomfiture as he went. Aurelia said nothing further as she took a step backward and turned to the seat where her tea and morning meal awaited. It was easy enough to spare him his blushes, to pretend that her focus lay upon how best she might secure her bag under the seat. Once that was done she picked up the teacup and took a thoughtful sip, placing Miounne's eel pie upon her lap. She was too full of nerves to be terribly hungry but that would no doubt change within a bell or two.

His retreat down the narrow steps came just in time for the porter to lift and shutter the low-slung door behind him with a brisk snap. Aurelia felt her eyes prickle and burn but her composure held fast, and when she turned about and lifted her free hand to wave at her friend it was with a bright smile on her face.

Her minder - her friend, now - gave only a half-second’s hesitation before he waved back. At his side, Miounne too lifted her hand in silent farewell.

“Quarrymill!” the driver shouted. “Next stop, Quarrymill!”

Following upon the heels of the teamster’s call came the draught chocobos’ twin kwehs. She braced herself and her teacup a moment before she felt the sharp initial jolt of the carriage’s forward motion. Within seconds it smoothed into a sedate and seamless drift as the wind aether filled the balloons overhead, and they were off down the half-paved cobbles that led to the Blue Badger gate. In moments they would pass out of the city and turn onto the southbound road.

For the final time, Aurelia allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, back over the lip of the carriage and in the direction of the Carline Canopy. Keveh’to, it seemed, had chosen to remain outside the chocobo paddock. He stood stiff and unmoving save for the tail that lashed erratically at the air, his hands shoved into his deep pockets and his mouth turned in a downward bow she could see even from here.

His words drifted across her mind like errant clouds.

I’ve waited too long. Saying it now won’t change anything.

She kept her gaze upon the dwindling figure until the carriage had rounded the bend and that splash of bright yellow was no longer visible through the foliage.

~*~

Watching the commotion below from his perch upon a flight of corrugated metal steps, Nero tol Scaeva knew what was coming next. The cohort’s work had come to a screeching halt and several of the engineers had gathered about to investigate the rear quarter panel of the left leg. None of them seemed to know what orders they were to give or be given if any, and the resulting confusion left them milling aimlessly about like ants puzzling at a stray piece of food someone had dropped on the floor.

Thus it fell to him to restore order, as much as he would rather not: his presence alone would subject him to fearful kowtowing and stammered excuses. He knew he could be a hard man when the situation called for it, but he liked to think he was also a fair one, and even the greenest of the signal corps had no reason to fear his wrath so long as they could explain themselves to his satisfaction. Still, he was a Garlean, and the provincial fear of his countrymen was deeply ingrained into the army's conscripts -- ingrained when it was not beaten.

No help for it, I suppose.

He made his way beneath the iron scaffolding that surrounded the warmachina's exoskeleton at a brisk pace. The clatter of his sollerets upon the metal tiling set an easy and unhurried rhythm as he crossed the open floor until his stride slowed to a full stop mere fulms away. The engineers’ chatter, quiet but idle, dwindled into an anxious silence.

One of the engineers, a tiny Auri woman with her lavender-tinted hair bound in regulation braids, went visibly pale at the sight of his approach but to her credit did not make a show of flinching from him, and even had sufficient courage to offer up a salute as was proper. He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her through the visor of his helm. They stood close enough that he could see how her forearm - still stiffly crossed over her chest - trembled at his proximity.

“Architectus,” he said very calmly.

“Y-yes, my lord?”

“As you were,” she dropped her salute, but her back remained ramrod straight and the tension did not leave her shoulders. He continued as if he had failed to notice, “I mark a number of you performing a very serious study of this warmachina’s leg joint, in lieu of performing your assigned tasks.”

Her swallow was audible even through his helm’s transceiver, but her stone-faced stare did not waver. “Apologies, my lord. There is-”

“I believe I have stated on multiple occasions that we have a schedule to keep, and not a terribly lenient one at that. Perhaps the cohort is in need of a reminder.”

“My lord, please,” the woman blurted, then winced almost immediately, “I am sorry to interrupt. But you see, there’s a problem.”

