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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years ago

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48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss��though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher #my fic #anon asks #prompt fill #thank you so much for this absolutely lovely prompt!!!!! i'm so sorry it took me months to actually filling it!!!

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years ago

Text

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 1

Read on AO3. Part 2 here.

Summary: You’re a Lieutenant, stationed on Orinda. You’re content with your trustworthy crew, but issues with a certain ship (spoiler alert: it’s the TIE silencer) end up trapping you on the Steadfast, instead. Your relationship with Kylo Ren isn't how you left it. How many more messes can you stand to clean?

(Yes, this is the sequel to Fix Your Attitude.)

Words: 4500

Warnings: None. Yet.

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Umm... hi!! I don't have much to say other than I'm very excited to post this, and I really hope you enjoy it! I love you all so much. I'm genuinely lucky and grateful to have you in my life.

You weren’t ready.

Since the alert had come in that the First Order would be sending a transporter to Orinda, your hands had been jittery. There’d been no indication, no hint as to what your team should be expecting when they arrived. In the four months since you’d arrived at the fuel post, you hadn’t received a single visitor from the brass.

“Hey, Chief.”

The voice called you as you were chest-deep in a pile of fuel-cells. Grunting, you wrenched yourself free, patting the reactor dust from your uniform. Certainly there was some in your hair, too.

“Hey, hi Tonis, what’s up?” You tried to restrain your anxiety to the perimeter of your mind. “Can, uh, can I help you?”

Tonis, your third engineer, sighed, wrangling his hands together as he looked to the ground. “Do you know what’s going on with this transport unit arriving?” His thin lips twisted in a frown. “They’re saying that they might be shutting the post down.”

“Oh, jeez.” You shook your head, grabbing a rag from the terminal and wiping your hands. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I really, really, really don’t want to be moved. Again.”

Grimacing, you looked at your reflection in the terminal facade. “I know.”

“Orinda’s really great,” he said. “All the different ships we get to work on. And it’s so quiet. And our team is so great--”

“I know.” You mussed your hair, as if shoving dirty fingers through it would improve its appearance. Incredibly, it did not. “They’re only sending three people. I’m sure it can’t be that big of a deal.”

“But that’s the thing!” he said. “Don’t you think that a transport unit with only a few passengers must be here for something super-official?”

Your chest seized, and you cleared your throat, turning back to him.

“Maybe.” You ignored the hot burn of your cheeks. “Guess we’ll see when they get here.”

The terminal blipped, a familiar pattern that indicated the atmosphere had been breached. It’d been awhile since you’d felt like you had the power to summon anything of importance with a single thought. The reminder tweaked your heart.

“Or… I guess we’ll see now.”

Tonis squealed, running through the post. “Hey! Hey guys! The First Order’s here! The First Order’s arrived!”

Sighing, you looked into the terminal again. Four months hadn’t changed your appearance too much. Not that it mattered. Or it might. But you wouldn’t worry about it. Only a little.

You steeled your nerves and walked out of the hangar into the dusty outcropping of the fuel outpost. Flat land stretched for miles in diameter from your station, a rolling pitch of blue mountains in the far distance, the wind whipping across the plains, rustling the dry grass. Shielding your eyes with a hand, you gazed up and spotted the transporter, a blooming black spot in the cloudless sky, quickening the pace of your pulse with every passing second.

It was just a transporter. He wouldn’t be on it. There was nothing to freak out about.

Tonis had gathered the rest of your massive crew--all three of them, him included--and they surrounded you, faces taut with anticipation.

“What do you think it is, Chief?” That was Mirna, your second engineer, a short, wide-set thing, with buzzed hair and a gruff voice. “You think they’re shutting the place down?”

“She already said she doesn’t think it’s that,” Tonis replied.

“Well, yeah, but then, why are they just sending three people?” said Lin, your mechanic.

“There’s plenty of reasons they could send three people,” Tonis said, as if he hadn’t just been agonizing over that very issue just minutes ago.

Mirna snorted. “Like what?”

“An announcement,” Lin said. “Maybe they’re canvassing all First Order planets.”

You nodded, chewing your cheek. “Sure. That could be it.”

“Or maybe it’s a survey!” Tonis was almost wiggling with excitement like the little nerd he was. “Does anyone else love filling out those weird surveys?”

“No, nerfherder,” Mirna teased, grinning. “Just you.”

“Could be an escort.” Lin shrugged. “Maybe they’re here to pick someone up.”

Mirna laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Who in the stars could they have an interest in on this planet?”

Blood blazed your face. “It’s a mystery.”

You hadn’t told anyone since arriving what had brought you there or why you’d come. You hadn’t told them when you’d first landed that you still had the cum of the Commander of the First Order leaking out of your cunt. You hadn’t told them that just hours before, he’d held you in his arms, brought you into his mind, and shown you--with a breathless, crushing tangibility--how utterly and completely he loved you.

You hadn’t told them, either, that in the days, weeks, months following your arrival, you hadn’t heard from him at all.

With a dying wail, the transporter hovered and landed, spitting up a ring of dust that smacked you in the face. You sputtered, wiping your eyes, the rest of your crew apparently victims too. Frowning, you crossed your arms, brow cocked as the ramp whined and descended. Something akin to fear needled your heart in the empty space between the sound of footsteps and the emergence of two Stormtroopers stomping to the ground.

Something that was definitely fear gripped it as those two troopers were followed by a man you’d hoped to never, ever see again.

“Engineer.” General Hux had somehow lost none of his smarmy, pink-cheeked smugness--his refusal to say your name was out of petty spite at this point. And his face was just as punchable as you remembered. “I see you are, for once, prepared for our arrival.”

“What sort of facility chief would I be if I didn’t stay on top of our arrival queues?” You hid your hands behind your back to hide their quaking. “Though I believe my rank is Lieutenant, now, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” he replied, with the same amount of disdain he’d probably afford a crying child. “I imagine it’s the lack of distraction.” He smirked. “I loathe to think of the productivity you would’ve had on the Finalizer with a similar environment.”

“Oh, as do I, sir.” You offered him a gleaming smile. “I can’t imagine a punishment worse than being in your good graces.”

“Chief,” hissed Mirna. “That’s a General of the First Order. What are you doing?”

Cursing internally, you pinched yourself, stood straighter. Your team would have no idea why you felt so comfortable mouthing off to a man who, otherwise, might’ve had you thrust into the bowels of space by now--and to be honest, you didn’t have much of an idea why at this point, either. Your presumed protection was hardly a current presence in your life.

You shook your head, wagged out your hands. “Let me try again, sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “General Hux, sir. To what do I owe the honor?”

Hux smirked. “As much as I hate to interrupt, Lieutenant,” he said, continuing to let the word drip with more venom than a snake ever could, “I’m here to order you to come with me onto the Steadfast.”

“The Steadfast?” Obviously the name of a ship, but not one you were familiar with. No news bulletins had made their way to Orinda in the time you’d been stationed. “Why?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter has ceased functioning. Every engineer we’ve brought to it has failed to diagnose the issue.” His jaw tensed in real, actual reluctance. “We were at the border of the Rim, and unfortunately, I thought of you.”

You blinked. He wanted you to work on Snoke’s TIE fighter?

And then another question: Snoke had a TIE fighter?

“Uh…” Frowning, you glanced around at your crew. You couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them for days on end. “How long will I be gone?”

His face betrayed nothing but pure disgust. “As long as it takes you to fix a TIE fighter.” He watched as you paused in thought. “I wasn’t offering you a choice, Lieutenant. We’re leaving now.”

With that, he turned on his heels, marching up the ramp. A long, slow breath left your lungs, and you turned to your team, scanning their faces for any reaction. To your surprise, everyone but Tonis seemed rapt in excitement, eyes wide and chins wagging in awe.

“I had no idea you were such a big shot!” Lin grinned. The other two nodded in agreement.

Blushing, you rubbed your arm in embarrassment, looking between them. “No, no,” you said. “Nothing like that.”

“You have to tell us the story, one day.” Mirna was smirking.

“Uh… Right.” You coughed. “So, hopefully I’ll only be a day or so, max,” you said. “Mirna, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“You got it, Chief,” she said. “Tonis, my first order is for you to please calm down.”

He shot her a glare. “Good luck, Chief!” He offered you a salute, which was both strange and unnecessary. “We’ll be thinking of you!”

Warmth spread in your chest. “I’ll be thinking of you guys, too. Don’t make too big of a mess, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” they replied in unison--and then broke into laughter.

You shook your head, finding yourself laughing with them. “Okay. See you guys soon.”

Bowing your head, you trudged up the ramp into the transporter, taking a seat far away from Hux and the two Stormtroopers. You wondered why he’d bothered to bring them to a tiny outpost like Orinda, but you supposed that self-importance and paranoia knew no bounds in the higher ranks of the First Order.

As the door closed to the transporter, your heart wrinkled. In the past few months, despite your open ache, Orinda had become your home, your crew had become something akin to your family. You hoped the issue with the TIE fighter was something stupid, like a busted hyperdrive. They were simple to repair, but most engineers wouldn’t mess with lightspeed travel--the mechanisms were so delicate that even a simple mistake could result in splitting the ship.

The transporter rose into the air, and in seconds, it burst into the sky. A windowless cargo meant you could only imagine the faces of your crew as you disappeared into the horizon. You sighed, watching your feet as they jostled with the jerking of the ship. You weren’t sure what the Steadfast was like, but apparently Snoke had moved his operations there. Though you still had no clue what Snoke looked like, you’d never imagined him to be the type to fly--but perhaps a Supreme Leader required multiple skillsets.

The awkward ride finished without a single word being exchanged between you and Hux, which was fine by you, and possibly finer by him. When the ramp lowered, he speared you with his gaze, waiting for the troopers to exit before standing and ordering you to follow him with only his eyes.

You tromped down the ramp into the hangar on the Steadfast--it looked almost identical to the one on the Finalizer. The ceilings stretched high, like a giant’s mouth, the magnetic shields glowing teeth at the lips of the bay. Ships buzzed above you, racing in and out of their docks, the floor crowded with soldiers and officers alike.

The rush hit you--sure, the time on Orinda had been fantastic, engaging, rejuvenating. But it would never match the thrill of working in the presence of fleets and fleets of warships, surrounded by the heady spell of urgent, prestigious labor. You sucked it through your nose, held it in your chest, unable to stop your eyes from lingering on every busted ship they saw. In the distance, a team huddled around the smoking wing of a TIE fighter--you bit your lip to prevent yourself from racing over, from tearing it apart for them.

Another thing you weren’t able to stop looking for was any hint, any presence of the Commander--but in the bay, you didn’t even catch evidence of the Command Shuttle. It was a huge assumption to guess he’d be on the Steadfast to begin with, but part of you hoped he’d trailed his precious Supreme Leader to any place he was ordered. It figured that the one time you might have been within thinking distance, he’d managed to make himself scarce.

Another twine in your heart snapped, joining the collection that’d been unfurling since you’d departed the Finalizer.

Yes, he’d said he would find you. You still believed him now, even.

But really. What was taking him so damn long?

Hux led you to a wide dock toward the very front of the hangar. The crews you spotted along the way seemed detached, working without words, communicating with gestures and mirthless expressions. Tonis’ silly salute would never happen here. You frowned. The lack of thrill was worth your autonomy.

“Lieutenant.”

A snap of your head, and you blinked. You were in front of your charge.

This TIE fighter was unlike one you’d ever seen. Instead of the flat panel wings, this one bore talons, sharp knives capable of cutting space and possibly any ship in its way. Red-paned transparisteel formed the cockpit into a muzzle, imitating an animal instead of a sphere. And it wasn’t a ball suspended on plates, but was rather tucked tight into the body of the ship, creating a seamless, dynamic transition that to you, seemed so new, so modern. It was almost--sexy?

You looked to Hux. “Are you sure this is the one that isn’t working?” Lips parted in awe, you stepped up to it, placing a hand on the solar array. “It’s gorgeous.”

“The Supreme Leader has been unable to fly it for cycles, now,” said Hux. “I’m sure.”

“All right.” You rolled your eyes. “Got it.”

What you needed was a post-flight report. You strode over to the nearest terminal and entered your credentials--thankfully, as a Lieutenant now, they were universal to the entire First Order system. Only one ship was logged underneath the access: TIE/vn space superiority fighter: SILENCER.

“TIE silencer?” you mumbled. “Where do they come up with these names?”

You investigated the reports in the past several cycles that detailed the attempts by engineers to get the thing working: thrusters aligned, check. Solar lines flushed, check. Refuel port cleansed, check. Heat calibration reset and replaced, check.

And yet with each new repair--engine test: fail.

Engine test: fail.

Engine test: fail, fail, fail.

Screwing your lips in thought, you landed on the post-flight report, hoping it would provide you with insight. If he knew what was good for him, Supreme Leader Snoke would be thorough.

You opened the report, and paragraphs of information flooded the screen. Your jaw dropped. Every single system had been left with a meticulously in-depth account of its status before, during, and after flight. The level of specificity contained within each sentence astounded you. It was almost unbelievable that a single person could remember this much, let alone regurgitate it with any level of accuracy. You groaned, lost in Basic.

Hux cleared his throat. “How long do you anticipate this taking, Lieutenant?”

“As long as I--...” You stopped yourself with a grumble. It would be much easier to hear it from the tauntaun’s mouth, instead of pouring over and cross-checking every single detail. “I’m not sure, General. Is there any way I could speak with the Supreme Leader?”

A strange, smug look passed over his face. “Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll take you.”

You blinked. That was easy. Almost too easy. “Uh… okay.”

Hux turned on his heel, clipped stride cutting through the hangar. You hadn’t been prepared to meet the Supreme Leader when you woke up this morning, but you supposed anything was possible when working for the First Order. Swallowing, you shut down the terminal, and followed him into the halls.

Returning to a Star Destroyer, in a way, felt like home--the glossy black tile passed like a familiar path beneath your feet, and you spared fleeting glances to the Stormtroopers who passed you. The halls of the Steadfast maintained their similarity to everything else on the Finalizer--though that did nothing to assuage your anxiety about the memories you’d had on that ship. Or who may or may not be on this one.

“Do you work on the Steadfast, now, sir?”

Hux was silent for a moment, gaze trained forward. “Yes. The Finalizer was decommissioned.”

“Wait, really?” Your heart thumped. The only datapad message you’d received from your friends had come in the first few weeks after your departure. You just assumed they’d been busy. “What happened?”

“A Resistance attack left it crippled,” he replied. “Leadership and surviving crew were transferred to the Steadfast.”

Terror seized you, your pace quickened. “Sur-surviving crew?” you asked. “Sir?” More silence. You stumbled to catch up with him, fighting the tremor in your voice. “Sir--”

“Engineers Foster and Loren were transferred to this vessel unharmed, Lieutenant.” He leered at you. “Satisfied?”

You heaved a massive sigh, hands falling to your knees. They were here. You’d have to catch up with them, soon.

“Yes, sir, thank you--”

By the time you’d finished, he’d already managed to make it what seemed to be fifty paces ahead of you, and you scrambled to keep up with him.

As you did, a grey-haired man emerged from the corner in front of you both, and Hux stiffened, cursing under his breath. Raising a brow, you tried to meet this man’s gaze, only to bump into the general, who’d stopped, limbs pinned to his sides.

“Shit!” Your face burned, and you jumped back, snapping to attention. “I mean, uh, sorry, General, sir.”

The look Hux offered you was similar to one a parent might offer a simpering child. Right before they murdered that child in a fit of blind rage.

“General Hux,” said the grey-haired man. “Just the one I was looking for.”

“Allegiant General Pryde.” Hux’s chin jutted to the ceiling.

The Allegiant General Pryde turned his attention to you, glimpsing your uniform before meeting your eyes. “I’m afraid we’re not acquainted, Lieutenant…”

You gave your name. “Sir.” Clearing your throat, you continued, “I’m Chief of Operations on Orinda.”

“Ah.” His gaze lingered on the fuel cell filth smattering your chest. “Of course.” Something within his eyes categorized you in league with rodents--and something else within them told you he crushed rodents for sport. “Interesting.” His attention whipped back to Hux. “General. Regarding the Council meeting…”

“I plan to present the Supreme Leader with my plan, sir.”

“I know you do,” Pryde replied, “but you failed to run it by me.”

Hux’s jaw tensed. You wished you were anywhere other than this extremely awkward hallway meeting that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

“Forgive me, Allegiant General,” Hux said, “but I didn’t think a basic unit efficiency research required your approval.”

“Everything requires my approval, General,” he said. “Lest we forget the errors of Starkiller Base.”

That was a low blow. You gulped. They both looked at you, and you cleared your throat again, throwing your hands behind your back. The energy radiating from Hux could be classified as skin-scorching.

“Of course.” Hux’s tone grew tighter with each word that left his lips. “I’ll remember that next time, sir.”

“Good.” Pryde glanced between you. “What brings a facility chief from her station all the way to the Steadfast?”

“The Supreme Leader’s TIE fighter, sir,” Hux replied, still staring into the air. “She may be the only engineer capable of repairing it.”

The Allegiant General frowned. “Really. How many resources did you expend picking up a single person from a remote outpost?” he asked. “Do you not consider this to be something I should know?”

“It was a brief excursion,” he said. “I took two Stormtroopers and a single transport unit.”

“Was that unit’s excursion approved?” He circled Hux, a silvered predator, sizing up his prey. For once, you almost felt bad for the ginger bastard. “What if Resistance staged an attack while you were gone? If we needed that unit for more than a handful of bodies?”

Hux’s lips pursed, chin dimpling with tension. “I don’t know, sir.”

“And how do you think the Supreme Leader will feel knowing you acted without approval, all to retrieve a single engineer?”

Silence drifted like fog over the three of you, thickening as this grey-haired power-laden dickhead glared at General Hux. But Hux’s back had aligned, parallel to the wall, every flicker of frustration fled from his frame. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled at his mouth.

“I think he’ll be just fine with it. Sir.” Hux’s brow quirked. “We’re on our way to speak with him now, if you’d like to accompany.”

Pryde grinned, a serpent’s twist to his smile. “Your confidence has failed you in the past, General,” he replied. “Lead the way.”

You trailed behind the Allegiant General and Hux, fingers starting to quake. Now, you’d not only be meeting the Supreme Leader still smothered in space dust, you’d be meeting him accompanied by the two biggest assholes in the First Order--second only to one other, perhaps.

Unfortunately, that particular asshole was a ghost to this ship, and there wasn’t anyone in particular you felt comfortable asking about him. If Hux had been superceded by this new jerk, the last thing you wanted was another opportunity for someone with rank greater than your own to question you about your personal relationships.

Dread pooled in your belly. Supreme Leader Snoke did know about your personal relationship with the Commander. In fact, Snoke had been the one to insist you be his conduit, among other insulting things. You imagined him bringing it up: Ah, yes, the engineer, the distraction… and how have you been, without his cock inside of you?

You shook your head. No, it didn’t make sense for him to bring up his apprentice’s dick at your first meeting. Or any meeting, for that matter. You hoped.

The two men led you through the rest of the journey in silence, animosity prickling like durasteel barbs in the air between them. At least your own team didn’t regard you with vibrodaggers behind their backs--as far as you knew, anyway--and the realization, against the backdrop of your current situation, had you aching to leave. The discussion with the Supreme Leader would be swift and succinct; you’d get the information you needed, diagnose the problem, and be on your way back to Orinda.

In front of you, a massive turbolift sang its arrival, blast door whirring open. You followed the two men inside, heart tingling. Maybe part of you had been hoping that your long-awaited reunion would have occurred during your time aboard--as you thought it, you tried to stymie the resentment that you’d waited this long at all. The rational part of your mind reasoned that he was a busy man, that lack of contact didn’t indicate lack of thought.

But every other part of your mind was staving off bubbling despair. Four months had felt like four years, and you’d only grown more desperate, more anxious for his embrace--then furious that he didn’t appear to return the sentiment.

You knew how he felt. So it didn’t make sense, then, why he hadn’t acted on it for even a single, solitary night in the past sixteen weeks.

When the blast door opened, you crossed the threshold into an obsidian sanctuary. The floor gleamed, a black lake of glass sweeping into high ebony ceilings that twinkled with artificial stars. The only other illumination came from two enormous spheres that hung, suspended in air at opposite ends of the room, their surfaces a swirl of white-grey light, imitation suns with colorless coronas. At the far end of the room was a hovering stone throne, six dark figures crowding it in a crescent.

Your heart stammered--you’d seen them before. In memories that hadn’t belonged to you. All of them were outfitted in clothing that seemed familiar, helmets that hid their identities, and each of them possessed a weapon meant explicitly for assassination. The only conclusion you could draw was that they were the Supreme Leader’s bodyguards.

Whoever they were, to you, they were ominous.

The two men in front of you strode forward, and you followed, catching your reflection whispering by your shoes: your hair was mussed with evidence of engine exhaust, your uniform still glowing with smears of ionization. Internally, you cursed yourself. Yeah, this was exactly how you’d wanted to look when meeting the Supreme Leader of the First Order--like complete shit. Stomach sinking, you sidled behind them as they stood at attention.

“Supreme Leader,” they said simultaneously.

As if on command, the wall of shadowed soldiers parted to reveal the throne.

But no one was there.

You blinked. “Oh.”

Hux’s head swiveled between the strangers in front of you. “Where is he?” He turned to Pryde. “These are his receiving hours--”

“Yes,” replied the Allegiant Asshole. “But perhaps he’s departed early for the Supreme Council meeting. We’d be better off--”

The turbolift doors wailed behind you, and like synchronized chronometers, you, Hux, and Pryde spun to meet the new arrival.

Your brain went blank.

Kylo Ren crossed the shimmering sable floor in a confident stride, his robes replaced now with padded armor that clung to the contours of his powerful, thick chest, his broad shoulders covered with a hooded cape. His fists, still bound in leather, flexed at his sides--and his face...

More beautiful, more arresting than you could have conjured in any memory, his lips still pink and plush, his nose still a long line, his hair still rolling in waves, like black silk-velvet at his shoulders. You met his eyes as he advanced, finding them guarded, resurrecting every fear and insecurity, tempering them with hidden warmth.

“Generals.”

The voice was lightning through your limbs, its owner a perfect match to the soft baritone you’d replayed in your dreams for the past one hundred and fifty two days. All of your systems leapt to life at once: brain spinning, heart soaring, adrenaline coursing. Sweat soaked your neck, your figure thrust whole into a furnace.

“Sir!” Both bowed their heads.

Gazing at him, then, you realized what was happening. This was his throne. You were working on his TIE fighter. Kylo Ren, your lover, your obsession, your galaxy was now the de-facto leader of the actual galaxy. You weren’t in love with the First Order’s Commander, anymore.

You were in love with its Supreme Leader.

Shock anchored your mouth open. Your eyes welled with latent tears. You grinned in disbelief.

“Dude!” You laughed. “What the fuck!”

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fanfiction problems #fya2 #SLAPS THIS ON TUMBLR AND RUNS AWAY

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gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years ago

Text

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 30 (12K Follower Special)

(Master Post)

I want to thank you guys for being so patient with this fic. Its hard to believe its been a year since I first wrote part 1. I have been agonizing over this part for so long, I hope you all enjoy it. PS, I would love to hear what you guys think. And please share it around.)

_______________________________________________________________________

Lila used her key to unlock the front door. She quietly entered only to see her mother smiling at her.

“I was wondering where you were. How is everything honey?” Her mother greeted.

Lila put on a smile for her and greeted her with a cheek kiss. She was not expecting to see her mother up. She would have sworn she would be asleep. The work at the embassy often left her mother drained, it was rare when she was up an about at night when she was home.

“I had to slip by the school. Make sure that I had everything I needed for tomorrow.” She answered.

“Studious as always. I am so proud of you.”

“Of course! If I want to be as amazing as you I have to keep up with my school work.”

Lila knew her mother would eat up the flattery. Her mother was a gullible woman that loved to be complimented. She was not stupid, but she was far too trusting. The brunette knew all too well that her mother had often had her kindness taken advantage of by others.

“I was listening to the answering machine messages, and I noticed your principal called. He says that he is glad to have you back from your leave of absence?”

Lila didn’t bother sweating the comment.

“It's an error with the school computer. Remember how my old school had similar issues? I will clear it up this week.”

“Of course. School systems don’t really change much wherever you go, we really need to discuss that at the next meeting.”

“Don’t worry Mamma, I am making the most of it.”

“Mia stellina I know you will. That is why I got you a gift.”

“Oh?”

Lila watched as her mother pulled out a small box that was gift wrapped. Handing it to her daughter.

“I am sorry I had been gone most of last week. Things have been hectic. What with the… oh you don’t need to worry about all that. I saw this on my way back and I was saving it for your birthday, but I figured now would be a good time.”

Lila opened the present to reveal a lovely silver bracelet, with a small charm in the shape of an eye mask. Her mother knew Lila had a love of masks and would make sure that if there was some place she went that was interesting, she would get her a mask from that place.

“Thank you, Mamma, it is lovely.” Lila hugged her mother. Managing to hide how little she actually cared about the gift.

“I knew you would love it. It will look so lovely on you when we go out to dinner with your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“The handsome blond model you told me about. Adrien?”

“Oh! Right. Yes of course. My boyfriend. Though I am not sure he will be able to have dinner with us anytime soon. His father has him on such a strict schedule.”

Mrs. Rossi frowned.

“We can work something out another time. I’d really like to meet him.”

“I’m sure he feels the same way.”

Lila began making her way to her room.

“I think I’m going to get ready for school tomorrow.”

“Alright dear, I will be here all day tomorrow, maybe I can swing by your school and we can have lunch together.”

“Sounds great. Looking forward to it.”

Lila closed the door to her room.

She let her fake smile leave her face as she looked at the bracelet.

Tacky

Lila didn’t hate the gift, no, she did like that her mother did take the time to get her something. She just wished her mother could have gotten her something better. But really, Lila couldn’t really expect much despite how hard her mother works.

Lila looked over the bracelet more, her mind wandering as she stared at the little mask charm. It looked reminiscent of the masks worn in Mascaraed balls. Lila had to admit it was very fitting.

Everyone wears masks. People sculpt a persona, a personality in which they deal with people. They wear it as best as they can. People often change their masks as they grow or go to new environments. Lila was well aware of that. She was practically a master of it at this point.

Even her sweet naïve momma wears a mask. The mask that she is happy and doing fulfilling work. Lila knows better than anyone that her mother was practically forced to take this position.

Being a diplomat to Paris was considered the worst option when given a choice. Considering how there are depressed supervillains that pop up and nearly destroy the city several times a week because of a Super Terrorist’s quest for jewelry. Lila remembered how her momma tried so hard to spin this into a positive light. How this was her first role as an ambassador and that if she proved herself, she could choose her next assignment. Lila would have rather had gone to any country other than France, even America was preferable and they have their own craziness to deal with. Nevertheless, her mother did her best to be cheerful as she was thrown into this.

Lila refused to be like that, one’s mask should be the person they want to be, not the person they have to be. She would try out a different persona with each place she went, and sure enough, she would leave with a fun experience just before everything went crumbling down. She would then start from scratch and no one was the wiser.

Paris turned out to be the best place for this, since everything here is so bizarre here, no one would think twice about looking into a lie that seems outlandish. So, Lila allowed herself to be a bit more reckless with her actions. She had to admit, that her carelessness now needed to be corrected, she had allowed herself to get too lax with how good things have been and it nearly blew her cover 3 times. She needed to fix things.

She snapped back to reality, staring at the bracelet. She still wasn’t a fan of the look, but it was still a gift from her mother.

She would wear it tomorrow for her lunch with her mother. But afterwards she can slip it into her bag or something and forget about it. Her mother would be back to being worked like crazy and forget about it after two weeks.

Her phone began vibrating, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She looked at the number and her eyes went wide. It was Alya.

Did that nosy reporter see her at the school?! No, that can’t be possible. She was likely calling about something else. The Italian exchange student took a calming breath and answered her phone.

“Evening Alya? Whats up”

“Hey girl.” Alya greeted with her usual cheery tone. Alya was doing her best not to be in a fiery rage right now, she needed to be calm. A good reporter keeps calm under pressure. “I am just working on an article for the Ladyblog. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Of course. So, if it’s for the Ladyblog it must be ladybug related. What do you want to ask about? I am an open book.” Lila matched the cheery tone Alya had given her, she was hiding her absolute disgust over the subject. Ladybug was one of the last people Lila wanted to talk about right now, especially with how that heroine left her locked in a closet during the last akuma attack.

“Oh, it’s about akumatization. You know, that thing with the butterflies that maniacal monster Hawkmoth does to people. I am writing an article of how it impacts people and with how close you are with Ladybug, I figured she might have leaked a detail or two that I wasn’t aware of. Do you mind answering some questions about it?”

This wasn’t a complete lie, Alya was writing about Akumatization, but it was about Lila’s times as an akuma specifically.

“Well I might have a detail or two that could be shared. Ask away!”

Lila knew she had already had a close call with Alya earlier this week, she didn’t want to give the reporter a single reason to think she was a bad person. She could lie about a thing or two if needed to ensure that this line was secure, until she left the girl dangling from a cliff.

“Great! Thanks for doing this. You are a life saver.”

“Glad I can help, so bring on the questions.”

“Right. First question, how many times have you been akumatized?”

Lila was about to answer three, once during her first time in Paris, once during Heroes’ day, and once during her day back, that of course wouldn’t be good. She had said during Heroes’ day she was on a leave of absence outside of Paris. So that won’t do.

“Two. Once on my first day at Dupont, and the second time on my first day back.”

She is Lying

Alya had noticed the lie, Lila had been akumatized at least three times. Once was during her first day, the second time was at Heroes’ day because there were reports of Volpina among the akuma army. If Lila was out of France at that time, Volpina couldn’t have possibly been there. The day she got back had to have been her third time akumatized.

“I see, and during both of those times you felt intense emotional distress. Correct?”

“My memory is a bit fuzzy on them, but yes. I can say that I felt emotionally vulnerable.”

“As expected. And you have no memory of the activities you did while you were an akuma?”

“That is correct. If I was in complete control, there is no way I would have done such awful things.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t. Now this question is a bit more of a confirmation, something of a rumor among the Ladyblog. There is some speculation that if you accept the akuma willingly, you will maintain your memory of what happened while as an akuma. Is that something you can confirm?”

“Yes, Ladybug mentioned it once during a conversation. She was worried that Hawkmoth had some ‘Supporters’ that willingly did his bidding. I also believe if the person gives up the akuma willingly back to Hawkmoth they retain their memories during their time as an akuma. But I am not certain of that.” Lila added a touch of some truth to make it appear more legit that she and Ladybug are close. That is some personal information she discovered for herself. Lila was certain that this would ensure Alya trusted her.

Alya was certain Lila was willingly working with Hawkmoth and that she would never trust this liar ever again.

“Oh wow, that is very interesting. So just to assure the readers that you aren’t one of those followers. Have you ever accepted the akuma for yourself willingly?” Alya made sure the question had a lighthearted tone to come off as a joke.

Lila laughed.

“Willingly work with that butterfly creep? You would have to be someone with no empathy to even consider it.”

“One last thing, is it alright if I quote you in my article? If not, I will keep your name out of the…”

“By all means go ahead. I would love to be a part of your work if you want me to be.”

“Alright, I’ve got everything I need. Thanks again Lila. I should have this article out by tomorrow.”

“Anytime. I’m looking forward to reading it.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Lila hung up the phone with a content smile.

She is none the wiser. I even did a little bit of good letting her in on that bit of information on Hawkmoth. That should send some good karma my way

Lila smiled as yawned suddenly. She decided now would be a good time for bed.

_______________________________________________________________________

Alya smiled as she made sure she was off the call.

“Thanks Lila, you have no idea how much help that was.”

She had transcribed the interview into her article as she was talking with the liar.

She read through it to make sure there were no errors

“Alright, and this will be up tomorrow morning after first period.”

She scrolled up to the top page of the article which read:

Friend of Ladybug or Akuma Collaborator? The Truth on Lila Rossi

“Now to add the last few edits before going to bed.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The ride back to the Dupain Bakery was quiet for most of it. It seemed to fly by as the two teens held hands while the large mountain of a man drove them back.

Everything felt so surreal. A wonderful breakfast, a pleasant time of checking out the latest exhibits of the Louvre, a peaceful stroll through the park, an intense session of ice skating, and the dramatic confession on the top of the Eiffel tower which did not go as expected, but still went over very well.

“Marinette.”

“Yes Adrien?”

The blond model felt his face heat up a bit as he tried to speak up.

“So… I guess we can cancel that idea of talking things over in a week.” Adrien said with a nervous laugh.

“Yea… I suppose so.” She giggled.

The two were both happy with how things turned out, but both were still sort of shocked on what to do now.

“How are we going to tell the others? Should we text them so they aren’t stunned?”

“I think this is something that would be better told in person.”

“You mean bragged about?” Adrien teased.

“Maybe.”

The two blushed at this before laughing more. They felt like toddlers that were let loose in a candy store. Excited and bubbly.

“So, we tell them tomorrow then?”

“Yes,”

“Alright, sounds like a plan.”

The limo stops, causing the two to move slightly forward but their seatbelts kept them from moving off the seat.

“I guess this is my stop.”

“Let me get the door for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“And what gentleman would I be if I didn’t help a Lady out of the car?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide for a moment. The way he said that rang familiar. But she shook that out of her head. She was going to stop comparing him to chat noir.

Adrien didn’t notice the brief blank out as he got out of the car to open her side.

Marinette got out of the vehicle and gave him a smile.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

“Shall I walk with you to the door?”

Marinette gave the polite gentleman teen a kiss on the cheek.

“Here is good enough. If you walked with me to the door, My Parents would likely invite you in, and your father would be upset if you were gone any later than necessary”

“Very true.”

Adrien mentally cursed at the fact that his father had a stick up his ass the size of the Eiffel Tower.

“Good night Marinette.”

“Good night Adrien.”

Marinette walked to her door and used her key to enter the bakery.

Once the door was closed, Adrien went back into the limo, he closed the door and sighed happily.

“It’s a beautiful night.”

The driver said nothing as he began driving the boy home, but he did have a small ghost of a smile on his face.

______________________________________________________________________

Marinette closed the door behind her before sliding down with a loving sigh. Her legs were jelly.

Her kwami flew out of her bag.

“Seems everything went well.” The ladybug kwami commented with a sly smile.

“I’m dating Adrien Agreste.” Marinette stated blissfully. Her eyes were sparkling as if she had found the 8thwonder of the world.

“I am so happy for you Marinette. I knew you could do it.”

“This must be a dream. All of this is some dream, I’m still in bed and I slept through my alarm. Adrien is actually downstairs waiting and probably regretting every… OW!”

Marinette noticed her kwami had pinched her hand.

“Tikki! Why did you do that?!”

“To prove you were awake.”

Marinette paused before going back to her joyous expression.

“Its real!”

The kwami loved seeing her chosen so happy.

“We should probably head upstairs, you have to tell your parents all about it. I believe your dad was keen on finding out details.”

“Right! I have to tell them everything.”

Marinette had so many people she wanted to tell. Her parents, Alya, the girls, Chat noir…

She felt herself stop.

“Marinette?”

“I’ll have to tell Chat noir.” Her feelings felt a bit jumbled now that this thought was given life. And something told her this would not be as much fun as telling the others, whether it was because of how he would feel or how she feels about it.

“That can wait another time, you can’t just lay on the bakery floor.” Tikki commented, trying to change the mood.

“Good point, I should probably get up.”

Marinette knew she would have to tell the cat sometime, but there would be a right time and place. Right now, was a time to be happy and enjoy the fact that she was dating her crush.

_______________________________________________________________________

Adrien arrived home to see Nathalie waiting at the door.

“And how was your day with Miss Dupain Cheng?” Nathalie inquired, her usual monotone hid her genuine interest.

The blond smiled a bit.

“You will be seeing her around me a lot more, I will need to work with you to rearrange my schedules if I want to be able to have time with her.”

“I see. I will see what I can do.”

“Is father…”

“He is occupied with work, you’ll be able to tell him about your day during your scheduled dinner this upcoming Friday.”

Adrien’s smile faltered slightly, he thought things were going to be different with how his father had shown sudden interest in his life the other day. But this was likely for the best.

“Thank you, Nathalie. I will be heading to my room. Have a good night.”

“You too Adrien.”

Adrien headed to his room. Despite his father’s absence on the matter, he was still in a good mood and he would not let the distance get to him.

His smile blossomed once his door was closed and his kwami companion bursted out of his pocket

“Well done Romeo, you got the girl.” The cat kwami congratulated his wielder as he moved to his stash to help himself to some cheese.

“It’s kind of hard to believe it’s real. It feels like a dream. I didn’t think I could be this happy, Plagg.”

“Well good, you deserve to be happy considering all the crap you go through.” Plagg stated as he found a nice chunk of Camembert with extra stink.

Adrien laid back on his bed, he could just revel in the warmth of this day for a while.

“I wonder how everyone will react to finding out. I kind of want to text Nino and let him know.”

“I don’t really understand the big deal with this reveal stuff. You are acting like this is an unmasking ceremony or something.”

Plagg realized his words may not have been wisely picked.

“That’s right, I will need to let Ladybug know.”

Adrien was silent, his expression hard to read as his words hung in the air.

“You are okay with all of this right?” Plagg asked.

“I did say that no matter who was under that mask, I would love that girl. I meant it, but there are many different types of love. It doesn’t need to be romantic. I think it took me some time to realize that.”

Plagg chomps on to his cheese.

“Well, as long as you are sure.”

Adrien stretched.

“I should get ready for bed”

“Why? It’s still early.”

“I don’t want to be tired when I see Marinette tomorrow.”

Plagg rolled his eyes at the soft smile on the blond’s face.

“I don’t know how you did it, but you are actually cheesier then cheese.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“Okay Kim, I get it. The guy in the show modified himself to look like a cucumber.”

“Max, you aren’t even listening! It was a pickle! A pickle, Max! I swear it is the funniest…”

Max was distracted. By his phone vibrating.

“Hold on Kim, I got a text from Alya, it might be urgent. I will have to call you back.”

“That’s cool, but I am showing you that clip. It is hilarious. “

Max secretly thankful that he had an excuse to hang up. He loved his friend, but he had weird taste.

Max looked at the text.

Everything is set up, make sure that the mass email goes up after first period starts. We need to have everyone is in class.

Max understood. he would adjust the time that everything got sent out.

Affirmative, Any other last-minute requests?

Max waited for a snarky reply from Alya.

Nah, we’re good. Thanks Again.

Max sent a thumbs up emoji and put the phone to the side.

“Markov. Adjust the timing of the mass email to 15 minutes after first period.”

The robot turned his mechanical screen to his creator.

“Consider it done”

“Thanks Markov.”

Max took a deep breath and called Kim back.

“So, you were saying about the pickle.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Lila assumed she would be the first to arrive at school. She had made sure to get up earlier than usual so she could slip into the school and make sure everything was set up. To her surprise, she had found the classroom had two students sitting at their desks.

“Alya, Nino. You’re both here early.” Lila did her best not to sound mad about it.

Nino yawned as he drank from the coffee that he had bought with Alya before coming.

“Alya was so hyped about today she couldn’t sleep. So, She called me this morning and asked for a coffee date to help keep her awake.”

Alya was snoozing on her desk face first.

“Maybe get a double shot for her, she seems really exhausted. Wait was this about that paper for the ladyblog she was writing?”

“Wait you know about that?” Nino’s eyes wide, how did Lila know about the article? Was this plan going to backfire? Nino wasn’t sure if he said too much.

“Yea, she called me last night to answer a few questions. She was pretty excited about it. I suppose an article about akumatization would be popular.”

Nino eased himself, it’s clear Lila did not know what was in the article.

“Ah, well she was working on it all weekend.”

“Knowing Alya, that article will be exactly what she needs to get buzz on the blog.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Lila strolled up to her seat, it was clear the exhausted Alya and Drowzy Nino didn’t notice the evidence she had planted under Marinette’s chair. Lila smiled as she thought about how well today would go.

Lila pulled out her stuff and began to survey the classroom. Everything was set up exactly as she had done yesterday. All she needed to do was wait for everyone to show up, and then let the plan go into motion.

Nino sat at his desk, he was pretending to not be paying attention, but he was keeping watch of the devious liar. Lila was sneaky, and his girlfriend was in the middle of a power nap to be observant. Of course, he knew he wasn’t the most convincing fibber, so he would need to be subtle in keeping a close eye on the liar.

Lila had gotten up from her desk and left the classroom for a brief moment. She felt herself shudder.

What is this chill I’m getting, something doesn’t seem right with those two… are they suspicious?

Lila shook the thought out of her head. It was clear that they were just tired, likely on edge from lack of sleep. Getting paranoid would lead to her getting sloppy again. She needed to play this right. Today was the day everything started going her way again.

_______________________________________________________________________

Marinette was bubbly on her way to school. She couldn’t wait to tell Alya and the girls all about what happened yesterday. She knew that Alya would probably be over the moon, and something like this could only be said in person, texting would ruin the moment.

“Marinette, you might want to slow down.” Tikki pipped up from her bag. “I think someone is nearby.”

The designer slowed her pace a bit.

Marinette closed her bag and turned around to see a blond teen running up to her.

“Adrien?”

Marinette stopped to let the boy catch up.

“I… I wanted to surprise you at the bakery.” He said between breaths. “I wanted to walk with you to school.”

Marinette felt her cheeks warm at the statement.

“But I … miscalculated how far you were from my house and to make up for time… I sprinted.”

“You usually have your bodyguard drive you to class. Is your father okay with you walking to school?”

Adrien finished catching his breath.

“He doesn’t know and it’s probably better that he doesn’t, but I let my bodyguard know in advance. He seemed fine with it… Just as long as I message him when I am at school.”

“Sneaking out of the house to meet with a girl, I didn’t know I was dating a badboy.”

Adrien looked at Marinette with surprise until he realized she was joking. He found himself chuckling.

“Now you know the truth, I also have a leather jacket in my closet.” Adrien said while doing his best to look tough to play up the ‘Bad boy’ look he was trying and failing to portray.

Marinette giggled at that lame attempt. Adrien loved that sound.

“I don’t think I can imagine that. Besides, I like good boys.”

Marinette started walking to school.

Adrien sighed happily before matching her pace to join her.

He reached out his hand to hold hers, still nervous about how to go about this dating thing. Sure enough, Marinette was more than happy to hold his hand.

______________________________________________________________________

“I’m up!” Alya exclaimed as she shot up.

“Aw man! Now the moment is gone. I was going to draw on her face.” A pink haired teen frowned, as she held an open marker in her hand but Nino was standing in between her and the formerly sleeping teen.

The reporter quickly gathered her bearings and looked at the smaller teen.

“Like hell you are going to mark up my face.”