Shite and swiving hellsfire, if I never hear ‘there’s a problem’ again in my lifetime it will be too soon. Still, unlike sas Junius it was not in Nero’s nature to vent his spleen upon hapless messengers. He released a long-suffering sigh instead - only somewhat dramatized for her benefit - and watched those large ocean-blue eyes break their impasse at the sound. They flickered nervously up at his face, then down, then back out to stare at that fixed point past his waistline.

“Of course there is,” he said aloud.

“My lord?”

His own fault, he surmised, for expecting any other response to his bit of japery. “Never mind. Continue.”

“Yes, my lord. We ran the initial tests using the Vanguard H-1’s specifications, as dictated. The operating system ran as expected upon startup. But when we tried to proceed with full activation... well, we tried to switch over from the H-1 but it caused a power surge and nearly started a fire- as you see here. As it is we’re dead in the water. She won’t power on at all now.”

“I assume our engineering teams ran down their checklists for aught that might have compromised structural integrity, prior to attempting the activation.”

“Just so, my lord. Circuitry, fuel lines, motherboards-- it was all green.” She bit her lip. “If… perhaps we might speak to the quartermaster and requisition another part. Or perhaps a larger-”

“The next step up would be the specs for a low-velocity assault craft,” Nero interrupted dryly. “While I share your readiness to explore all possible options, I think it unwise to blindly run through every single spare part at our disposal hoping for a result. Aside from the obvious risks, ‘tis inefficient. We do not have a great deal of time to make what amounts to an educated guess.”

“I- yes,” she stammered. “I apologize, my lord, I should have thought-”

He waved an impatient hand. She fell silent as instantly as if he had slammed a door shut in her face. “Who is your immediate superior?”

“Valens nan Varro, my lord.”

“Kindly inform him that the activation test has been delayed pending an internal review. We will reschedule after I have spoken with the legatus.”

Now she was staring at her feet, her face pale once again. “...He will be sorely displeased if he discovers we have failed you, my lord. Sorely.”

“Ah, yes. A terrible burden indeed, the primus architectus' personal inconvenience. Unfortunately, we shall all have to bear it,” Nero said briskly. He did not care to argue the matter with a subordinate; such behavior would undermine his authority, and the engineers present were well aware that his word was the final say.

“But-”

“If nan Varro is displeased with the decision and wishes to contest it, then he may take his grievance up with me directly.”

Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, not in relief but defeat. Beneath his helm, Nero raised his brows at the response but said nothing further.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I expect an incident report on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning. Posthaste.”

Her answering salute was stiff and formal, expression as stony and unyielding as a statue’s. Whatever emotion he had spied was carefully hidden now; the wall was back in place. Curious. Irrelevant. He had neither the time nor the wherewithal to waste in wondering after it.

Nero passed her without another word, her fellows hastening to clear a path for him as he approached the enormous back leg. There were scorch marks on the edges of the chassis panel, he noted; exposed copper fibers trailed from the opened casing like wilted ivy creepers. The ends were blackened and a thin line of smoke still curled in slender lines; the smell was acrid and familiar and the castrum's ventilation system would disperse it within a half hour.

One hand hovered just over the scorched plate as he studied the sight, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

Retrofitting Allagan technology was not a precise art, as much as it pained Nero to admit it. Some artifacts worked so readily with Garlean magitek that the process was utterly seamless, as if it had been meant for their hands. Others were far more complex, and thus more time-intensive. The Ultima Weapon had been his longest project to date, and the tribunus laticlavius had to remind himself that the machina had been experimental even to the greatest scientists of its age: a groundbreaking anti-eikon countermeasure that partnered the arcane with the mundane. A seamless blending of aetherology and engineering, borne of man’s ingenuity.

Blended---

Ah.

“My lord?” a timid voice echoed at his back. The engineers were watching him; they had gathered a respectful six fulms away.

“...This is not a public spectacle,” his hand fell away from the plating. “See to this mess. I want the machina checked from top to bottom for aught that could possibly cause further delays. Exposed joints, chassis warping, blown fuses, exposed wires, all of it.”