“Well now that you’re awake it’s no fun.” Alix commented with dissatisfaction. “Maybe later.”

Alya rolled her eyes. She is too tired to deal with whatever Alix is up to.

“I’m glad you got up, I wasn’t sure I could hold her off any longer.” Nino sighed in relief.

Alya stretched in order to wake herself up from her lethargic state.

“Did school start yet?”

“Not yet, but most of the class is here”

“Anything suspicious with you-know-who?”

“She was the first one to arrive in class after us. She went outside for about 5 minutes then came back into her seat. After that, nothing weird.”

“Okay, and I guess you didn’t notice anything else.”

“Nothing”

“Okay, and why does Alix want to draw on my face so bad? Did she make a bet with Kim?”

“Kim bet her 10 Euros that she wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“She will be out some cash.”

Chloé walked into the classroom with Sabrina following shortly behind. It was apparent that the mayor’s daughter was in a mood.

She looked up to Max’s seat and moved her way up. The robot enthusiast didn’t realize she was there until she slammed her hand on his desk. The sudden action startled him and made him look up at the clearly driven teen.

“I did some digging about your little app.” Chloé spat with disgust.

It took Max a moment to figure out what she was referring to.

“Oh, you mean ‘Soulmate Searcher.”

“I know all about that Soulmate Survey bull crap.”

Max had lost interest in that whole thing after he had some more startling information revealed to him. He had even forgot about the argument he had with Chloé.

“Wait, you’re still hung up on that?”

“You were the one talking about how smart and junk it was. I had Sabrina do some digging.”

Max looked to Sabrina, the poor ginger haired girl had a rough night. Likely researching for Chloé.

“Look, I kind of moved past looking into it. So, let’s just agree to disagree and move on.”

Chloé glared at the glasses wearing teen and snapped her fingers.

On cue, Sabrina dumped at least a couple dozen pages on the desk.

Max really didn’t care about this right now, he had a much more important objective to focus on, this was an annoying distraction.

Astonishingly it was Nathanael that picked up a few of the articles.

“These are all written by the same guy.” The artist commented as he kept changing articles to see if there was a second opinion by someone else.

Curious, some of the other classmates moved to the pile of papers.

“Some of these are also old articles, like back when the app wasn’t even a thing here.” Myléne chimed in.

“One of the articles even has an author’s note on the bottom that says that this article holds inaccuracies that no longer apply.” Rose Quipped.

Chloé turned a fiery gaze at Sabrina.

“I told you to research thoroughly!”

“You told me to find anything that was written dismissing the app as fake. This was what I was able to find…”

Chloé grumbled.

“Whatever! I know that app is crap.”

Chloé stormed down to her desk and threw herself on her seat, only to hear a creaking noise and then fall with a painful slam to the floor. The loud noise blocking out the sound of the morning bell.

Chloé’s scream was loud enough to draw the attention of Miss Bustier who ran into the room.

“Is everyone alright? I heard a scream?” The young teacher clearly frantic with worry.

The class was silent as the teacher noticed Chloé on the floor clearly in pain from her bench seat that had fallen apart.

Lila was the first to speak up.

“Chloé’s seat fell apart.”

Lila dashed down to Chloé.

“Are you alright Chloé, that looked like it hurt.” Lila offered her hand to the fallen student.

Chloé took Lila’s hand up and grumbled as she covered her bruised tailbone.

“I want whoever made the seat fired and jailed!”

“It probably broke from the weight of your ego.” Juleka commented dryly.

Chloé turned to the long-haired teen with a grimace.

“I bet you did this you, emo freak!”

“Chloé! We do not insult our classmates.” Miss Bustier scolded. “I understand you are hurt from the fall, but it isn’t right to lash out at your classmates. Apologize to Juleka.”

Chloé moved turned away from the class with a huff.

“I am not saying anything until the jerk that destroyed my seat pays.”

Alya took notice that Lila was digging through the seat. What could she be…”

“Umm, I found something…” Lila’s words caught the classes attention.

Lila pulled out a hair tie that looked familiar.

“Isn’t that Marinette’s Hair tie?” Sabrina piped up.

‘That manipulative bitch! Lila did this!” Alya felt her thoughts scream at her.

“I knew that she was in on this! She made sure she wasn’t here to catch me off guard!”

“It could just be a coincidence.” Lila spoke out. “Marinette isn’t even here yet. It might have gotten lost under here by accident.”

Alya felt her mind screech, this wasn’t adding up, why would Lila bother with the hair tie? What was Lila planning?

Most of the class had gotten out of their seats to look to see the situation.

Max took a closer look at the collapsed seat.

“There are no breaks in the boards, and no screws or bolts to be found. I calculate a 98.7% chance that someone must have removed them from the chair. Someone did sabotage Chloé’s seat.”

The class gasped in surprise.

“I knew it! And I bet it was Marinette that did it!”

“Marinette would never do such a thing!” Alya jumped up. “I know my girl would not stoop to something like this, even if it is Chloé.”

“Perhaps we can check her locker. If there is nothing involving the seat we can clear her.”

“Wait! You can’t just invade Marinette’s privacy.”

Miss Bustier pondered for a moment.

“If we are going to search Marinette’s locker, she will need to be present. She should give her consent before we invade her space.”

“But if she is responsible she would obviously not want us to check!” Chloé shouted. “I will call my daddy and he will have the cops on the case!”

“T-That won’t be necessary!” Miss Bustier eased. She hated how much influence Chloé had thanks to her father’s position. She couldn’t just punish Chloé or simply tell her not to act out. Principal Damocles made sure to explain the delicate balance they had to maintain thanks to Chloé’s presence. She can’t teach her students if Chloé starts getting the police involved.

“I will discuss the concern with the Principal. I am sure he will make the right call and we will decide how to go about this. In the meantime, everyone please sit in your seats. Chloé, if you are still hurt, please have someone escort you to the nurse’s office.”

“I will not be leaving until I get whoever did this expelled.” Chloé hissed.

“In that case, sit in one of the open seats until we can get the seat fixed. Sabrina, you as well.”

The red head teacher made her way out of the classroom.

Chloé turned her attention to the class.

“Alright, I don’t care what Bustier says, Marinette clearly was responsible for destroying my chair and I want some justice!”

“Chloé, just because Marinette’s hair tie was under the desk doesn’t mean that she did it. Besides, when could she have done it?” Ivan pointed out.

“Well then who else could have done it?”

“To be fair, all of us pretty much hate your guts, it could be anyone.” Alix commented as she leaned back.

“So, you admit you did it!”

“I wish! But nah, this wasn’t my handy work. I would have signed it. Because that, would be art.”

The tomato haired artist chuckled at his friend’s comment. Alix gave him a quick fistbump.

Chloé growled.

“You have just as much of an idea who did this as we all do.” Myléne stated firmly.

“Sabrina!”

“Yes Chloé?”

“Who have I wronged in this classroom?”

“Um… everyone.”

“I meant recently.”

“Right… lets see…”

Sabrina went into her phone.

“You had that argument with Max about the app, insulted Myléne’s favorite charity and called the cause stupid, Told Rosé that the reason Prince Ali hasn’t written back to her in the last few weeks was because he was sick of her, told kim his swim cap makes him look like a bowling pin, mocked Nathanael and Alix’s art project collaboration, and… Oh! You also made fun of Marinette’s design sketches. I think that was it for last week. It was a light week.”

“So, there are the obvious suspects.” Chloé exclaimed with a smirk.

“Now if Marinette would get here we would have a perfect line up.”

Lila smirked at the little show, this was all going perfectly. Naturally Marinette would show up just as Miss Bustier got the principal involved. That would lead to the search of the designer’s locker, where Lila had expertly planted the screws and tools that she used to dismantle Chloé’s seat, along with items that she took from other lockers, including her own stuff to make sure Marinette got punished. Based on what she knew, that would be enough to get Marinette suspended, possibly expelled. Either one would work out wonderfully, and with that she could start destroying each person she cared about one by one.

“What about a line up?” a teen boy voice called out.

Chloé turned to see Adrien and Marinette entering the classroom.

The room was silent as the two teens walked in. The whole class watching the duo intently, as if seeing something quite shocking.

“Is something wrong?” Marinette inquired, looking around the room.

She noticed the dismantled bench seat.

“Chloé what happened to your seat?”

Chloé’s jaw opened as she approached.

“Forget the seat! What is this!” She gestured to the two with clear shock and disgust.

Adrien and Marinette look at the mayor’s daughter with confusion before looking at what she was gesturing to. The two realized they had been holding hands the entire time.

“Oh, I think we all know what it is.” Alya’s comment burst through the silence, a smug smile on her face.

“But it would be best to hear it from them.” Nino chimed in, assisting his girlfriend in the playful ribbing of their best friends.

Marinette and Adrien felt their faces turn red and they let go of the other’s hand.

“Well actually its uh, my hand was… I mean his hand was… I …” Marinette tried to get the words out but felt her mouth failing her.

Adrien put his hand on her shoulder.

“Is it wrong for a guy to hold hands with a girl he is dating?”

Marinette felt her heart in her ears as he said that.

Adrien then looks to Nino.

“It is right? Im still new to this and the shows I watched kind of made it a big deal so Im not sure.” He whispers.

Nino nods.

Adrien looks back at Chloé now more assured.

“This is ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous!”

Chloé stomped away from the two, just unable to handle the truth.

The mayor’s daughter walked out the door complaining about how she was going to be sick at this.

The class quickly swarmed the around the new couple and Alya slipped back to allow the class to ask them questions. She would get the details later.

Lila felt herself seething despite the smile she had on her face. This was not how things were supposed to be going. Even with her plan, Marinette won’t be miserable.

“Not going in?” Alya asked,

“Huh? Oh, I am sure I can ask questions later. Everyone has been waiting on this longer then I have.” The brunette commented as she kept up her façade.

She would have a word with Gabriel about this… actually she might not have to. If her plan goes well, Gabriel would never let Adrien be with someone that could besmirch the Gabriel brand. If word got out that Adrien’s new girl was kicked out of school, the tabloids would rip the girl apart for her. That thought soothed her.

“Besides, we should be concerned about what happened with Chloé’s seat. Max did say it was sabotage. We should focus on getting to the bottom of that.”

Alya looked at the clock. She noticed with everything going on, it was well into first period.

“I think something more important will come up.”

Alya went back to her desk with a sly smile on her face.

Lila felt a chill go down her spine. What did she mean by that?

As if on cue, everyone noticed their phones going off.

The class stop asking the couple questions as they look at their phones, wondering what was with the sudden message

Lila quickly pulled out her phone. Her face went pale as she looked at the attachment titled.

‘The True face of Lila Rossi’

______________________________________________________________________

Mr. Damocles was staring at his computer with shock as Miss Bustier stood in the room.

“It’s unbelievable… the records that we were waiting on for Miss Rossi are all here.” The principle spoke in bewilderment.

The young teacher watched as Mr.Damocles looked through each file.

“So many reprimands… dozens of student and teacher complaints…. False doctor’s notes…”

“This can’t be real, right? Lila has been a good student. Sure, she had a leave of absence but that was because she was abroad with her mother.”

“These documents are all legitimate. They are all from the previous school Miss Rossi attended, she had failed to notify us of any of the following when she was enrolled here! We could never have accepted a student with such a notorious record.” The principal sternly noted.

“Mr.Damocles please, it could be possible that Miss Rossi was scared about the whole situation. Perhaps this was her chance to start things right.”

“Caline, your kindness and compassion for your students is quite admirable, however, these records still show that there was a lot Miss Rossi has been hiding from us. I will be requesting that she and her mother have a discussion with me. After that, we will decide on whether she can stay Dupont.”

“But what about the issue with Chloé’s chair?”

“You mentioned that Chloé is not injured? Then it can wait until after we sort things out with Miss Rossi.”

“Understood.”

The young teacher left the office, she began to start questioning her actions as a teacher. Was Lila really a bad egg? Was she an awful teacher for not realizing that Lila had been lying to her? She stopped at the door to her classroom when she heard the sound of her students talking.

______________________________________________________________________________

Lila could feel everything falling apart around her as she watched her classmates look at their phones with interest.

She needed to find a way out of this. She needed to think of something fast.

“Lila, is this true?” Nathanael asked in surprise.

The rest of the class looking up from their phones, their expressions a mix of anger, hurt and shock. Marinette and Adrien seemed to be the only ones that seemed unsurprised by the message.

Lila racked her brain for several seconds, until the perfect lie crafted itself in her brain.

Lila fell to her knees and started to cry.

“I thought I was free of that cyber bully from my old school…” Her words hitting the right notes.

“Cyber bully?” Rose spoke up.

Lila knew she had landed one person that was willing to believe. And much like a composer, she crafted her symphony of deceit.

“Yes, you see. Back at my old school, there was this guy I was friends with. He was a smart guy with computers, almost as smart as Max.”

“Wait, if you were friends, why is he bullying you?” Kim inquired.

Most of the class was being pulled in by Lila’s thread.

“He had a huge crush on me, while I did think he was nice, I just couldn’t see him as anything more than a friend. I told him that after he confessed to me. After that however, things started to turn bad. It started out with some minor things, a couple of spam emails, a text with a pop up scare. I could tell he was hurt so I didn’t call him out on it, I was sure he would heal and things could go back to normal… but then he started getting worse.”

“He started hacking into my phone, sending out messages to my other friends, making it seem like I hated them.” Lila made her voice more frantic, as if living through a trauma.

She could tell the class that had been looking at the phones with rage were now back under her thumb, she had them.

“I lost all of my friends, no matter what I tried to say, they shut me off. That guy destroyed my friend group. I went up to him and demanded he come clean. He refused, laughing as he insulted me. He had decided he was going to ruin my life.”

Kim went to the teacher’s desk to get Lila the tissue box.

Lila looked up at the swimmer.

“Thank you.”

She took a tissue to dab her eyes.

“The jerk then hacked into the school’s records, changing my grades, my attendence, he even messed with my medical records at the school! It was hell!”

“Lila…” Myléne moved to her side.

“So, when my Mom got the job to work at the French embassy here, I was so excited. I could finally get away from that cruel monster’s clutches… but so much for that! Now you all hate me and think I am this awful person!” Lila cried into her arms.

“We don’t think that!”

“Of course, we wouldn’t believe that!”

Lila hid her sinister grin as she heard the comments of her classmates. She had easily pulled the wool over their eyes. Much like before she had escaped the jaws of defeat with her deception.

Until the sound of her voice was coming from another source.

Lila looked up and felt the world shake as the horror she assumed she avoided was being undone by what she had gone so far to get rid of. The recording.

“Of course, it was all lies. Knowing Spielberg? Being friends with a prince? All of those outlandish lies and yet everyone ate it up so easily. I don’t know whether it’s something in la seine but everyone here is super gullible. Everyone in that class is stupid enough to believe anything! I didn’t even try to come up with clever lies. Have none of them even heard of Google? I was able to have them eating out of the palm of my hand like the sheep they are. So when I say I could ruin your life Marinette, I can ruin your life without even lifting a finger.”

Alya paused the recording.

“That… that isn’t me! That was clearly an edited audio file!”

But at this point, everyone in the class had stopped buying into Lila’s words.

“There’s an additional 44 minutes on here that say otherwise.” Alya’s statement was like a dagger in the leg. “

The class backed away from Lila, their expressions were all the same now. They were not happy with her. They were hurt.

“Lila… how could you?” Rose spoke softly, as if holding back tears.

Juleka hugged her close.

“We gave you our friendship?”

“You threatened our friend!” Kim shouted angrily.

“We trusted you!”

“Did you even care about us?”

A sea of comments from each student that was hurt by the revelation started to fill the room.

Adrien and Marinette’s expressions read more as surprise than anything else. The two had no idea Lila would be exposed like this. The class was hurt by Lila’s actions, and now she was paying the price.

Marinette moved to where alya was.

“So, this was why you were so busy.”

“Yea, and I see I wasn’t the only one whose been busy.”

Marinette had a soft smile with her friend’s comment.

“You’re the best. You know that, right?”

“No, If I was I would’ve had your back sooner. I’m sorry it took so long to come around.”

“You are still the best.”

Alya hugged the designer.

“I’m serious, after this. I want details on you and Mr. Model.”

“Deal.”

Lila did her best to try and contest the comments, trying to find some way to dispute them, but her words were falling on deaf ears. She could tell that no matter what she said, no matter what she did, it was over. She had lost.

Lila turned her attention to Marinette, her eyes seeing red.

“You, this was all your doing!”

Adrien went in front of Marinette, as if to protect her in case Lila tries to attack her.

“No Lila, you did this to yourself.” The words coming from the blond were colder then ice.

“Adrien, you don’t seriously believe all this…”

“I tried to be your friend, we all did. But you lied to our faces, you hurt our friends, you threatened Marinette. Those are things I can’t forgive.”

Lila glared at Marinette.

“Are you going to hide behind him! Have you nothing to say!?”

Marinette expected to have a whole speech ready the moment the truth was revealed, but she never expected everything to fall into place like this. Marinette felt pity for the exposed liar.

She walked past Adrien and looked into Lila’s eyes.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t think the real you was good enough for us to get to know.”

Lila acted as if she had been struck in the face. She lost the last of what remained of her tact. She was being pitied!

“You will pay for this! You don’t get to ruin my life without consequences!”

“Is it because you’re getting an akuma from your buddy, Hawkmoth?”

Everyone turned to the ladyblogger, who pointed to her phone.

“You might want to check the Ladyblog.”

Lila suddenly felt a pit of unfathomable despair hit her. What had that blogger done?

Lila forced herself to go to the ladyblog, and on the front page on the site.

Friend of Ladybug or Akuma Collaborator? The Truth on Lila Rossi

Right underneath was security footage of her grabbing an akuma for herself.

This was the absolute worst-case scenario.

Lila ran to the door. She needed to leave. She needed to escape. She needed some way to clean all of this up, but she was stopped. A clearly distraught teacher at the door. Tears rolling down her face and expression that no student has ever seen on the young teacher’s face. Sorrow.

“Lila, I need you to come to the Principal’s office.”

Everyone stood by and watched silently as Miss Bustier took the lying student away.

____________________________________________________________________

“Miss Bustier it isn’t what you think!”

The young teacher didn’t say a word as Lila tried to talk her way out. She was hurt by her students lies, the anguish she put her other students through, and never once looked into it. She felt like a failure of a teacher, she had defended her and this was what she came to find? It was unforgivable.”

She had brought the girl to Mr.Damocles’ office.

“Sit down Miss Rossi.” The owl-like man in the chair stated firmly.

Lila obeyed as Miss Bustier wiped her tears and looked at the Principal.

“Sir, I have some rather disturbing news I found out about Lila.”

“No need Caline. I had found the recording at the end of the documents.”

Lila couldn’t feel more mortified by this. This was some kind of twisted nightmare.

Lila of course wasn’t expecting the next person to walk through the door.

“Mamma?”

______________________________________________________________________________

A masked villain smiled as the window opened to let light into the empty room.

“This is it! This was the anguish I was waiting for! Lila Rossi, you will be my greatest akuma yet.”

He took a butterfly into his hand and turned into an akuma.

“Fly away my little akuma! And evilize her!”

The black buttefly left the lair and began to fly out and find the source of the negative energy.

“Mayura, it is your turn.”

The blue clad villainess step forward, plucking a feather from her fan and turning it a sinister blue.

She blows the feather away into the wind, following the butterfly.

“Fly away my beautiful amok, enhance and hone that despair into a mighty power.”

The two villains watch the sky light as they await to make contact.

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. This will be the end of Ladybug and Chat noir.”

Lila ran out of the school, it was bad enough that people found out the truth about her, But her momma?! She couldn’t watch her mother’s heart break as she learned the truth. She ran out of the office before they said anything to her.

‘I need to find a way out of this. Marinette and Alya ruined everything! Now I am the class outcast and what’s worse, my momma is going to find out everything! I need to stop this! I need to get everyone back under my control.

Lila made her way to an alley way and hid behind a dumpster. She wasn’t sure if she was being followed, but she could not risk it. Perhaps she could talk with Mr. Agreste, he could pull enough strings that could… no, he would likely dismiss her. Her usefulness was done. With everyone against her, there was no way she could do anything.

She sat and let her despair run over her. There was nothing she could do, she felt so powerless. Everything she had been building up to. Everything she had wanted was all in reach… and yet it was ripped away from her! She would do anything to have things back to how they were, back when she was in charge!

She heard something approaching. She looked up, clearly not ready to face her punishment. But what she didn’t expect to see was a butterfly coming her way.

The butterfly made its way to the silver charm bracelet on her wrist and a feather made its way into her earing. A butterfly outline appeared over her face.

“The despair of having everything you have built come crashing down.” A familiar deep voice spoke

“All of that effort dashed in one catastrophic moment.” A feminine voice continued the line, a new yet equally sinister tone.

“You were the queen of deception until they shattered your crown”

“The pain you have suffered by that horrible event.”

“What you wouldn’t give to fix everything and gain that power over others you once had.”

“Hawkmoth, so you show yourself. I was thinking you forgot all about me. And it seems you made a new friend.” Lila interrupted their eerie rhyme.

“Oh, as if I couldn’t forget about my most competent akuma.” Hawkmoth Praised.

“I am Mayura, partner of Hawkmoth, I have been watching you closely Miss Rossi.” Mayura introduced herself. “It appears you have yourself in a much more devastating predicament then before.”

“It’s all your akuma’s fault, it’s all Marinette’s fault… Its all of their faults!’

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. I am going to give you the power to get those classmates of yours back under your power, no, all of Paris under your control. You will topple Paris with an army of unquestionably loyal akuma.”

“And I will give you an ally that will obey any order from you without question.”

The Italian Exchange student loved the sound of that.

“Let me guess, all I need to do is to get Ladybug and Chat noir’s miraculous.”

“Good girl. Do we have a deal?”

“Crushing Ladybug will be therapeutic right about now. I’ll have that entire school under my foot, along with those miserable brats that ruined my life.”

“Very well! I grant you the power to reveal the akuma lying underneath each person with your masks! Show the world who you truly are, Masquerade.”

_____________________________________________________________________

(And that was Part 30! Thank you guys so much for reading up to this point. This was a long time coming. I hope it reached your expectations. Now remember to say what you think of the chapter, good, bad. I want to hear your thoughts. Is it worth seeing Part 31?

Now, I did mention that I will be announcing a new contest. Which After this reaches 1k notes I will be officially announcing.)

(If you want to support me directly, check out my ko-fi. Or if you want to support indirectly, take a look at the webcomic I am writing with @knightsweeties)

Special Honorary Tags: @martasaur @dootintootincowboy @inno-chan @tenten-hinamori @bevvydraws @worteltje7

#Soulmate survey #12k special #dun dun dun!#Lila karma #miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fanfic #miraculous fanficiton #OMG THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE #OVER 9000 WORDS #soulmate searcher #lovesquare #adrinette #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lila rossi #lila x karma

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

Text

Get Up Eight, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Free Space

The air is sweet outside of Hiratsuka; the ocean’s salt still carries its pale sting on the breeze, but it cannot compete with the last of the spring’s harvest. The paddies are flooded still, slowly draining under the heat of the sun; wet earth weighs down the air’s sweetness, rich and full. This far into the season it is gold and green as far as the eye can see, set over a shimmering stretch of blue; a precious comb laid on silk. But this, this is finer than any gift an emperor could give his concubines. Ryo might buy jade and sapphires, but it could not buy a moment in time, experienced with all the senses of the body.

The threshing would come soon, as the end came for all beautiful things. The fields will be allowed to dry, and in weeks, this ground would lie fallow, a barren marshy plain awaiting its next use. But impermanence is a part of beauty, what made a sight such as this so precious and so dear. Just as petals fell from cherry trees, or snow sifted from the winter sky, this moment only existed in the here and now. In mere days, all of this would be gone.

Even Obi slows ahead of her, hands resting on the tight nip of his hips. Stalks spring thickly up beside the road, paddies dug so close the cobbles have sunk, curving the edges of the walkway like a scroll unfurled. He stands in the middle of it, a samurai out of a wood-block print, surveying his domain--

“Well,” he huffs, turning his chin over his shoulder. “It sure smells like shit.”

Shirayuki tries to stifle it, to keep the noise buried deep in her chest, but it’s impossible-- a laugh hiccups up between her lips, and try as she might, her sleeve doesn’t muffle it a single bit.

“What, ojou-san?” His mouth quirks at a corner, too sly for innocence. “Don’t you think so?”

Now that he mentions it...yes. That sweet earthy smell mixed with standing water gives off a fragrance that only a fly could love. The rice may be sweet on the wind and salt may still roll through with a breeze, but when the skies were quiet and her feet were still, it savored of nothing so strongly as the pies oxen dropped on the road.

Not that she’d ever give her samurai the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Surely it isn’t so bad as all that.” She takes in a large, pointed breath, and prays she won’t cough. “I only smell sweet grass.”

Both narrow brows scurry up his forehead, rumpling his scar. “Is that so, ojou-san?”

With a sharp smile he swaggers over to one of the sparse pines clinging onto the road, dropping down into a squat. “Then you won’t mind if we take our rest here?”

“W-what?” There’s barely any room for the cobbles, and none at all for two travelers trying to stay off them. And the smell...

“Come on.” He pats the muddy ground beside him; it splats beneath his palm. “This water looks healing if I do say so myself. Perfect to rest your poor feet in.”

Shirayuki casts a dubious glance over the road’s edge, knowing full well what she will find. These paddies are not freshly filled, water sparkling blue under the fair sky like in the ukiyo-e; oh no, this is a field left to drain, the water growing murkier with every day, probably rife with leeches and worse. Fine for plants, but for her poor, weeping blisters--

Well, she’d certainly collect quite a few friends putting her feet in there. They would be such a comfort before she succumbed to whatever infection stagnant water gave her. He blisters throb at the thought.

“We should keep going,” she informs him steadily. “Weren’t you just saying there was much road left to be traveled?”

At least, that had been his excuse in Hiratsuka. No time for dallying, ojou-san, he’d told her, slipping a vendor a few mon for the onigiri in her hands. We’ll have to sleep on the road if the light fades before we get to Odawara.

Obi doesn’t exactly frown; such an expression isn’t in his nature-- instead his mouth pulls to the precise width of the line she’s toeing.

“Well,” he hums his dangerous way, the sort that says only her twelve ryo stand between his hand and her cheek. His body unfurls to standing with an exaggerated slowness, a threat in every curl of his limbs. “Since ojou-san doesn’t need a break, I suppose we can walk all the way to Oiso.”

Her ronin stands across from her, kimono threadbare, hakama in hardly better shape, arms folded across his narrow chest. She knows that cock to his hip, that hint of a smirk on his face-- he expects her to fold, he expects her to beg like the delicate ojou-san she’s pretending to be.

Even wrapped tight under her tabi, the warabi loosely tied, her feet ache. Kino’s wife would plead to stop-- no, command him to. Either way, she would merely confirm what he already knew; she was a pampered fine lady, unable to keep up with the grueling pace he set. A burden he would be made to bear all the way to Kyoto.

Shirayuki shifts the sack on her back, Buddha’s hand pressing into her spine. “Fine. Let us keep going.”

Marsh bleeds into hills, the road flattening and slanting both, reeds rising up into pines. The shade is a welcome reprieve, as is the sea breeze that stirs the branches overhead and sends shadows to dance at her feet. Even as nature’s wonder presses in around her, Shirayuki cannot help but think she might be able to enjoy it better if her feet were not about to pop off at the ankle.

Oiso is hardly an hour’s walk from Hiratsuka, but every step is on needles, stabbing wherever her sole touches cobble. Still, still-- she will not relent. Surely they would see the post for the shukuba at any moment, and then she might--

“Ojou-san?” A shadow falls over her; even if she could not see the patched hem of his hakama, the scent of his sweat, clean and earthy, would give him away. His hands hover at her shoulders, steadying without touch. “Are you all right?”

“Ah!” She steps back, covering a wince with a smile. “No, no. I’m just fine. I can keep up! Oiso is only a few miles away, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He shifts back, arms folding into a forbidding bar of steel across her vision. “Do your feet hurt, ojou-san?”

His tone might be playful, a little sing-song like a child at play, but it is a knowing gaze that he wears, fixed to the hem of her kimono. She shuffles her feet, hoping they fall into shadow-- if only she had bought new tabi in Hiratsuka, she would have had a few more hours before the blood stained the new cloth.

His breath hisses through his teeth like a palpable hit. “Ojou-san!”

Ah, so he’s seen it. That will make this conversation a hair more difficult.

“Don’t worry about me!” she yelps, sweeping away from the hands that would grab her, that would hold her in place to behold the extent of her foolishness. “It can wait until we get to Oiso-juku!”

He shakes his head, sitting back on his heels. “We’ll rest.”

Her cheeks puff out with annoyance. “Aren’t I the one who makes those decisions, samurai-dono?”

His mouth pulls thin for a moment, considering her, but the next has it bent in a bright smile. “All right then. Let’s rest. We can have some of those onigiri in your pack.”

Shirayuki longs to protest-- she did not make her way trading on feminine weakness in Yokohama, and she was not about to start here and now because this man would let her-- but her stomach growls long and loud, a beggar on its knees.

“Well,” she murmurs, looking away from that smug grin. “If you insist.”

“You know.” Obi’s fingers pluck nimbly at the twine knotted around the bamboo leaf, slipping it open with a firm tug on one end. Inside, the rice still steams, just cool enough to touch. “If you had said something, we could have stopped at Hiratsuka.”

Shirayuki looks up, her legs stretched out before her, wiggling her toes with a grimace. She spares him a raised brow, managing only a strained, “Could we have?”

His mouth opens, then closes again. Gold eyes shine almost green in the shade of the pine trees, but they drop away before she can determine whether it is merely a trick of the light. “Maybe.”

Her lips press tight as she watches him, long fingers separating one sticky triangle off from the others. “You’re worried. Did something happen...?”

At the hatago, Shirayuki assumes, but caution stills her tongue. The days she has spent with him have been long, but still-- she’s known him for only three. What trouble dogs his steps now may have been bought and paid for long before she knelt across from him in a tea house and offered twelve ryo to take her away from her own.

“Should I rewrap them?”

Her head jolts up; the amber of his eyes waits to trap her, honey-warm with curiosity. He presses the still-warm onigiri into her palm, and she-- she nearly says no. She may be smaller than him, but she’s not a child. A single rice ball would not a meal make.

But then he chucks his chin downward, toward where her feet sit bare save for the bandages.

“Oh,” she breathes, flexing them. Even that small movement sends pain lancing up her legs. “No, not yet.”

He shifts, mouth rumpled into a dubious knot. “It’s soaked through in places.”

“It’s fine.” Sour plum bursts on her tongue, rice sticking to her teeth as she tries to hurry it along. “It will take too much time to tend to now.”

If anything, his frown deepens. “I can work quick, ojou-san. You said last night that I’d done a good job.”

“I...” A frisson ran through her when he’d cupped her heel in his palm, fingers brushing over her blisters with a gentleness she had not expected from a man as rough as him. And when his hand had slid higher, gripping her calf to hold her in place-- “It can wait. Until we stop.”

Until she is sure she won’t need her legs to support her afterward.

He hums, unconvinced, but settles back onto his seat, knees crossed in front of him. If he were born to a greater station, there would be block prints of him like this, desultory and cross-legged, moments away from a war.

“Oiso is close by,” he reminds her, as if she did not tell him the same only minutes ago. “If the pain’s too much, let me know. We can always stop for the night.”

She swallows her bite of onigiri, watching him steadily. “Would you stop on your own?”

He lets out a long, annoyed breath. “No.”

“Then we’ll press on to Odawara.” She offers him a soft smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a short walk,” he warns her, impatience creeping into his tone. “If you’re really hurting--”

“I know.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you.”

He leans back on his hands, a laugh rasping out of his throat. “I doubt that. You’d faint before you’d admit you can’t keep up.”

She lets out a huff. She can’t say it’s not true, but all the same, he doesn’t have to say it. “I--”

“Well, well.” A man emerges from the pines, lips stretched to a smile so wide that her own cheeks hurt. “Look at what we have here, boys.”

Shirayuki jumps-- not far, stretched out as she is, but enough to tuck her feet beneath her kimono, hiding the bandages. Obi’s already got his own beneath him, his knuckles bone white where they wrap around his hilt. His gaze fixes on the treeline, steady and gold, the way a tiger might watch from the long grass, and her breath catches. Obi might wear a man’s skin, but in this moment he is more wolf than warrior, a predator in the guise of its prey.

But that man doesn’t see it. He strides into the copse, blades rattling at his side, heedlessly smiling at his death. “No need for that, oni-san.”

Obi’s hilt creaks beneath his grip. “I’m not your brother.”

Her eyes blink wide, searching the strained planes of his face. This man may be a stranger, unwelcome in their company, but to be so unconscionably rude-- well, Shirayuki can hardly countenance it. Not from a man who slid goshujin through his teeth like steel bared from its sheath, a man who wielded manners as a weapon--

A man who knows that his rudeness would mark them more than submission. She’d seen what counted as fighting words when she ran the sake house; not a single bushi worth his blade would let a ronin parry their generous parity.

But still, this one only smiles. Wider now, the sharp edges of his eyeteeth cresting the ridge of his lips.

“Oh, no?” Men shuffle through the trees, the boughs obscuring their gaunt faces, but still, Shirayuki is sure-- they don’t smile like this samurai. No, ronin. He might have the paired blades wrapped at his hips, but there’s no crest on his haori, only a single long tail winding over his shoulders from the hair at his nape, instead of a bushi’s top-knot. “But we shared a drink back at the hatago, didn’t we?”

Shirayuki takes in the worn hem of this ronin’s hakama, the meticulously mended seams of his haori, the fine material his kimono had once been; none of it is familiar, nor is his face. “Obi-dono?”

Something twitches in the depths of Obi’s jaw. A flicker of recognition, perhaps, to pair with the fleet warning that lopes across his eyes.

“Having a rest, I see?” the ronin observes, edging ever closer to the clearing, his men jostling around him. Three of them, plus the headman; more than any man could manage, no matter how skilled Obi might be. “Now, we were just thinking the same thing, weren’t we?”

Tension thickens the air, and there’s no reason for it, none at all. Not unless her yojimbo is restless, eager to prove to her his prowess. It’s an exhibition that she is less than enthused to participate in, especially with these odds.

“Please.” There is no sake house for her to serve, but her old role drops over her like a mask, mouth stretching into that close-lipped smile, hiding in behind her sleeve. “Come in. I mean--” Obi stares at her, chin slowly shaking, a silent plea-- “please, come sit.”

It’s his stare-- pupils pinprick small with shock, white a thin ring all around the gold-- that reminds her that she’s still looking up. Her eyes drop, fixing to the stranger’s hands, where no dirt lingers beneath his nails, each one diligently picked and scrubbed to cleanliness. But no-- it must drop farther still, down to rest demurely on her knees. Already she's done too much, said too much; a hostess speaks to custom with ease, but a retiring ojou-san in the company of her retainer...

She would be silent. A woman ready to fade into the background as the men carried on her business.

Shirayuki shifts, rolling up to rest on her knees, head bowed. Not three days on the road, and already the role she has chosen for herself chafes.

“Well, since onee-san has been so kind.” The man saunters from the shade, crouching down to a kneel. “It would be rude to refuse.”

Obi’s jaw works, a rebuttal brewing on his lips, but she holds out a hand instead, quelling. Her palm brushes over his knee, the muscles hovering beneath her fingertips going tense, his breath caught in his chest--

And she jolts it away, letting it hover safely over him instead. Still, he lowers onto his feet, placing the blade at his side. The right side, she notes with satisfaction, until he rolls back, legs crossing at the ankle before him, hands braced on his knees. A shogun’s stance, she had thought when Kino took it, but Obi in his threadbare kimono, juban long since lost, and faded hakama...

He makes it look like trouble.

Shirayuki swallows a grimace, bowing her head over her hands. “You are too kind, oni-san--” Obi grunts, displeasure stark on his sharp face, but at least leaves his protest to that-- “please, partake in our meal as well. We have only just started.”

Obi swivels toward her, betrayal writ clear in his eyes, but there’s nothing for it. She’s already asked the headman to sit; she can’t possibly ask him to starve. Not unless Obi would like to risk these men finding them on another stretch of road, far from any shukuba, the night much closer, their minds less wary.

The ronin casts a lingering glance at the onigiri still on the leaf, his tongue tracing the barest path over his lips--

“It is you who are too kind, onee-san, by offering,” he says, the picture of well-born courtesy. “We’d be happy to. As long as you don’t mind sharing our food as well?”

Obi blinks. “Your food?”

The headman holds up a hand, and at once his ronin come forward, dropping their sacks in front of them, and--

“Oh,” Shirayuki breathes, staring at the array of bento tumbled across their makeshift camp. Thinking of what they might well find inside them, her stomach shivers, just short of making its anticipation known. “Well, if you insist...”

As each lid springs open on the men’s hakubento, a feast spills forth: rolled egg and minced fish cakes, soy bears and boiled lotus, taro and shiitake. One has whole, simmered shrimp with pickled ginger, and the water in her mouth nearly leaks out at the sight of it.

“So much,” Shirayuki murmurs, palms pressed flat to her thighs. “Where did you get it all?”

“The hatago.” The ronin’s mouth lifts at a corner, gaze darting to where Obi sits beside her, stiff. “I’m surprised your man didn’t have them pack one for you.”

She resists looking at him, just waits until he’s finished his sticky bite of onigiri to say, “We were in a hurry.”

The ronin’s reply is a sly flash of teeth. “Hope you made it where you were going.”

Obi settles back onto his heels. “Not fast enough.”

It’s an answer made to be muttered, but Obi enunciates every syllable clearly, punctuating it with an insolent lift of his gaze, meeting the man’s with a pointed finality. It’s her first instinct to scold him, the way she might with Kino-san when he acted out of turn, but her breath catches in her chest.

She would do that. Her, a girl raised beneath the bar of a sake house, used to putting men in their place before they reached too far out of it. But a young ojou-san, naive to the ways of the world-- she would sit silent, letting the men speak their piece. If a fight broke out, she might scream, covering her fear with her sleeves, and hope for the best. Ah, never has she been so ill-suited for a role before.

It doesn’t matter in the end; the ronin only twitches his mouth to mark it before turning to her, smile firmly seated on his lips.

“I’m the headman of this outfit.” The man pats his chest, drawing her attention back to the fine material worn thin, to the juban that is still meticulously white when it has not yellowed at the collar. “They call me Mihaya.”

No family name, she notes. That’s fine enough for her. “And I’m Shirayuki.”

She casts a pointed glance toward Obi, willing him to show one glimmer of the respect he pays every other creature that’s made their acquaintance, but he makes no move to introduce himself. Instead he only reaches forward, past all the fine foods Mihaya’s men have provided, and picks up the last of their onigiri.

“Are you going to have this, ojou-san?” he asks, so mild. “Or should I?”

She draws in a deep, steadying breath. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine with sharing with the others.”

His lip juts at that, sullen, but it disappears behind a sharp smile. “Well then, more for me.”

Her only solace in his rudeness is that at least Mihaya’s companions return with the same, too busy stuffing their mouths to pay attention to propriety. Even with such fine bento as these, they dig into each box like men who haven’t eaten in days instead of mere hours ago.

“You must be from around here.”

Shirayuki startles, attention whipping back toward where the headman sits smiling, one hand brace on his knee. “Since you’re traveling south, I mean. Unless you’re traveling back home, onee-san?”

“Oh, no. I’m from--” Obi’s warning glance stills her too-honest response-- “not so far away.”

“Thought so.” There’s a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye as he leans toward her. “I don’t see many of your kind on the road, at least not without an entourage.”

“Oh.” Her fingers clench in her kimono, keeping her seated. She should have thought of that; a girl from a family with money to spare would have sent her with a handful of men, carrying her from Edo to Kyoto slung like precious cargo between them. “I thought-- I mean, my grandfather thought traveling with one guard would draw less attention than a dozen.”

“Might keep more eyes off you, sure,” Mihaya agrees, crunching on a slice of taro. “But it’s safer to have more men when the roads get...rough. You get set on by bandits, and one sword won’t do you much good, onee-san.”

“Is that so?” she asks mildly. “I thought-- what is the saying? Having a single, well-made blade is better than a thousand that will break on the first strike.”

Obi coughs.

“True enough, onee-san.” The headman’s smile wears thinner with each word. “And it’s so much harder to find quality nowadays.”

They have only known each other this past hour, but already, Shirayuki finds little quarrel with Mihaya or his manners; at least, not as much as she does with Obi and his, but still--

Still, she mislikes the smug glance he cuts toward Obi, his gaze raking up his worn and well-mended clothes, the lack of his juban, and clearly, clearly-- finding him wanting.

“For some.” There’s a bite to her voice that surprises her, but she likes it. “I am fortunate indeed to have found such an exemplary bushi as Obi. I could hardly wish for better.”

Mihaya’s expression crumples like a paper lantern in the rain. “I’m sure--”

“Where are you from, Mihaya-san?” she interjects; the last thing they need is to have this rest spoiled by this odd hostility between headman and yojimbo. Especially if it might force her to admit she’s only had her exemplary guard for all of two days. “You don’t sound like a man from Edo.”

A dark shadow flits over his face, like a cloud passing over the sun, gone before she’s ever truly seen it. “Here and there.”

The west, his accent says, though it’s too crisp to be from any common man. Just like his clothes, his voice betrays him. Still, there’s no reason to push; plenty of men have left their domains these days. With tension between the shogun and emperor--

Well, Shirayuki wouldn’t want to be a man with a blade in hand. Samurai had once lived and died by the sword before the shogun wrenched the domains beneath him and brought an end to the warring states. But with all the silken pillows being pulled from beneath the tender seats of the daimyo, blades rattle in their sheaths, threatening its return.

“Where are you off to, onee-san?” Mihaya’s smile is brittle as he sits back, eyes casting her a hooded, measuring glance. “Not all the way to Kyoto I hope.”

Obi shifts, restless beside her. Her fingers sweep out subtly between them, thumb and small finger spanning the gap. It stills him, but not his grunt, wary and dissatisfied. Too cautious, her yojimbo. To avoid so obvious a question only means she has something to hide.

And she does, she does, but none of these men need to know it. Let them think her a loose-lipped ojou-san, if they wished. Better than a girl with no family and a dozen ryo in her bag, with only one guard to keep her safe. “I am.”

Mihaya whistles, long and low, impressed. “That’s a long journey for an ojou-san like yourself. What’s so important in Kyoto?”

“Ah...” A cousin, she should say. That’s what she told Obi, after all, and one story was easier to keep track of than a dozen. But still, there’s something in the headman’s eyes that demands more, than makes a cousin seem a pale prize to crawl across a country for.