"My lord, the test-" "Is no longer your priority," his impatience filtered through as a short, barked command. "Attend to your tasks. I will not ask you twice." The gathered cluster of engineers sketched their salutes and scattered like mice, scrambling to obey before any of them could experience the implied consequences for perceived insubordination. Nero watched them in silence for a few beats before taking his leave. He made his way back along the catwalk and up several flights of steps, to one of the administrative bays that oversaw the hangar. Once he was certain of his privacy, he removed his helm with a soft and relieved sigh. It was a mere press of a button after that to open the transceiver link and set it to a specific frequency. Static hissed in the confines of the empty office for one second, two, before the link became stable and there was smooth air and Gaius van Baelsar's gruff baritone:

“State your business.”

“Lord Gaius. Have I interrupted something?”

“Yes, but naught of particular importance. For a small blessing.” The legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion sounded vaguely put out, but not irate. An encouraging sign which meant he was like to be at least somewhat amenable to the discussion Nero wished to have. “I take it you have something you wished to discuss.”

“I do. The activation test failed. I should have an incident report within the next 24 hours that will list the particulars.”

“Again?”

“Indeed. This is why,” Nero took a deep breath, “I should like to request that the Weapon and all hands involved in the project be transferred to the research facility in Agelyss Wyse.” “The Vylbrand coast? That is not exactly shouting distance from Gyr Abania. And there are certain dangers present which make your proposition quite risky.” Refusal to take risks will not garner the results we seek. "With all due respect, my lord, you did not assign me this project with any fond hopes that I would remain complacent,” he could almost feel his commanding officer bristling at his bluntness, “and these failed tests have made it abundantly clear that - as you will recall that I posited, against protest from certain quarters - ceruleum combustion alone will not be sufficient to bring the Weapon back online. Not at full capacity.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will get to that eventually, but first and foremost: I need data. Current data. Simulations and conjectures will only get us so far.” He glanced out the bay window at the massive machina, a dormant monster, each opened claw the size of a juggernaut. “The Weapon was designed to do far more than subdue eikons, and we have merely scratched the surface of its capabilities. But scratching is all we will manage if we remain here.”

Nero managed - only just - to keep the excitement out of his voice. The Black Wolf of Garlemald was a straightforward man, he knew from long years of experience: interested in results, not theories.

“I understand this, but you are also asking to upend our timetable for the sake of a hypothesis.”

“A hypothesis with its foundation in the methods the Allagans used to create and maintain Dalamud- as Lord van Darnus would attest, were he still with us. I think it a safe assumption that the Ultima Weapon operates upon a similar methodology.” Van Baelsar’s only response was a sigh of consternation. Nero continued, “And yes, it would move our overall timetable forward a few weeks. I admit it.”

“Nearly two months,” the legatus said sourly. “You understand that even if I agree to your proposal, it is not something that can be immediately enacted.”

“I would not expect to presume thus, my lord, of course.” There was bureaucracy involved, and the logistics of moving entire teams between castra -- not to mention the machina itself. Well, Solus zos Galvus had not built the Empire in a day, either. “I realize there are protocols to follow. I only ask for consideration-”

“And due consideration will be given, tribunus- in due time. At the very least I must needs contact the Occidens praefectus and discuss the matter. We will speak on this anon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He could afford the wait. In the meantime, there was much yet to be done- and new plans to be made. When the legatus called for him again, as he inevitably would, Nero would be prepared to explain what must be done ere their goals could be met. Allag’s mighty Weapon would awaken from its slumber by his hand, and he would receive his fair due at last. There was no one and nothing now to keep him from reaching forth to take what was rightfully his.

This victory shall be mine and mine alone, he thought. And you, old friend, will be as chaff in the wind. Discarded and forgotten.

Beneath his twin veils of tempered glass and chromed crimson steel, Nero tol Scaeva began to smile.

#aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #keveh'to epocan #gaius van baelsar #nero tol scaeva #mother miounne #werlyt cameos sort of?#and the leveilleurs #you get a cameo! and you get a cameo!#this concludes reborn by fire #off to ARR we gooo #upon pale dawns #chapter 4

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