“A husband,” Obi offers, so easy. “Arranged. You know how these things are. Ryo flows through fingers easy enough, but blood binds. Man’s eager to have her too.”

“A girl as pretty as this one?” Mihaya laughs, giving her a demonstrative glance. “I can believe it.”

“How about you, Mihaya-san?” she asks, if only to keep from more speculation. “Where are you and your men heading?”

“Funny you should ask, onee-san.” His mouth twitches, almost triumphant. “Kyoto. Just like you are.”

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #freespace #Get Up Eight #samurai AU #edo AU #my fic #ans #I think this is the first time since Seven Suitors where I have posted a fic on my birthday #actually did I post the second chap on time?? i no longer remember #this might in fact be the first time #there are moments in this fic I am DYING to get to #but the idea of doing this Mihaya plotline was too exciting #i mean who could say no to an onsen episode...not me #and so now we are getting this mihaya mini-arc #before some of the other plot-centric parts >:3c

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worldwidemochiguy · 5 years ago

Text

Date (Soft! Yandere Taehyung)

➵ Taehyung is well aware that you are trying to ask him out after crushing on him for weeks. But, you are easily flustered, and Taehyung loves nothing more than to fluster you...

➵ Warnings: This is a pretty light one tbh, Soft-ish Yandere, Smug Taehyung, embarrassed reader (lol im sorry), slightly voyeuristic grinding? idk but its not really sexual

➵ Word Count: 1.5K

➵ Masterlist

Taehyung hadn’t known you would be in the library to study today — despite his encyclopaedic knowledge of your daily schedule — so it was a pleasant surprise when you strode in, a folder and a stuffed pencil case tucked under your arm.

Of course, he didn’t show the surprise on his face, masking it with a smirk and a wink when your eyes happened to drift over to him. You blushed prettily, head tilting down again and Taehyung smothered the adoring coo building in his throat, if only because the library was so quiet he would certainly be heard. You were so fucking cute.

It seemed you were full of surprises today because, instead of sitting at one of the many empty tables like Taehyung expected you to do, you walked right up to Taehyung’s desk and cleared your throat delicately to get his attention, as if he hadn’t been solely focused on you and not his Chemistry notes since the minute you walked in.

Taehyung swallowed his excitement carefully, raising his head and allowing his eyes to give you a deliberate once over before settling on your face. Your cheeks were deliciously flushed. Temptingly kissable. Not yet, not yet, Taehyung chided himself.

“Um, can I… sit h-here?” You stuttered, your fingers curling around your folder and bringing it to your chest as if to shield yourself from rejection. Taehyung scoffed internally. It wasn’t physically possible for him to reject you.

“A beautiful girl asking to sit across from me?” He drawled, relishing the way your pretty lips parted in shock, “I’m worried I won’t get any studying done at all.”

“Um, I-I can move if I’m distracting you,” You said, already retreating in the direction of an empty table, your momentary courage having abandoned you.

“Nonsense,” Taehyung declared, already sweeping his material off the desk to make room for you, “I’ll go crazy if I don’t have something pretty to look at to break the monotony of covalent bonding.”

“O-oh, um, shall I-“

Taehyung stood up, rounding the table in a few quick strides and pausing behind you, just close enough to see the goosebumps surface on the back of your neck as his breath softly brushed against it.

He reached his arm around your waist, curling it just enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin through his sleeves. For a second, he entertained the thought of taking you into his arms right then and there, but he resisted, convincing himself to be patient.

Your shoulders slumped — in relief or disappointment, he couldn’t tell — as he pulled your chair out for you.

“There you go,” He murmured, his mouth close enough that his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear. “Sit.”

You obeyed him, your posture tense as you watched him cross back over to his seat again, sitting across for you. Immediately, he rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his palms, surveying you intently.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“T-talk to you?” You asked, internally cursing your decision that today would be the day you finally screwed up the courage to ask out that cute boy in your Calculus class.

“Well, yes. I assume that’s why you sat across from me, instead of on one of the unoccupied tables,” Taehyung smirked fiendishly, “unless you simply desired the pleasure of my company, which is completely understandable.”

“No!” You denied quickly, and he let out a gasp of mock-offence.

“Are you saying you don’t like me?”

“No!” You panicked, this was not going how you planned, “of course I like you! I’ve liked you for ages!”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up, the only betrayal of his otherwise cool exterior.

“Oh, really?” He purred.

“Uhm, that’s actually… um, that’s what I wanted to talk you about... today. Now.”

“Right now?” Taehyung teased, “But I thought you wanted to study?”

“Taehyunggg~” You whined, lips jutting out into an adorable pout. It took all of Taehyung’s restraint to not lurch over the table and kiss you silly.

He smiled instead, laughing a little as your entire face burned bright red.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He apologised, using the nickname that was sure to make you even more preciously flustered, “What did you want to ask me?”

“Um… I-I… uh…” Your eyes were fixed on your fingers as they worried the edge of your folder, picking on the fraying fibres as the scraps you had already ripped off formed a small pile on the desk. With one hand, Taehyung intertwined your fingers with his, stopping you from fiddling.

His other hand came under your chin, tilting your face up with a curved index finger. Your breath hitched, your eyes wide and fixed on him, finally. He loved when you gave him your full attention.

“Speak up, baby.” He murmured, and your eyes drifted inexorably to his lips. He ran his tongue over them deliberately, and your doe eyes widened even further, before flying up to his eyes guiltily.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, before blurting out,

“Wouldyougoonadatewithmeplease?”

Taehyung stifled a laugh, watching with amusement as instant regret painted itself across your features.

“What was that, baby?” He said, reaching his thumb up to tug one of your soft lips slightly. The small whine you let out made all his blood run south abruptly, and he fought to keep himself unaffected. “Could you say it a little slower? I don’t think I understood.”

You moaned in frustration, eyes slipping shut as your brow wrinkled cutely.

“I… you… date?” You managed to stutter out, looking downright miserable, and Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from laughing this time.

“Oh, baby, surely you know the answer to that already.”

To Taehyung’s confusion and dismay, your face crumpled, flashing through the five stages of grief in quick succession before settling on intense shame.

“Of course, I-“ You said rapidly, gathering up your folder as you stood up, ripping your hand away from his before Taehyung had the sense of mind to clutch it, “I’m so sorry, I should never have-“ You hesitated, seeing you had forgotten your pen on the table and Taehyung watched as you decided that it wasn’t worth it, continuing your abrupt retreat, “I won’t mention it again-“

“Wait!” Taehyung stopped you with a hand closed around your wrist. You looked down at his hand, and then up at his surprisingly earnest face, and then down at his hand again.

Taehyung tugged you back around the table, and you were too shocked to resist as he pulled you down onto his lap so that you were facing him, straddling his thighs. Taehyung desperately hoped his erection caused by your previous moans had gone down, otherwise he would scare you even more than he already had.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung said, almost choking on the unfamiliar words, which he would only ever stomach for your sake. “I wasn’t mocking you, I… ” I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you, “What I meant was... Surely, I’ve made my attraction to you obvious.”

“Your… attraction?” You squeaked, your cute lips hanging open almost comically.

“Yes,” Taehyung chucked, “Why do you think I call you baby all the time? Why do you think I sit next to you in every lecture we have? Why do you think I never look at another person when you’re around?”

“I…” You flushed, head tilting forwards demurely, “I thought I was imagining it.”

“No, baby,” Taehyung said, leaning forwards until his forehead rested against yours, “You weren’t imagining anything. I like you. A lot.”

He loved you, but he had already realised he should reveal that at a later date as to not scare you off too soon. But, it seemed like you had plenty of courage. At his confession, your eyebrows furrowed in determination, and before he knew it, you had lurched forwards, crashing your lips against his.

Heaven.

Taehyung was in heaven, with your sweet lips against his, soft and eager and willingly parting for him as he ran his tongue against your bottom lip. You surrendered yourself to him, melting on his lap as he slid his arms around your waist and tugged you closer, letting out choked little moans as he pulled your lip between his teeth, just enough to-

“No kissing in the library!”

The raspy voice of the head librarian yelled, and you pulled away from him with an embarrassed gasp. Taehyung chased your lips shamelessly, pulling you back in even as you tried in vain to lean away.

You relented, smiling as he continued to press kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, the librarian’s screeching fading into the background.

“I think we should probably go,” You giggled, and Taehyung grinned, nuzzling his nose against yours affectionately as he rejoiced inwardly at your use of ‘we’. Damn right, the two of you were a package deal now.

“So… um, date?” You proposed, biting your kiss-swollen lips, and Taehyung hummed in contentment, stealing another kiss from you even as you batted his shoulder in half-hearted admonishment.

“Yes,” He agreed, “Date.”

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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I’m Always Curious Part Twenty Seven

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕

Sooo..... How are we doing................ Also for this week, new character incoming, the person I was picturing when I wrote Eli Durling is Michael Ealy, in case y’all want someone to picture

Warnings: ….Angst again I know my bad again

Also cursing and mentions of canon-typical violence Summary: I took the hands that were offered to me in introduction and did my damnedest to keep contact.

“Jett Reno, engineering.” Engineering, how was it I always wound up rooming with someone from engineering?

The problem was, with my separation from the Enterprise and the wounds of Somonia still fresh, I found myself desperate for connection where my life had been voided of it.

Jett, Tilly-- I took the hands that were offered to me in introduction and did my damnedest to keep contact.

-- “What brought you to Starfleet?” I could tell by the strained way Jett was asking that she didn’t do small talk for fun the way Tilly did. I’d been on the Hiawatha for a couple of days and we’d hardly talked when we’d been in our quarters together. Neither of us had pushed to fill the silence. But now, Jett was making the effort to… Chat. Maybe it was an attempt to stop my harried pacing in the cramped craft, but I could hardly keep still. My first official mission was set to begin in just a few minutes-- I was piloting a new federation attack fighter with an experimental cloaking device into Klingon airspace for the purposes of picking up subspace chatter. The Hiawatha would be in range as it ferried the first few war-wounded to Starbase 515. As soon as I collected what transmissions I could, I was to return to the ship, and then we’d jump to maximum warp -- barring any complications. “... My dad was an attaché to the Federation when I was growing up. I was brought to a lot of planets when he had custody. And when I was home there were a lot of different languages around me. I was just... curious.” Jett grunted. “What about you?” I asked. “I was always taking shit apart when I was a kid,” Jett leaned away from the control panel, “I had a teacher at school that steered me to circuit analysis. Kicked off from there.” She pulled off her gloves, turning back to me. “Good thing she jumped in when she did, I was electrocuting myself like, once a week. My mom was a doctor, said electrocuting yourself is frowned upon.” I smiled a little bit, “You know, I’ve heard that.” “Apparently everyone but me had.” “When you joined Starfleet...You ever think you’d be doing something like this?” “Helping a language nerd fly into enemy space? Can’t say it was in my top five. Did you think you’d be a pilot?” I shook my head, shoving my hands into my pockets, “No. I always liked flight sims, but steering was the furthest thing from my mind. I had this...Grand idea of going to new planets, building bridges between cultures… Not getting my ass bounced from ship to ship to ship and keeping my head down in the hopes I don’t wind up on Admiral Cornwell’s bad side…” I sighed, shrugging, “But we put our dreams away.” Jett’s brows were furrowed, and I could see the question she wanted to ask, but instead asked: “You got a plan after this?” “After the mission?” “After the war.” I was quiet for a moment, turning to survey the control panel. “... I think I’d rather focus on what I’m gonna do after the mission, not get too far ahead of myself.” Jett pursed her lips, nodding a little bit, looking around. “You oughta get off of this vessel if you don’t wanna join me for its maiden voyage,” I warned. Jett grunted, picking up her toolkit and heading for the ramp. “Try not to get blown up out there,” She said over her shoulder, “I did good work on this ship.” “I’ll do my damnedest,” I called back.

It became routine for Jett and I to chat before missions - occasionally making plans for what we would do once I got back. My missions tended to vacillate between two types: either a transmission intercept, or a mission type that protocol labeled a 22-9-14. 22-9-14 operations consisted of approaching a Klingon craft, deploying a tracking and transmission device, and piloting the hell out of there before any Warbirds could catch wise. It didn’t always work of course -- which was why Eli and I started calling 22-9-14s ‘Tag and Runs’. Lieutenant Commander Eli Durling was a security officer stationed on the Hiawatha for the purpose of handling Communications-based missions. I’d known of him while I was at the Academy. He had been a couple of years ahead of me, and we had a few mutual friends, but as we'd been focused in different course tracks, I'd never had occasion to really interact with him until now. He’d graduated top of his class, and had been stationed on a ship in the Mempa sector until the war had broken out.

Durling reminded me of Pike, a little. When he wasn’t focused on the mission at hand, he was fairly easygoing, lighthearted, and made it a point to follow orders - when those orders were the right course of action in a given situation. Eli wasn’t above changing course mid-mission when something took a bad turn, and he wasn’t afraid to go to bat for me with command for doing the same, either. He covered my back, and I covered his.

“You should see the job Durling did to his phaser canons,” Jett half-yelled, half-grumbled from under the control panel. I eyed where her legs were in view, just beside my pilot’s seat. “Something tells me the job was done by a Klingon Warbird and not by Eli himself.” “Well if he hadn’t gotten spotted by a Warbird, they wouldn’t have chased him, fired at him, and fucked up his phaser canons.” “...You might have a point there.” “I’m wounded, lieutenant,” I heard from just behind me, and I turned to see Eli ducking his head to step onto the craft. “I really hope you mean emotionally," I teased. Eli’s lips twitched into a smile, and I returned it. It was moments like this that his attractiveness was...Really not lost on me. He was handsome, with golden, copper brown skin and gentle blue eyes. His smile, which was turned at me now, was typically kind -- a kind smile that could turn flirtatious or teasing at the drop of a hat. “I’m broken up inside,” Eli reassured me. “Mm, mhm,” I nodded, “What’s going on?” “I’ve got some news.” “Is it that you learned how to fix your phaser canons yourself?” Jett asked, sitting up from under the console. “Sadly, no.” “Sadly? That’s not sadly no, that’s morbidly depressingly no,” Jett grumbled as she took my hand to help her up, “You have any idea how long it’s gonna take me to fix those when you inevitably fuck them up again?” “Well, not long at all. The lieutenant and I are being transferred.” Jett and I let that sink in in silence as the three of us stood in silence. It felt like a punch - but Reno recovered faster than I did. “...Well, godspeed to whoever takes you over, Durling. You’re an engineer’s worst nightmare.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Reno,” Eli chuckled before turning to me, “We’ll be shipping out once you get back, as long as everything is status quo.” “Got it.” “Be careful out there.” “Yessir.”

I watched Eli go before I lowered my eyes, making a careful study of my shoes. I’d been on the Hiawatha for two months now. It was only just starting to feel… Not like the Enterprise, but like a safe space again. “Well,” I said after a moment, “Least you’ll be getting your room back to yourself.” “Looks like it,” Jett agreed, “Don’t get all mushy on me, huh?” I shook my head, pushing back my upset and flattening my expression before meeting her eye: “I was about to ask the same of you.” Jett nodded. “Would’ve been nice if we could’ve seen this through together.” “Would’ve,” I agreed quietly. “But we put our dreams away,” Jett reached out, slapping me on the shoulder before picking up her toolkit, “Don’t get blown up at the last minute. It would be a hell of an anti-climax.”

I scrolled through the contacts on my PADD stilling over Sidhu, Thira for a moment. The little status bubble beside her name read ‘Active’. Despite the fact that Eli and I were stationed together on the USS Pinnacle, and had been for months, I was antsy for news of the Enterprise. I’d reached out to Cornwell for an update on the crew, but I had yet to get an answer from her. I couldn’t blame her. She was entrenched in strategy, but I was desperate for news -- especially after the news of the Hiawatha’s loss had reached us nearly a week after Eli and I had been re-stationed.

I scrolled further down on the contacts list, tapping on the contact name for Tilly, Sylvia. I eyed the ‘Active’ bubble beside her name before tapping on the small video icon. I lifted the PADD up to my face, grinning when Tilly came into view. “Hi!” She greeted, waving. “Hey there. How are you?” I asked, shifting back on my bed. “Oh…” I watched Tilly glance at her surroundings before she answered, “Lorca’s on the warpath.” “The literal warpath or the metaphorical one?” Tilly laughed before sighing, “Both.” I winched, “Sorry, Tills.” “It’s not all awful,” She shrugged, “I have a roommate again, actually. Michael Burnham.” My brows rose. I knew of Michael Burnham - her name was splashed across briefings in relation to the war and the Battle of the Binary Stars. But I’d known of her, first and foremost, through Spock. He’d never spoken of her in honeyed tones, mind, but I knew that he regarded her highly. What was all of this doing to Spock? I couldn’t imagine him having to reason himself through this with limited intel from the Federation at such a distance-- “Hello? Hel-- Hello? Did I cut out? Am I frozen? Are you frozen?” I was jolted from my reverie at Tilly’s waterfall of questions. “I’m sorry,” I smiled, “Got distracted-- How’s the roomie situation?” “Well she frowned about as much as you did when you got on board.” “I warmed up.” “So did she,” Tilly smiled, and I relaxed a little, folding my legs up under myself. “Glad to hear it.” I looked away from my PADD as the doors to my room opened. “Hey, Eli,” I greeted. I saw Tilly’s eyes widen, and I glanced down to see her smoothing her hair down hurriedly. “Eli, you remember Tilly,” I added as he crossed to my bed - I’d introduced them on a previous call. “Course I do,” He smiled, sitting down beside me and giving the screen a wave, “Nice to see you again, Sylvia.” I grinned as a flush as red as her hair well up on Tilly’s cheeks. “Hi,” She answered, matching Eli’s wave. Her gaze was directed away from the screen as an announcement that I couldn’t make out crackled on her end. “Ahh-- I have to go,” She said hurriedly, turning back to the screen, “I’m sorry!” “No, don’t worry about it,” I shook my head, “Be careful.” “You guys, too!” Tilly chirped before hanging up. I looked down at the screen as it winked off. I eyed the contact for Sidhu, Thira, one more time before swiping away from my contacts. Eli leaned back against the wall, shifting further back on my bed. “If you put your shoes on my bed, Durling--” “I know the rules, kid,” He chuckled. I rolled my eyes. He’d taken to calling me that weeks ago, and I couldn't get him to shake it. “What’s got you in here, anyway?” I asked, “New mission?” “Can’t sleep.” I frowned, glancing over at Eli before I turned back to my messages. I had a new message, but where the hell was it? It wasn’t from Cornwell, I’d already checked. “Something wrong?” I pressed. “Just one of those nights. Ever have one?” “Oh, all the--” I froze, damn near dropping my PADD at the sight of the unopened message. It was recent - minutes old. And it was from Una. “...You okay, kid?” Eli’s knee nudged mine, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the words ‘You’re on the Pinnacle?’.

“I-- I um… Yes. I have those nights all the time. Think I’m gonna have another one of those nights tonight.” Eli crowded closer, peering over my shoulder. “Bad news?” “I don’t know yet… Can you gimme a minute?”

It had started with Paledore, apparently. He’d been looking for something I’d sent him a while ago, some verb conjugation that I'd worked on, and he’d noticed that my status was active. He’d figured that it had to be a fluke, and he’d gone about his business. But it had happened again and again, and he’d brought it up to Thaleh, who had brought it up to Spock. Spock had done some digging, located me in Starfleet's medical database at the Academy, and then in the ship’s records for the Pinnacle. He had brought that information to Una. Una, who was now staring at me through a video feed. Her face was carefully blank. I’d seen that look before -- I knew that she was making a concentrated effort to not give anything away. Una could be hard to read in the first place, but I may as well have been looking at a statue. My heart was thudding low in my chest, beating out a panicked, jittery tattoo that usually only accompanied the running of a 22-9-14 and a Klingon Warbird on my tail. “...So,” I started, “How’s the Pergamum?” “You’re alive.” I gave a small nod. “Yeah, they’re not trucking a corpse around on the Pinnacle for the sake of filling the new communications specialist minimum.” “You’ve been alive this entire time and you’re making jokes?” Una seethed. It chilled me through the screen and I lowered my eyes, swallowing thickly. “I know you’re upset--” “Upset?” She repeated with a scorning little laugh, “I have spent the last year watching the repercussions that your loss has had on this crew, on Pike-- and you’re making jokes.” Guilt spun through me and wobbled like a top. “Can I explain?” “I wish you would.”

I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves before I told Una what had happened - all I could remember. Soivo, Somonia, Cornwell, my time on the Discovery and the Hiawatha. Una’s face remained unmoved throughout. My only indication that the screen hadn’t frozen was Una’s occasional shift in her seat. Once I’d finished my explanation, Una gave a small nod. “Well… That certainly lines up with the timeline that Spock put together.” I couldn’t help but smile a little at that, even as I ached at the mention. “Of course he put a timeline together,” I muttered, scrubbing my hand over my eyes. I sighed, quiet for a few moments. “How are you all?” I asked, “Will you tell me that?” “You don’t deserve that answer.” I clenched my jaw, hot tears prickling at my eyes as I felt my entire being want to fold in on itself. “Una, please understand--” The video feed cut, the message on the screen indicating that the call had been terminated from Una’s side. My fingers curled around the device, my chest racking with sobs as I curled forward.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I heard behind me, “What did that punching bag say to you?” I raised my hands to stop the bag from swinging back and hitting me before I turned back to see Eli. After Una’s abrupt end to our call, I had cried until I couldn’t anymore - until my sobs had been dry and my breathing had been hiccups. And then, when the hurt had still ebbed through me, when I saw that there were no transmissions waiting for translation or missions for me to run, I went to work the rest of my hurt out on a punching bag. “I’m not in the mood, Durling,” I cautioned quietly. My voice was hoarse from its rough use earlier, and my body and nerves were rung raw from the war, from losing Jett -- from my call with Una, and from the news that had hard followed - the Discovery had been destroyed. My last call with Tilly had been our last call. Eli took a couple of cautious steps closer to me, looking me over. “I can see that. Came to offer my assistance.” I arched a brow. “Assistance?” I repeated, “The bag over here offered the same thing and look where it’s wound up.” Eli smiled a little. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged like this,” he warned. I shook my head a bit, biting the inside of my cheek to staunch a fresh wave of tears. “I already have, Eli, I can’t--” I took in a deep, shuddering breath, “I can’t rest my head right now. That’s just a fact.” “Neither can I. Maybe we can help each other out with that.” “I’m not gonna ask you to help me.” “Why not?” “You see the mood I’m in?” I nodded toward the bag, “At least one of us needs to be in a condition to fly.” “I think I can handle you.” I arched a brow. “Eli,” I warned softly. He took a step closer, warm blue eyes and kind smile pointed at me with all softness and sincerity. “Kid,” he murmured, “You don’t have to worry about being gentle with me.” Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/You #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #Christopher Pike x You #christopher pike imagine #Christopher Pike/You

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yuthoe · 3 years ago

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Day 22: Reunion (MONSTA X: Yoo Kihyun)

TODAY'S LATE PROMPT FOR MTM IS:

Day 22: Fake Dating

ah yes, one of the favorite tropes in fanfic and i did not do it justice at all lmao. truthfully i was really excited about this, but the fic took a left somewhere and grew its own mind or smth. i think the poor writing is a combination of burnout and getting really distracted lmao.

tried to make kihyun the savage guy that he is, but still polite and considerate and i think i did that???? question mark???? please tell me what you thought about this lmao, i've never been to a high school reunion (except for my grandma's) and will never go to one anytime soon.

PAIRING: Yoo Kihyun x reader. GENRE: fic, fluff, mild angst. WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, swearing. WORD COUNT: 1,769.

---

“Act natural,” you say as you smooth down the lapels of your friend’s coat, dust some lint off the shoulders. “Like, just act like normal. We just have to say hi to a few people and then go after an hour or something.”

Kihyun is looking you over as well, straightening out the sleeves of your shirt and making sure your hair is nice and styled and perfect. “I’m taking that as a go signal to tease you in front of everyone then, gotcha.”

You roll your eyes and take his hand, tugging him towards the glass door of the events hall. “Very funny, but you know what? These people might buy it even more, so go ahead.”

He intertwines your fingers as he pushes the door open for you. There’s a smirk on his face that says you’re going to regret what you just said. “If you say so," he says, as you pull him along with you.

Everything is decorated like a senior prom from the early 2000s--balloons everywhere, streamers hung up on the walls, a disco ball suspended in the middle of the room. There's a stage set up at the far wall, and popular tracks from your high school days play softly on the sound system. People are already mingling, table hopping when they see a familiar face.

You go to the small registration booth off to the side, Kihyun in tow, and sign on the space next to your name, walking away quickly to find a table. It's easy to weave through the thin crowd to your spot, and thankfully no one goes up to talk to you as you settle in.

A relieved sigh escapes your lips as you deflate against the seat; Kihyun chuckles at the sight.

"Why are you so nervous? You were so confident when you asked me out,” he says, smirking at your flustered state.

“Hey,” you counter, sitting up straight and pointing at him. There’s a smile of embarrassment threatening to crawl up your face, but you force it down. “This isn’t a date. I didn’t ask you out—I respectfully asked if you could come with me to my high school reunion and pretend we’re dating. There’s a difference.”

He tilts his head and laughs. “Okay, fine, this isn’t a date. But you’re shaking like a hamster, dude. What’s got you so jittery?”

Before you can open your mouth to say something smart, a yell of your name behind you makes you stop. Suddenly a flurry of pink silk ruffles envelops you, cold metal bracelets press against your face and neck, and a tinnitus-inducing squeal is blasted in your ear.

“OMG, I can’t believe you made it!” The offending classmate plops down the seat beside you and… you can’t say you remember her. You know you have a questionable memory, but you can’t recall anyone with a scarily-toothy smile and long acrylic nails. “I was wondering if you were gonna show today, I missed you!”

You smile warily. “Yeah, I thought I’d stop by, just for a bi—,”

“And who is this with you?” she interrupts, gaze fixed on your friend now.

Kihyun still has a polite smile on, eyebrow raised and patiently waiting for you to introduce him. You meet his eyes and take a steadying breath.

“This is, uh. Kihyun. My boyfriend.”

Your batchmate immediately extends a hand out to him. “Hi there! I’m Danhee. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Kihyun grasps her hand and shakes it firmly. “Likewise.”

Danhee (apparently, that’s her name. Still doesn’t ring a bell.) turns back to you, props an elbow on the table and rests her chin on her hand. “So what have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, you know, nothing much,” you say, twiddling your thumbs under the table. “Work’s keeping me busy, mostly. It’s pretty—,”

“Great! How’d you two meet?” Her eyes are sparkling, in that menacing way you’re familiar with when someone is hunting for gossip. “Probably work, right? I know Y/N isn’t that outgoing so I doubt—,”

“You know what, I’m gonna go get a drink.” You turn to Kihyun, desperate to get away. “You want a drink, Kihyun? Cool, I’ll get you something.” The chair screeches as you push away from the table and make a beeline for the buffet.

The air conditioning helps cool down your flaming face as you leave to get some reprieve from the suffocating air of the table. No matter how much you wrack your brain you can’t seem to remember anyone named Danhee; maybe she was in another class and part of the popular clique, a group you tended to stay away from.

You take a deep breath, surveying the array of finger food and wonder briefly what the main dishes are. The arrangement is no different from the ones you’ve seen at company parties—save maybe for the small picket signs that have slang from your high school days speared into some of the food. Despite looking delicious, you feel nauseous at the thought of taking a bite.

The drinks corner offers coffee, the kind that tries to pass off as Americano but ends up tasting more like candy because people keep putting too much sugar in it. It’s what you and Kihyun call “conference coffee” and shit on for the entirety of the conference you’re attending, even as you keep drinking it because there’s usually no other choice. Water is an option, as well as a fruit punch of some kind. If you’re being honest, you’d really like a beer right now, but you know the alcohol won’t come out until later.

In addition to the mound of paperwork you forced yourself to finish earlier, this week has just been plain exhausting. You’d hoped that coming to the reunion would help you relax, but apparently not.

Ice cubes clink as they go down the tall glasses. The coffee, however sugary it turns out to be, still smells heavenly and wakes you up some. You water both servings down a bit, if only to tamp down the syrupy sweetness.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says, hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. Kihyun moves into your line of vision, brows slightly scrunched. “You okay there?”

You don’t answer, thinking of words to say that won’t make you look pathetic in front of your work partner. You’re usually great at explaining and justifying your actions to your superiors, but words fail you this time.

So you just shrug and hand him his drink. “Can’t say for sure.” You take a sip and cringe; your mouth feels like it’s coated in a thick layer of sugar. Kihyun watches you and decides wisely to put his drink down, but pours two glasses of water.

“Do you know her?” he asks, concentrating on the drinks.

“Danhee? Nah. I mostly avoided her type back then. Being around them made me uncomfy.”

“‘Cuz she looks like a part of the Plastics from Mean Girls?”

You scoff. “No,” you say, but smile all the same as you walk back to your table. “Because I was a loner and operated on the mindset of ‘I’m not like other girls’ throughout high school.”

Kihyun laughs loud. “God, I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” You sigh as you sit back down. “Thankfully outgrew that in college, though. Turns out being surrounded with a lot of open-minded people does something to your personality, and,” you open your arms, presenting yourself to Kihyun’s amused smile. “Now you have me, your beloved hardworking partner that throws snark at you everyday.”

If anything, his grin gets wider. Kihyun raises his glass of water, and you toast. “I’m proud of you for becoming so mature.” He takes a drink, making faces like he’s downing whiskey instead of regular water. “Although, apparently not mature enough to just ask me out plain and simple.”

You want to strangle him, you really do.

He’s right, though. Part of the reason why you invited him as your plus one is for moral support and to show people that the wallflower can also nab a man as great as Kihyun. But the other reason is that you’ve wanted to ask Kihyun on a date, but just didn’t know how to without embarrassing yourself.

You sigh and take a swig of your water. “Yeah, well, can you blame me, though? We always keep professional at work and I barely see you outside the building, so I haven’t really gotten a chance to ask.” You’re not lying—Kihyun being here is only possible because you left the building at the same time last week and asked him then before you chickened out.

He tilts his head in assent and takes another sip before crossing his arms on the table to whisper at you. “How about we make this a date, then?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling like you can’t believe he suggested such a ridiculous thing. “What—here? My high school reunion that I only invited you to because I didn’t want to be alone?”

And maybe it’s the trick of the light, but you think you see his eyes go soft. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s not ideal, but we’re here anyway. There’s free food, shitty coffee, and some entertainment.” He tilts his head to the stage, and you follow his gaze to where a couple of your batchmates are discussing something, mics in their hands. “Whether it’s the good kind of entertainment or the cringy kind though, we’ll find out soon,” you hear him whisper.

In theory, you have nothing to lose. Nothing really to hide. Perhaps the worst part of the night passed when you had that panicked moment with Danhee earlier, and all that’s left is to enjoy the night. You can still leave in an hour or two like you planned, but now with a higher chance of getting a few drinks afterwards, too.

So you make your decision and look back at him. “All right, Yoo Kihyun,” you say. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

His smile morphs into a smirk, the trademark confident grin making a small shudder run down your spine. You try to keep your composure as he slides a hand to your thigh. “Perfect. Wanna bet you’ll last an hour before you want to leave?” His fingers are massaging your knee, soft hands gentle on the meat of your thigh.

You scoff, grabbing at his hand to make him stop. “Deal. I’ll bet you an hour and a half.”

And before you turn your attention back to the stage, you see his smirk again, excited for the challenge.

#kdiarynet #monsta x #monsta x kihyun #yoo kihyun #monsta x kihyun scenario #monsa x kihyun imagine #kihyun scenrio #kihyun imagine #yoo kihyun scenario #yoo khyun imagine #monsta x scenario #monsta x imagine #fic: mine #fic: not spicy #fic: kihyun #theme: may trope mayhem 2021

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 4 years ago

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Spells and Sneezes

I needed to try some Fantasy sickfic, and also practice my “stuffy talk”, so have ~3700 words of a very sneezy, stuffed up sorcerer. This post was inspired by a prompt I saw from this site long ago about a tall, thin, sneezy warlock, but I can’t find that post again to link it to save my life. So generic thanks to whoever came up with the prompt!

“Hehhtt’SSCCHHEEEWW!!

The tickle he thought he’d stifled exploded out of him unexpectedly as a massive, wet sneeze. The tall, young sorcerer groaned and wiped his dripping nose wearily with an already sodden handkerchief. His entire workbench was now covered in the spray. He sighed dejectedly, glancing out the window, the weak afternoon sunlight offering little comfort.

He had been stuck on this spell for days now, and the deadline was fast approaching. And this wasn’t just any order, this was for the KING. He was preparing to wage war and was looking for chainmail woven with a defense spell for 3,000 of his top officers. The king had chosen him to fill this order because defense spells had been his specialty during his apprenticeship, but for some reason this powerful chain was toying with him. If he could get just one prototype together, making the rest would be the work of a day. But he had not been able to make even one yet.

He groaned again, wincing as he continued to wipe his raw, dripping nose. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His eyes hurt. His chest hurt from all the coughing he’d been doing. But he couldn’t rest until this was done.

He summoned the chair he had shoved aside a few minutes ago. Neither sitting nor standing seemed to help him concentrate better, so he kept going back and forth. He leaned his head in his hand and picked up his quill again, scratching sigils fruitlessly.

A merry knock startled him and he leapt to his feet, his lithe frame quivering. For a moment he imagined it was the king’s advisors coming to collect the spell a week early. Instead, his younger sister poked her head in, waving cheerily.

“Brother, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost! Did I startle you? I’m sorry. It has been some weeks since I’ve seen you, and I wanted to check on you.”

She bustled in, her cleaning cart clattering behind her and parking itself by the door. Elliamina was a kitchen witch, and renowned throughout the land for her cleaning abilities, especially for never having an apprenticeship of her own. She had helped her older brother with his studies, being the more studious of the two, and had picked up some knowledge of her own, enough to make her own way in the world without formal training.

She danced over, wrapping her arms around him warmly. She was almost a meter shorter than him, but otherwise they were nearly identical, though there was a 5 year span between them. The length of their hair was the only difference. Elmrador weakly returned her hug, his heart still pounding.

“Good to see you, Mina. I have missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you, but I’ve been quite busy with orders of late. I can’t visit long today though. I have much work to do.”

“Well, at least let me give your cottage a quick tidy while I’m here.” She stepped back and surveyed him, cocking her head. “You are ill, brother.” Her mouth immediately quirked down sadly.

It was a statement, not a question. He also frowned. “I am fine.”

As if only to betray him, a hoarse coughing fit snuck up on him, leaving him red and breathless. He rubbed his chest ruefully. “Or at any rate, I don’t need you fussing. I need to finish this order. It’s for the king.”

“Hm.” She looked at him skeptically. “I have the supplies to make a tonic for you. Let me give you that at least. You look miserable.”

He grunted his approval. “As long as you don’t mix it with a sleeping draught.”

“If that's what you want,” she said, rolling her eyes. She flitted back to her cart and began to mix up a simple potion. Meanwhile, he seated himself again and resumed his scribbling. Another dratted tickle was growing in his nose though, which was streaming in earnest. He mopped the drips, to no avail.

“Ah… ah… Ahhkkt’shoooooo!” His handkerchief caught only part of the spray due to how sodden and crumpled it was, and his workbench was once again covered. Mina was at his side in a moment, rubbing his back.

“Poor dear! Elm, you sound awful. You should be in bed.”

“As soon as I work this through.”

She sighed and shook her head, handing him the steaming tonic. He took it with a grateful smile and gulped it down before taking up his quill again, rubbing his hands together to warm them before he did.

Seeing he didn’t intend to chat further, she began to clean his one room cottage. It was all he needed, just the right amount of space. He kept it cozy and neat for the most part, but when he was busy, cleaning was the last thing on his mind, which is one of the reasons she liked to visit often. She genuinely loved cleaning, especially for people she cared about. She began at the ceiling, sweeping down cobwebs and dusting the corners as she sang to herself. Elm personally thought her singing was a big component of her magic, though she denied it.

After the ceiling, she moved to the walls and cupboards. Elm found himself watching her idly rather than working. He turned back to his papers, shaking his throbbing head, trying to clear it. The tonic seemed to be affecting his fever. He had previously been shivering in the warm room, but now he was starting to sweat. The congestion seemed to be leaving his chest but was streaming out of his nose in earnest.

He didn’t know where his other handkerchiefs were, so he kept using the current one, but it was getting less and less effective as his sniffles got wetter and wetter. It wasn’t long before he started sneezing, both from his overactive nose, and the dust his sister was creating.

“Errr’sssHUUH! ErrrRIESSH’shew! Ehhhkxxt’SHEEEWW!”

Mina threw down her duster in exasperation. “I don’t know how you can stand to keep working. *I* can hardly work with you like this!”

He shrugged petulantly, rubbing his red nose. “Well, if you weren’dt kickig ub so mbuch dusdt…”

“Oh! Is the tonic not helping? It shouldn’t make you sound like that.”

“Idt helped the cough. Bud idt mbade mby ndose worse,” he mumbled weakly.

She rolled her eyes. “That tonic works on everyone else, except stubborn sorcerers. I bet your magic is going haywire and counteracting it. Especially without the sleeping effect.”

“Thadt’s ndot mby fauldt.” He shivered and coughed softly, summoning a blanket to wrap around his shoulders as he was suddenly freezing instead of sweating.

She sighed and moved to his side again, rubbing his back some more. He leaned against her wearily.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Ndo. I worgk best adt ndight.”

“Poor dear. You’re exhausted. No wonder you’re ill. What has got you so worked up?”

She glanced at the papers spread before him. “Chainmail woven with defense? Clever. Lucky you, getting an interesting project like this.”

“Idt’s driving mbe to distraction. I can’dt quide sordt it oudt.”

Her sharp eyes roved over the parchment quickly. “Your writing is terrible when you’re ill. I can hardly make it out. Ah, but here’s one of the reasons you're having trouble--half of these sigils appear to be reversed. See these here? They’re meaningless. Don’t tell me you’ve been working with them like this?”

He groaned pathetically. “They weren’dt like thadt whend I wrote themb! I ndo they weren’dt!”

She reached out and tried to feel his forehead. He batted her hand away before she could. She frowned.

“You know your magic is unpredictable when something is wrong with you, brother. My guess is you sneezed on these and they reversed themselves. You’re positively crackling with stray mana. Not to mention you’re probably feverish. You need to take some rest.”

“I can’dt. I have to deliver 3,000 of these in a weegk’s time, and I haven’dt even godden one yedt.”

“You’re not being productive like this though.”

“Ndeither are you. I thoughdt you were cleanig.”

She swatted him playfully. “See to yourself first, Elmrador, before you worry about me.”

Shaking her head, she reluctantly went back to her cleaning. The thin sorcerer directed his gaze back to his work, slowly fixing the reversed sigils, but he couldn’t get his eyes to stay in focus. They were so heavy. Everything was blurred around the edges.

His head was overwhelmingly heavy too, and achingly throbbing. He let it drop to the workbench, the cool wood pleasant on his hot forehead. He let his mouth hang open and tried to breathe, letting his nose drip gently into his handkerchief.

He must have dozed off, because Elliamina’s touch startled him some moments later. He turned to look at her, his cheek still on the bench.

“Why are you fighting yourself? You’re no good to anyone like this. The project can wait.”

“Will you mbake mbe some tea?” he asked pitifully, changing the subject.

She rubbed his back, surveying him keenly. “I’ll make you some tea if you take it in bed.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slowly pulling the blanket closer to himself as he rose and shuffled to the corner where his bed stood. He clumsily discarded his outer tunic and boots as he went, kicking them aside before falling onto the mattress and heaping blankets and pillows over himself, dozing immediately. His sister busied herself boiling the water and preparing the tea leaves.

When it was ready, she shook him awake again and helped him sit up.

“I can do idt mbyself,” he muttered, shaking her off.

“You’re worn out enough,” she chided gently. “So let me help.”

He couldn’t argue with that. The tea was sweet and hot, the perfect temperature to start drinking immediately. But naturally, the warm liquid made his nose stream in earnest. His sister had been fussing around, fluffing his pillows and picking up his discarded clothes. When she noticed his sodden handkerchief, long past its usefulness, she quickly summoned another. He took it with a grateful smile, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his watery eyes. He blew his nose several times, but his sinuses were stopped tight, and blowing just made his head throb terribly.

Once the tea was gone and he had finally stopped shivering, he felt he couldn't keep his eyes open for another minute. He fell back into the bed as Elliamina dimmed the lights and covered him warmly.

Mina watched as he seemed to slip into a doze immediately. After a moment, she returned to her cleaning. She had made up her mind that she would stay here with him until he was over the worst of this. And since she would be here for a while, she had decided she would scour his cottage from top to bottom.

However, her brother couldn't seem to settle. He tossed and turned, coughing more and more often, the most awful-sounding fits. Finally he rolled over and opened his eyes, looking at her pitifully.

"I can'dt sleebp," he croaked. "First I'mb sweatig, then I'mb freezig. And I can'dt breathe for the coughig."

She clicked her tongue, coming to his side. She felt his forehead and cheeks, and this time he let her, leaning his head into her hand.

“You are so warm, Elm,” she tutted, brushing the sweaty hair off of his brow. “Would you like me to make you another tonic, a stronger one to help you sleep?”

He hesitated, then nodded miserably.

“Just a moment, then.” She trotted to her cart, ingredients flying to her hands before she had even reached it. She made a potion double the strength of the first one, with a strong dash of sleeping draught. Turning, she made her way back to the bed with the steaming mug as her brother once more struggled into a sitting position, hindered by another coughing fit.

He swallowed the mixture in a few gulps, grimacing, whether from the taste or his sore throat, she wasn’t sure. Then, she helped him lie back yet again, propping him up with pillows so he could breathe easier. The process seemed to wear him out. His eyes drifted closed immediately.

Elliamina tucked him in, straightening the blankets around him. He mumbled something incoherent as sleep overcame him.

“What did you say?”

“Stay with mbe,” he mumbled, his wheezy exhale turning into a snore.

“Don’t worry, I will,” she whispered, though she knew he did not hear.

Elliamina spent the rest of the evening puttering around, finishing her deep scour, making soup for when her brother woke, tending to his garden, and other domestic things that she had helped him with since they were children. She gave special attention to his workbench. She cleaned it and sanitized it thoroughly, even using a special cleansing spell on the parchment he had been working on. Sure enough, as soon as it was clean, she saw many of the sigils reverse themselves to what they should be. With a little smile, she replaced the papers where she had found them. Meanwhile, the tonic did its job admirably; Elmrador hardly moved, and he was breathing much easier. The only sound he made for many hours was soft, even snoring.

Evening turned into night. Mina was an early sleeper and early riser. As soon as the sun was down, she made a little nest for herself with extra blankets and pillows on the freshly scoured floor in front of the fireplace. She was weary from her day’s efforts, and dropped off to sleep without any effort, expecting her brother to sleep soundly through the night as well.

Imagine her surprise when she was awakened by him jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and running to his workbench, lighting candles hastily as he went. He banged down into his desk chair, picked up his quill, and began scribbling furiously, muttering to himself.

“Elm? What ails you?” she yawned, getting to her feet and wrapping her shawl around herself to go stand at his side, feeling his forehead. His temperature seemed almost normal, though his cheeks were flushed. He paid her no mind.

“The spell. It came to me in my sleep. I know what I was missing.” He sniffled wetly, wiping his sleeve under his nose, but continued scribbling away.

“I shan’t try to reason with you, since you’re so determined, though I wonder how you’re awake at all for how strong that tonic was. I don’t want to imagine the state you’ll be in in the morning.” She sighed softly. He seemed fine for now, but the tonic could only mask symptoms for so long.

With a shrug, she shuffled back to her nest. As she went, she mumbled: “Fates help you if you wake me again, though.” In front of the fire once more, she burrowed into her blankets, and was quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of his quill and his muttering.

It was a harsh cough that woke her again in the morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise, but not hers. She yawned and stretched luxuriously. For a moment she forgot where she was, until a wet sneeze made her turn.

Elmrador was just as she had left him the night before, hunched over his workbench. Spread out all around him were what appeared to be hundreds of chain shirts, and more were in the process of being finished. However, her brother looked more asleep than awake as he worked. Harsh, dark circles ringed his eyes, vivid against his pallor, as was his raw, chapped nose. Just as she noted this, the nose disappeared into his handkerchief .

“Hrrr’RUSH’eeww! Ahh’NNXGH’shuuh!”

“Oh Elm,” she murmured fondly. “You are in quite a state now, aren’t you?”

“Mbina… Good mornig. Loogk, I fidished mby prototype. Idt’s mby best worgk, I thingk.”

“It had better be, for you to be working as ill as you areYou look awful. You ought to go back to bed right away.”

“Id a few mbinutes. As sood as I fidish these three, I’ll have 300 done. Thed I cad automate themb to reblicate thembselves.”

Such a long speech made him cough harshly, his voice long gone. She tutted disapprovingly. “You’ll be in bed for a week after this. You’ve done yourself in, stubborn fool.

“Id was worth idt,” he said, almost smugly. “Idt’s for the king.”

“So you said,” she said, yet again rolling her eyes. “We’ll see if you can say the same in a few days.”

A hoarse grunt was his only reply. He had gone back to his work and needed all his remaining concentration to finish.

Seeing that he wasn’t moving until he reached his target, Elliamina did her own washing and grooming, cleaned up her bedding, and got coffee and breakfast going. Just as she was putting the eggs on, she saw him toss down his tools with a final flourish. However, as he said, the chain mail materials continued to manipulate themselves to form more armor even as Elmrador wearily stood, scrubbing his face and swiping at his dripping nose with a once again sodden handkerchief.

A round of rough, barking coughs made him hunch over again a moment later, a hand pressed to his chest. A weak “ow” was all he could manage as he tried to catch his breath, a hand now at his temple.

“I didn’t thingk coughig could hurdt so mbuch,” he wheezed.

“Only when you push your body past its limit. Come along, it’s bed for you for the foreseeable future, you dunce.” She moved to his side and grasped his elbow, leading him back to his mattress.

“You don’dt ndeed to help mbe walk, I’m ndot an invalid, only full of cold,” he muttered, trying to pull away. Mina was not dissuaded.

“Be that as it may, I’d rather help you get there just the same. You look as if a strong breeze will blow you over, and then where would I be?”

He deigned not to reply and instead allowed her to seat him on the edge of the bed where he swayed weakly as she helped him remove his sweaty clothes and don his nightshirt before propping him up against a heap of pillows, as his wheezy breathing was rather worrying her. She plied him once more with tea and tonic, which he accepted without a fuss. Then she brought over the plate of steaming eggs and toast. He made a face and pushed it away.

“I don’dt like eggs even whed I’mb ndot sick. I cerdainly don’dt wandt themb ndow.”

“Ah, so that’s why you have so many eggs. Well, would you at least eat the toast?”

He grunted noncommittally and took a half-hearted bite, taking a long time to chew and swallow. He only managed to finish half a slice before he pushed that away too. “Can’dt. Throadt hurdts too mbuch. Jusdt mbakes mbe feel sicker.” He gamely finished his tea though as she watched worriedly.

“You never turn down food. You’re already a beanstalk, Elm. I wish you would eat something.”

A rough cough was the only reply he could manage as he quickly coasted toward sleep once again. Mina sighed and decided to let him sleep, putting the food aside. That was what he needed most now anyway.

And sleep he did, for a long time. Yet his work was not done. He had to get up for a few hours the next day, for once all the shirts were complete he had to do the final quality review of the armor. Elliamina hovered worriedly at his elbow as he did intricate magic to test the limits of his creations. He was so weak he could hardly stand, arms shaking and face flushed as he cast. He had to sit often to catch his breath and wait out bouts of lightheadedness or coughs, but he would be damned before he delivered a subpar product to the king. Mina assisted him as best as she was able, doing whatever she could for his health and ensuring he didn't harm himself.

After hours of rigorous testing, he finally pronounced them suitable, while Elmrador himself ached with weariness. Without another word, he proceeded to crawl back into bed and bury himself in blankets, immediately beginning to snore as one deeply exhausted.

He passed most of the next several days in an illness and tonic-induced slumber. He was miserable when he was awake, every fiber of his being aching or throbbing. Mina forced him to eat and drink whenever she could, but mostly he wanted to sleep, and she let him do just that.

He was in fact asleep when the king's men arrived for the armor. A small crew of men rode up to the cottage with much pomp and ceremony. Mina greeted them in the garden, introducing herself as the sorcerer's assistant. They were immediately enthralled with her, as was everyone that met her for the first time, and she utilized this to expertly manage the transaction. Within 20 minutes the men were departing with many sacks of chain shirts in their cart, ecstatic with their purchase, while Mina carried a hefty pouch of gold, more than Elm had originally bargained for, into the cottage. Elmrador was still asleep, oblivious to it all. She knew he had lost track of the days some time ago, and she didn't see a reason to excite him until he was better.

Instead of waking him, she safely hid the gold in his stores. She then pulled up her chair once more to her place beside his bed, took up her needlework, and softly began to hum as she worked while her brother slept on peacefully.

#sickfic #sicknario #Sickness #snzfic #snzblr #snzario #fantasy #spellcasting #MY OCs #fever #everyone is hotter with a fever #story prompt

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 5 years ago

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Welcome To The Pack

Full Moon Run

Summary- 7.3k Alpha!Steve x You. Next day is the full moon run, a ritual important to bonding of wolf packs. Steve learns a bit more of what you dealt with. Warning- Violence and mentions of abuse.

A/N- Mood Board made by @omega-nicole Thank you babes! Its beautiful and perfect ❤🐺

Chapter One / Pack Master List

Steve was gone before you even made your way out of bed and in the shower. But the scent of coffee had your nose lead you to the kitchen, and there was a handwritten note set under an empty mug, words scribbled on it in a rush.

‘Make yourself to home Y/N, be back sometime tonight for the run. ~Steve.’

Simple and to the point, your finger brushed over the letters and they were well dry. He's been gone some time, the coffee has a bit of burnt smell from being on the brewer for a while. It didn't matter, you got to indulge a bit. Who would have known something like a ready-made cup of coffee would make you excited.

Your little wolf lolled on her back and stretched her legs out, twisting her body back and forth like she was scratching her back. <Because you weren't allowed these basic things before Y/N>

I remember, trust me I haven't forgotten. You thought back as you lifted the mug to sip the black coffee, and searched out for a sugar bowl. Once you found it, you scooped in enough for a taste and looked around the cabin. Alone once again, you smiled to yourself. Honestly, this kind of life you could get used to. Morning coffee out on the deck, have the freedom to be in your human side or wolf side. Not have your old alpha breathing down your neck, controlling all your movements. Your hand absently came to an old scar on your shoulder, rubbing at it as it started to ache. One of the many bites you've been issued from your old pack. Although never properly claimed, you would never lose any of them.

Shaking it off, you popped open the door and came out to see that The Compound was bustling, trucks coming and going from the large garage at the other end of the clearing, a bunch of kids were herded into another vehicle, and across the lot, Sara headed over with a greeting, a wave of her hand before she got close enough to speak. “Hey, I was heading into town, you wanted to come? Can hook you up with some clothes and such.”

You look down at your outfit. Wearing a woman's named Wanda's shorts, and wearing the oversized tee that you had a feeling belonged to Steve, knotted at your side so it wouldn't fall almost to your knees. “I would but... well I didn't come with anything. I don't have any cash or such.” You tried to shrug off your situation and Sara dug in her pocket pulling out a card. “Steve dropped this off to me this morning, and we know Alphas don't take no for an answer. Might as well come along and get what you want.”

“I don't know...” You started, rubbing at your arm. “Steve didn't exactly say I could leave the grounds. And I don't want to upset the Alpha already.” Sara frowned and shook her head, smiling. “Trust me, Steve isn't like that at all. He won't mind, I know he wants you to have what you need while you're here. If you want, I can call him? I know Sams got his phone on him, and they went up together to the lot.”

You finally give in, and finish off the last swallow of your coffee. “Okay, I trust you. Give me five and I will be ready to go.” You pop back in the house and Sara comes up the steps, following you in to wait. Going to the bathroom, your finger brushes your hair, glancing around to see if Steve happened to keep a comb or something. Probably in his room, but you weren't risking that again.

<Chicken shit> your little wolf snickered, and you rolled your eyes at your reflection, muttering under your breath. “your such a bitch.”

<Sure we are> sharp yips echoing in your mind as laughter. Deeming yourself looking fine, you come back out, lifting the back of your shorts back up as they slid down a bit, scowling. “Clothes are desperately needed. These are just too big.”

“That's the spirit” Sara loped and arm through yours, and ou two headed out of the cabin and to a vehicle that Sara dug keys out of her back pocket. You two headed out of the compound, and you couldn't help a bit of the panicked feeling, which Sara must have picked up on. Your breathing and heart race both lifting slightly. “Hey, I promise he's okay with this. Giving a nod, and taking a deep breath, your little wolf shook out her nerves before settling back down.

<Steve won't hurt us.> Stated so sincerely and with conviction, you let yourself agree, and settled in the seat, taking in the scenery and Saras talking about how she and Sam met. You couldn't help but smile to yourself listening, it was apparent how much she loved her mate. For the first time in a long time, you just did something as normal as hanging out and shopping. You were happy, as well as your little wolf, although there was the occasional pining for Steve, which you promptly continued shutting that down with frustration. If you don't stop, I'm throwing up the maze for you to work through...

<You got enough, let's go home.> prancing in places, her tail wagging at the idea. You couldn't help but smile at how happy your wolf side was now. There wasn't cowering aggression constantly rippling through you anymore. Soon, we will head back to the cabin.

<Home.>

Maybe home. Were not sure yet.

<After tonights run, it will be home.> you're yanking a shirt off over your head, retorting back. Its been a whole day, and who knows if we're still being hunted? You are so damn ready to bond with this male, and then what? That's it. This is where we will always belong.

<What's wrong with that?>

Before you could even answer your wolf, or pause Sara at the dressing room door since you were distracted between the two simultaneous happenings at the same time, the door open. "So I thought this color- oh sweetie" she gasped at your back. Grabbing the shirt you had just pulled off and holding it to your front, trying to spin out of sight, but this is a dressing room, and there was no hiding from all the mirrors behind you.

"Are you okay?" Sara is sure to close the door and you still clutching the shirt. "Who did that to you?"

"It doesn't matter.... " shame floods your face and your little wolf whines while wrapping around herself, a soft quivering ball in your mind going down your spine. "Please... Don't say anything, I don't want anyone knowing." I don't want Steve knowing.

Sara breathed out and her gaze went from the mirror to your face, that looks of sadness just bringing more shame. Her hands came up to cup your face and make you look at her. “I won't say anything, it is your story to tell. But if you want to, I'm right here. Steve too, he would want to know.” You wolf whined at his name, the feeling of yearning rolling through your chest, to have him see you and not turn away. But your last Alpha deemed you useless to mate, to marked with bites to bond with anyone. Why being collared and sold was your only option.

“Thanks Sara... I think I'm ready to head back.” You say softly and go to pick up your shirt and slip it back on, all the memories and feelings slipping back darkly in your eyes.

Sara gathered up the clothing you had picked, worried features pinching her face. “Let me just ring these up sweetie and we will head on home.”

Miles away Steve stood to survey the damn delimber they used to clean the logs, arms folded over his chest until he lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing. Sam, he's underneath it, hands up in the machine, looking at parts.

“Mmmhh, Just as I thought, they stuck that oversized pine into it and jammed it all up. These parts are gonna take at least a couple weeks to replace.” He rolled out from underneath and stood, brushing off his backside.

“Standstill?” Steve asked, his headache starting to form at his temples. Not that they would be financially strapped, but there was a large order coming in, and they had won the bid to fulfill it. Steve always made sure to deliver on time, and this set back might be pushing that back, in any business, it was all about the name and word of mouth. Something he had worked fucking hard on in the years he's been Alpha.

“Not quite, gonna be a bitch though. Clean them up by hand, it will be slow though.” Sam stated honestly, and rubbed the back of his neck, a slight bit of hesitation in his voice. “Or, you can contact Stark, see if he has the parts on hand. I know you've been wanting to drive up there to discuss Nat and Clint coming back from there internship in New York.”

Steve remained silent, staring at the broken piece of machinery, willing it to be fixed. <If you study that thing any harder, you are gonna give us a migraine.> His wolf huffed, impatient. The beast didn't like staying still, studying, thinking. Wanting action, to do something, anything besides just staring. Well what do you think we should do, wait on the parts, or ask Stark Towers for help?

<I think you should just get done this crap and let's go home to our mate. I bet shes back now, and just as ready to see you.> The wolf stated smugly, is no help in his current predicament.

You know what... So am I. Checking his watch, he decided it was time to just call it a day. All of this, well it would be a problem to deal with in the morning. Maybe that would bring him the answer he needed. “Let's pack it up Sam, it's getting late, and I can think about which we should do.”

Sam broke out in a relieved grin, grabbing some of the tools he had used, and tossed them in the back of the pickup. “I'm not gonna say no to that. Sara sent me a message that she was done shopping with Y/N, and they were headed back.” Grabbing the walkie off the passenger seat, he pushed the button, hearing it crackle then turn to a hollow soft hum, he spoke telling everyone they were knocking off early and shut it all down. The woods slowly stopped humming with the sound of machines miles away in another lot. Another cackle with a “Sure thing Wilson” and it went silent.

Hearing that You had spent a day out shopping made Steve warm, blossoming with soft happiness swirling from his stomach and up to his neck, turning his ears red at the thought of you twisting in a mirror to see all of you. Now he wished he was there handing you the clothes, have you model for him, see the way your eyes would light up and your cheeks bloom pink with his compliments. Of course his wolf appreciated the visual image, pressing for more control, making Steve get behind the wheel with Sam and drive just a bit faster back.

When is the last time we've been excited to return home? Steve considered, fingers thrumming on the steering wheel as they pulled off the logging road to Route 2, speeding along to The Compounds entrance.

<It's been a while since life's been this good.> The large wolf shook himself out, itching for the little wolf at home. <Full Moon run we will get to see her set free for the first time.>

That made Steve smile more thinking about getting to see you shift. Having only seen you once, your wolf had been a beauty to him. Long-legged for swift travels that wolves in the south typically had. You were still smaller in size next to the northern packs such as there pack was, with a long slender muzzle that ended in a pointed nose. Large eyes that at the time were fearful. This time he hoped to see the joy in them.

When Steve and Sam parked the truck, the two men stepping out and discussing tomorrow's plans for the crew tomorrow, Steve inhaled your scent, and whipped his head around, searching. Upon the front porch, both You and Sara are lounging in the deck chairs, feet kicked up on the railing, and a glass of iced tea in each of your hands, laughing together. Neither of you realized that that the men were back, but as they approached, Sara dropped her feet and jumped up to lean over the railing, see them. “Well look what old mutts finally arrived back! we've been waiting for you.” Sam paused and his hands went to his hips.

“Woman, you gonna come say hello, or am I gonna have to come up there and drag you down?” A wide grin flashed her teasing, and she skipped down the stairs and raced over to him, jumping in his arms to give him a racy kiss and playful ones all over his face. “Missed you Stud.” That just made Sam grin, and let her fall back to her feet, her arm wrapping around him. Steve in the meantime walked up the steps, and you to had come to a stand to welcome the Alpha home.

Please give it a rest! You plead as you take in the sight of Steve coming up the porch steps, his hair a mess, they tee clung to his chest where he must have sweated at some point. Yes, yes he did, cause that just barely hit you too. Normally someone's scent would make you pull back a bit, but not his. It warmed through you, screaming MAN in your mind. Healthy and strong, your Little Wolf appreciated it, rumbling out. <Alpha, even in human form. He certainly wouldn't tire easily...> Teasing lilt to her tone.

God your really a bitch.

Steve was looking you up and down, once he saw your outfit, his gaze seemed pleased at the choice you made, and although simple, nothing more than a pair of denim shorts, and still that men's tee tied in a knot just a few inches above the top of your shorts, he seems to fully approve of the relaxed look. “Do you want me to go get you a beer? Or make an iced tea like Sara and I are having?”

“No, I got it. I heard you went out with Sara. I hope you were able to get everything you needed?”

“Oh yes, thank you... you didn't have to do that Steve. But I appreciate it.” his wolf rumbled happily hearing you, and although the two of you weren't touching, you were close enough that Steve could just reach out, brush fingers along the curve of your face, grasp your chin... Enough!

“It was not a problem Y/N, nothing I wouldn't do for anyone.” and your eyes seemed to shut off a bit, pull back at Steve's words, leaving his wolf growling and snapping at Steves behavior. Giving an awkward nod as he reached for the door, Steve escaped inside, and you breathed out a held breath, a bit taken aback from his comment.

Your Little Wolf paces now unsettled, nuzzling into you as she knows your upset feeling. <He cares, he's just afraid of pushing you.> so calmly said, you sink into your thoughts. I don't know, maybe I misread the situation. Besides, this is what I wanted. Nobody special, I'm just a member of this pack. You glance at the closed door. <No you haven't! Just wait, the run will prove it. I feel his wolf calling to me. Why do you keep lying to me?> You have nothing to respond with, and turn your attention to Sam and Sara coming up on the porch. Sam sat in Sara's previous chair, and Sara perching on his lap, falling right back into conversation with You. You make yourself pay attention, ignoring Steve's comment from earlier. Or trying to.

On the other side of the door, Steve leaned against it, cursing under his breath. “Son of a fucking bitch, why did I say that?” he pulls away and tugs off his dirty shirt, balling it up and as he went into the bedroom, he tossed it with frustration at the hamper, still mentally cursing himself out for the sheer awkwardness that made him up.

Opening his closet door, Steve grabbed a plain grey tee and tugged it on. And what do you know about any of this? She's here for protection, not to be my next anything. He snapped back as he headed into the bathroom, and ran the water to let it warm up. Soaping his hands and scrubbing vigorously before cupping to splash water in his face. <Well I know enough not to let her think she's not wanted> The large wolf roared back in frustration and as Steve dried his face, and looked up in the mirror, he stared back at yellow eyes staring back at him, not his usual blue. The wolf was pissed off, and threatening to finish taking control. Grasping the edge of the sink, he let his head dip so he didn't have to see it anymore, dragging in air deeply and letting it out slowly. The next time he glanced at himself, all was normal. The wall he slammed up in this mind would control his beast... for now.

On his way back out, he grabbed two beers from the fridge and stepping out on the porch, he rejoined the three of them, handing Sam the beer before leaning back against the railing. The two women were animated talkers, telling Sam all about there shopping trip. Steve admired how your hands would wave in the air, and your head would tip back, long tresses of hair falling down your back as you laughed. The anger he felt dissipated in your presence, and you would look up at him with a grin, and what he wouldn't do to be the one making you feel this way.

“And here we are.” Sara leaned back against Sam's chest, taking his beer bottle and taking a drag off it. “Y/N, how you feeling about the run tonight?” The Little Wolf pranced joyfully to be able to run in a pack again, and you hug around yourself for a moment, Steves eyes flicking to see the defensive move you made, even your scent changed slightly to him. Tinged with fear, although your smile remained on your face. “Excited, it has been a while since I've been able to do something like that. A long while... “ You drifted off and picked up the iced tea glasses. “Excuse me please.” You dipped inside and Steve pushed off the railing, taking another drag of beer.

“Meet up with you two later?” Steve went towards the door, and Sam picked up on what he was saying, tapping Sara's thighs. “Come on Baby, how about you come to show me what you bought.” The two of them standing, Sara bit her lip and looked towards where you had disappeared. “Steve....” Sara drifted off, and Steve looked over his shoulder with an arched brow at the woman. She waved it off suddenly and went down the remaining stairs. “See you later.” Taking Sam's hand, the two-headed off.

Weird... Steve popped open the door and went inside to see you remaking more teas. “They headed on back home till later tonight.” He let his elbows leaning on the counter while you paused. “Don't worry, I will take Saras.” Reaching out to take it, you chuckle just as he took a swallow and winced.

“I haven't put the bit of sugar in it yet Steve.” Chuckling as you took it back and sprinkled some in. “I would have said goodbye if I known.”

“You will see her again in just a bit,” Steve started and watched as you finished making yours. “Y/N earlier when we were discussing the run, were you okay?” The wolf perked back up at this, his ears straining towards the woman, silent though. They were both vividly aware of her nervousness at the question.

“Sure Steve. Wh-Why do you ask?” You are not looking at him, seeming to avoid his gaze, watching with interest at the glass before you, the spoon spinning the liquid around and around. Steve reached forward once more and took the glass from you, and set it aside.

“Y/N, please look at me.” His voice was different this time, and Steve could see the inner battle crossing your face. A bit stubborn? You have been nothing but compliant since you've arrived, and this surprised him a bit. <Tell her again, we have to find out what's wrong.> Steve tilted his head though instead and tried to catch your gaze, his tone sterner this time. This was absolute. Your Little Wolf wouldn't let you disobey him anymore. “Y/N, look at me?” This time he saw your features smooth and you did look up at him. “because you smelled of fear, If you are afraid to do this, You don't have to.” Pushing off the bar, he instinctively circled the counter to stand near you, a hand lightly touching your arm, hoping that you would be able to answer him.

“Sorry, yes, I'm very excited about this. I haven't... I haven't been allowed to run with a pack in over a year.” You tried explaining, and Steve frowned at this. Being denied to run with your pack? It was everything a wolf craved, the closeness, working together. Steve had never thought of denying any of the packs the right to run together, and his wolf growled with a bristle of fur along his spine. <What kind of Alpha is this? He doesn't lead a pack with honor, denying his wolves the run.> Steve let it sink in that you've been semi-isolated as a wolf.

We will see if she tells us.

“Y/N, why would he deny that to you?” Steve asked and you wrinkled your nose to keep from letting your emotions take over. Picking up your glass and taking a swallow, you set it back down, your nails tapping against it. “Because I was to be collared and sold. I was kept away from the pack with the other unmated wolves. That way we wouldn't find a partner in the run. He would lose his income.” You wipe at your face and ask softly. “Please... can you release me? Let me look away.”

It took a minute till it clicked for Steve that you were serious, your eyes big and round staring at him, shining with held back tears, he suspected now from being forced to listen. “Of course, you can do whatever you want Y/N, you don't have to look at me anymore.” And you lost the rigid attention, seeming to sink in on yourself. Head bowed, shoulders dropped a bit with a shudder. Taking your glass of iced tea, you skirted around Steve, keeping your voice low “Was there anything else you needed right now Alpha?”

“No... no. We will come to find you for the run in a couple of hours.” How hard did he restrain himself from reaching out to touch you, give comfort at your unease. But you didn't seek it, and he wasn't going to force it on you. Promptly you disappeared to your room. Once you were out of sight, Steve didn't look away from your door, processing everything he had just learned.

<Her free will had been taken away... She would have obeyed us if we told her to harm herself.> His wolf whined out, ears pinned back against his skull at the unease of the situation.

Why we will not use that on her again if we can help it... and it's time to find out more about this pack. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, and sent a text to Bucky explaining what he needed to be done. He received a simple text back with a “Done” and set his phone aside. It also reminded Steve he needed to get back with Stark about his wolves on an intern with him. If the twins Natasha and Clint were back, he would have sent them. Glancing outside, Steve noticed the moon starting to edge over the lake, and he found solace in that. At least he could be the one to give her the first run in over a year. And tonight's moon looked like a Super Moon, large glowing orb that would recharge them. Tonight will be a good night...

Later you heard a knock on your door and you stirred in your bed. “Y/N, it's time... “ Steve poked his head in and flashed a grin of excitement that made him almost child-like. Swinging your legs off the bed, you can't help but catch that excitement, and stretch out any kinks in your back. Your Little Wolf started hopping and slapping her front paws in anticipation, just feeding your mood.

“I'm kinda nervous” You breath out as you pass Steve, and head for the door, you're biting your lip as you look over your shoulder at him, grinning. Any discomfort from your earlier conversation just seems magically gone as both of you slip more into the wolves personas. As you opened the door, Steve came up behind you, tickling along your hips. Laughing, you sprang out of reach and leaped off the porch, and spun on your feet in the soft grass to face him, smirking as you looked up at him tugging off his shirt to toss it aside. Your breath sucked in, and fingers flexed wanting to drag your hands across his pecs, through the hair dusting down beyond his slightly softer stomach. Even your Little Wolf stopped her exciting dance, licking her muzzle with a sweep of her tongue, whimpering.

<Y/N....> whining out and you whimpered yourself inwards, taking a teasing step back from the Alpha who started to stalk you playfully down the steps. Trust me, I see... You bolt away before he can even reach you, racing down the path where you see other people similarly playing with each other, Steve was quick to catch you, and swinging you up where he grasped your waist, your feet kicking out and laughing. Prying at his fingers, you growled at him with flashing wolf eyes. “You don't seem too nervous right now Y/N, growling at your Alpha,” Steve stated against your ear, inhaling deeply against your neck while setting you down, and your dancing away from him, your legs stretching and twisting, making you itch to shift. Your breathing was coming out in rushes at being so close, pressed against the wall of his chest, his scent having washed over you and making your body ache for so much more.

He's caught up like I am in the full moon, that's all it is. The Little Wolf snaps a bit at you in frustration.

Steve pulled up quick to admire you dancing through the moonlight, your head tipped back to be washed in the light, your eyes shimmering in the wolfish way as they reflected the moonlight when you looked back at him. <Shes so beautiful Steve, this is the way she's supposed to be. Your mate, dancing in the moonlight.> And Steve really couldn't rebut the Wolf's observation at this moment. “You haven't given me a reason to be.” You turn and say simply, and before he could respond, Sara came jogging over, Wanda in tow. “Were stealing out girl here!” Sara sass's while booking an arm through Your arm, and Wanda takes over the other side, smirking at Steve, who's folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh really, and what if I say no?” Steve retorts. Leaving Sara snorting at him, the two women already dragging you away. “Since when do we listen to you?” Slight amount of panic races through you. <He didn't say we could go Y/N, you have to go back before he gets angry!> and you're about to pull away from the women to return to the Alpha.

Steve watched as Sara and Wanda started to lead you away when he saw your back tense up and the way you glanced at him over your shoulder. Even your scent was once more tinged with fear, now picking up that sharp sting in his inhale that mingled with your usual honeysuckle softness. Before his wolf could point out the obvious to him, he nodded at you, letting you know it was okay, you were safe to go. It was immediate, the change of relief, and you turned back to follow along with Wanda and Sara to join other women, as was how their pack started to run.

Breathing in deeply, it surprised Steve how easily he was able to follow you, easily picking you out of the other mingled scents that made up the pack, and content that you were safe, excited and he would be seeing you within a few minutes, he decided it was officially time to start. Not bothering to go down to the lower field where the males were showing off moments of bravado and boasting as large groups of the male species did, Steve lost the last of his clothing and started to let the wolf take over. Although uncomfortable, it was fairly quick for shifters. Their bodies melding from human to wolf. When he opened his eyes again, the world was different, the night now belonged to him and he was more than ready to claim it. The silver beast tossed his head back and paid homage to the moon, officially starting the pack run. Answers called back, some as sharp yips and others as low dragged out songs.

You had never met Wanda, but her scent was familiar as the borrowed clothes. Just as with anyone you've met so far aside from Bucky, she introduced herself and that was it, you were her packmate and she treated you as if she's known you for years. “We better be quick.” She states as she lets you go and starts tugging at her clothing, yanking it off without any hesitation, and the others around you are doing the same. A bit more tentative, trying to keep your back hidden you start doing the same. Tossing a shirt and dragging down your pants, already Sara has shifted, a sleek black wolf and Wanda is right behind her, and red wolf stretching out with long front legs stretching behind her, head was thrown back to the moon. Sara tilts her head towards you waiting as Steves howl starts. Soon you're surrounded by howling wolves, and your own Little Wolf is pushing to join.

Releasing her, she was quick to take over and your howls are dipping right in with the rest. A ripple went through the pack, as haunches coiled underneath and a wave of wolves leaped forward, moving into the forest beyond The Compound. Sara waved her tail, and you to stretched out to run alongside her, brushing up against her as the two of you worked in sync, soon passing others on your left and right. It's not long before the larger males join, weaving among the females, snapping at them in play, out of the corner of your eye, you can see Sara pull up, and twist into a mottled brown wolf. Recognizing Sam from the day before. She leaped at her mate, brushing up against him and nipping under his chin. The pair weaved around each other, fondly biting each other's ruffs and showing affection in the way wolves do.

Your fast run slowed to a jog, letting your nose lead you now. Once in awhile another wolf would brush up against you, enticing you in play. Slapping front paws against the pine needles, tail high in the air, waving above you like a flag before you two would charge at one another. This, this is what you missed when with your previous pack. How your Little Wolf leads you two through the night with fleeting bursts of speed. Your howl, rang clear as a bell being struck through the night.

Steve cocked his head listening to the wolves' cries, picking you out right away, the large Alpha spun in place, his nose high in the air, seeking... until he found you. With a loose jog, he followed the tail like bread crumbs, his tongue lolling out to taste the air, and a swipe over his muzzle like a beast getting ready for dinner. Finally he saw you, teasing another packmate with leaps and bounds, back and forth chasing one another through the brush. You twisted away from yawning jaws and snapped back in play till you saw Steve. Shaking out your fur vigorously, your ears perked at him, yellow eyes flashing in the darkness at him. Rolling forward into a lope, you packed up to him, and lowered to your belly in submission to your Alpha, sidling up underneath his chin, and licking nibbling at him. The wolf softened, and nuzzled back, gentle as he bit the top of your muzzle, accepting that you now belonged to him, his packmate as well.

So easily the wolves accepted each other, now if only the humans could as well.

Once he let go, you nipped playfully at his ear, tugging it and brushing alongside, the two of you bounding off as a pair, soon catching up with the rest and bypassing them as well. The only other pair matching you two was Sara and Sam, long-legged leaps eating up the ground, you couldn't pass up the challenge that the two of them gave, and with a burst of speed, you pulled away from the large silver wolf matching you, your legs stretching and claws barely grazing the pine needles before they flew out again, Sam huffed at being beaten watching your tail whisk at him with a laughing bark from you.

The Alpha had never seen anything quite like it, Sam had many years ago earned the nickname Falcon for his speed, but here you were, outpacing him easily. Your sleek fur brushing back, and your muzzle sharp and streamlined you. Like a bird of prey spiraling into a dive, you twisted in the air once you got to the border, paralleling yourself along no man's land, the rest of the pack came up from behind. Soon you eased up, falling back to pace with Steve, your nose low to the ground, tracking the border scent. Half the pack weaved out to the right, the large group ominous to any that might challenge them. Steve relaxed into your touch every time you weaved back into him, your scents now intermingling, becoming as much as an imprint on others as it was on you. You were now officially part of the mountains, losing the scent of your old pack life.

It was early hours when the pack returned to The Compound, weaving among each other, tiredly pacing with each other. Adults carried pups from the scruff if they were small enough, heads hanging low enough that the pups backsides would bounce a time or two off the soft grass, even Steve is carrying one back, the pups yawning, and blue eyes blinking sleepily up at him, licking at his chin before his head flops down to give a tiny snore. You follow along next to Steve, chuckling at the dangling pup. Soon his mother comes and collects him, bounding off towards home.

Home... what a thought for you. You never really expected any place to feel like home, but as you pause going up the wooden steps, Steve not far behind, you watch as the rest of the pack settle down wherever they were content. A few stayed outside, circling one another in mismatched pairs, tucking head over another's back, and giving a sigh. Some returned home, Sara and Sam trotted past, still playfully nipping at one another and giving a yip in greeting before they went towards there own cabin. Steve brushed past you, mouthing your ear with affection before he went inside, you right behind, and to your room. The human persona edging for control again and a leap sent you into bed.

You were laying there, right on the edge of a deep sleep when a hand muffled over your mouth and a sneering face loomed over you, whispering. “Make a fucking noise, and your throat is ripped out before I die.” Your eyes go wide in panic, and your hands go to claw at his chest, trying to push away. Where was Steve?!?! Your Little Wolf is snarling, pushing to shift but to exhausted from the run earlier, and your body ripples in the frustration and pain, causing you to tell out before your back to your human self. Outside you hear loud snarls of wolves fighting each other and the man cursed, that's when it clicks it's the Tracker on your trail just a couple of days ago. Grabbing you by the arm to drag you out.

Steve is sound asleep when his senses tingle. <Intruder... someone is in the house.> His eyes shot open, and quiet as he moves to get up, yanking on a pair of sweats near the bed. Soft steps send him to the door, and his wolf is bristling in silence, honed in for any noise that might be made by the individual. It certainly wasn't anyone he knew but did carry your old scent. That's when he heard the scramble in your room, and he burst into the hallway, your scream of pain making his fist slam against the door. The door was thrown to embed into the wall, and the man had his arm fisted around your neck, wrenching your head back, you're trying to connect a fist or foot at him to release you, and Steve takes this all in a glance before he's tackling at the man, ripping him to release you, where you fall to the ground, trying to drag air back in your lungs and coughing.

Now Steve has the upper hand, dragging the man from his house, his oversized hands wrapped along the back of his neck, ready to snap it with a twist the other fisted in his shift to haul him along. Kicking his front door open, outside was a whole other scene. Bucky must have caught the second intruder, the lookout outside the cabin as he was returning home from his time in the town. Blood streaked down his white chest and along the side of his muzzles, the wolf at his feet dead. Steve snarled in the man's ear. “You better start fucking talking or that's going to be you in five seconds.” Fingers digging in threat along the back of his neck just above the spine, the man tried twisting in his hold at an attempt to save his life. “NOW TRESPASSER"

“She's not yours! My brother and I were told to bring her back to our Alpha. He didn't release her, you cant lay any kind of claim to her. “ The man's voice panicked, eyes rolling up at Steve looming above him. “It's our job, our Alphas command.” Just as he's saying this, you step out onto the porch, tears streaming down your face. You knew this was what would happen, Pierce never let anyone get away from him, not unless it was with death or from a sale. Steve happened to see you, and lowly growled out. “Go back inside Y/N....” But you took another step forward to descend the stairs. His anger at the situation left Steve roaring out. “Right Now" and you had to listen. Your wolf couldn't disobey her Alpha, and you raced back inside, the door yawning open to show the darkness of the interior. Now that Steve was sure you were away from the men, the pack coming out to gather around, Sam racing up alongside Bucky to kneel near the dead wolf and inspect him.

“I have a message for your Alpha, the only reason I'm not killing you,” Steve growled out as he twisted his hand, strength making the man cry out. How easy would it be to snap his neck right now. “Tell your Alpha if he wants her, he has to come to get her from me.” Tossing him away to sprawl against his dead brother, Bucky snapping right at his face, spit and blood scattering across the man's face like splatter, leaving him blinking in shock at the white wolf. Steve snarled out. “Get out of here, and be sure to haul your brother away to. Count yourself fucking lucky. If you come back, I will rip your throat out.” Sam and a few others ready to escort them right out of town. Bucky sighed almost wearily as they marched away, and Steve dropped a hand to his friends back. “Thank you Buck.” The white wolf eased away, leaving Steve alone.

Inside your panicking, your chest aching and pacing around. Steve came in to find you wide-eyed, his shift hanging loosely whipping around you as you snap back and forth between the kitchen and living room, there wasn't much space in between so if you went like that for long, sure to wear a hole in the floor.

“Y/N... “ Steve starts, but you snap out instead.

“I knew, I knew this would happen. I didn't go far enough, I should have gone further north. He's coming, he's coming to destroy you all and drag me back. I can't fucking believe I caused this, Fuck fuck fuck, Steve I'm so sorry I brought this on.”

Before you could continue, you twist to go the other way and slam into Steve's bare chest, his hands wrapping around you. You are momentarily struck into confusion, pulling away, but his voice is soft against your ear, calling you to attention. “Hush, you didn't do anything wrong, and nothing is going to happen to us. Let him come... the man needs to be removed from what he did to you what he is doing.” Your panting as your forehead least against the center of his chest, and he loosens his hold now that you are not fighting him, keeping it loose around you.

“I shouldn't have brought it to your doorstep, Steve.” You cry out softly, unable to hold it back anymore. Warm tears fall on his chest, and he rumbles softly.

“I'm fucking glad you did Y/N.” He allowed himself to let his head drop to press a kiss at the crown of your head. Let them try to claim you...

<Oh yes... please let them try.> The Silver Wolf grinned in the darkness of his mind, wickedly curved canines flashing white, just waiting to be used.

Tags- @what-is-your-plan-today @p8tn0lish @official-and-unstable-satan @kimisama1989 @stardancerluv @patzammit @princess-evans-addict @alexakeyloveloki @ayamenimthiriel @irishflutiegirl @fallenoutofrose @caffiend-queen @southerngracela @bigandprettyyyy @djeniiscorner @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @rinkashirikitateku

#the pack #shifter steve #shifter!steve #au steve rogers #wolf!steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #amber writes #sweater writes

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ace-oreos · 4 years ago

Note

You must be so sick of alpha and Fordo asks but you’re latest fic has given me angst potential- maybe a one-shot with alpha working with the bad batch to find Fordo post order 66 an him just breaking at the seams when he finds his Vod because he thought he lost Frodo like he lost Sev. Tears and man hugs ensue

Oh I am NEVER sick of Alpha and Fordo asks - they’re such a fun chaotic duo to write for. :D Also, Alpha working with the Bad Batch is something I never knew I needed until I saw your ask and I would absolutely write something with all of them again. I cannot express how difficult it was to not go off on a tangent about Hunter.

In true Sev style, I chose Kashyyyk as the main location for this one. It’s just so useful for these kinds of things.

Also. Y’all. I did not realize until I was four pages into this that I forgot Echo. So uh... whoops? 😅 😂 With that in mind, let me warn you that this is WAY longer than the other fics. I have no idea what happened. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Also also, thank goodness for Wookiepedia lmao

Edit with tags: @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando (taglist is open!)

“Captain.” The sergeant keeps his distance even now, face inscrutable as he surveys Alpha.

“Alpha,” he corrects half-heartedly, more for the sergeant’s sake than his own.

“Alpha,” Hunter amends. “We’ll be entering the Mid Rim soon - maybe an hour, hour and a half tops.”

“Good to know.” Alpha knows he sounds despondent at best, but he’s hit enough dead ends by now to know all too well this will likely be a fruitless endeavor. There’s nowhere in the galaxy safe from him - not when his brother’s life is hanging in balance.

But it’s a big galaxy, with little regard for individual yearning or emotion. Alpha can vow to upend the galaxy as much as he likes, but the fact is they’ve only so much time, and only so many resources, and...

And maybe Hunter picks up on that, in that way of his as he observes Alpha without further comment. The sergeant is as much his vod as anyone else Alpha has encountered. Still beyond him sometimes, a little too other for Alpha to ever fully mesh with him or his brothers, but he’s a good soldier. A good man.

“We’ve always got room for another,” are Hunter’s parting words as he makes his way back to the cockpit.

If you find out your brother was dead all along.

Alpha doubts it was anything less than a genuine offer, but it isn’t the only route. Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. And even then....

It doesn’t do, to let himself become so intertwined with a brother until he isn’t entirely sure he knows who he is without the other. He’d tried, both for his brothers and for his own peace of mind, to put a stop to it before it went too far. And maybe that was Jango getting in his head more than Alpha ever should have allowed, but he’d thought it was the right thing to do.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder...

________________________

“ - you know as well as I do we’ve been going in circles for weeks now - ”

“Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that once or twice…”

“You said it yourself - we’ll get ourselves killed if we aren’t careful.”

“So we’ll be careful.” Hunter’s voice holds a note of finality. “We can keep rehashing this conversation, or we can help a vod.”

Alpha doesn’t catch the muttered reply, but it’s hardly amenable, if Hunter’s sigh is anything to go by. He can’t blame them, really - Fordo isn’t their brother, and outside of combat they’ve little common ground. And it’s only natural for Crosshair to raise the questions none of them are yet ready to face. Alpha thinks he could learn to like the man, given time.

He reigns in his thoughts before entering the cockpit. The least he can do is put on a rational front. This whole thing isn’t at all rational, but the Bad Batch seem to understand better than others. It runs deeper than brotherhood here, whatever it is, and Alpha is irrepressibly reminded of Fordo, somehow -

(And osik, does that thought burn, dig under his skin to remind him once again that he failed, that should he redeem himself it will be not on his terms but likely an inconsequential whim of a galaxy that cares nothing for them or everything they’ve fought so hard to hold on to - )

“Y’know, I’m not sure we’ve ever been to Kashyyyk,” Wrecker muses. “That’s a first.” If he’s trying to divert Alpha’s attention from Crosshair, it’s a skillful effort that almost takes Alpha aback. “‘Course, I only remember the fun parts,” he adds as an impish afterthought.

“Anything with explosives, you mean?” Alpha asks drily.

Wrecker grins. “Something like that.”

You and Fordo would get along fine.

What leaves his mouth is, “I don’t suppose anyone has any relevant information about this place?”

Right on cue, Tech pipes up from his position alongside Crosshair. “Actually…”

Tech is just as much of an efficient distraction in his own right. It’s not exactly the height of strategy on Alpha’s part, but once again it redirects attention. He has no doubt Hunter sees right through it; still, the man has enough tact to refrain from commenting.

You understand, I think, Alpha decides, watching exasperation and amusement play across Hunter’s face in turns as his brothers’ bickering fills the cockpit. You would go to hell and back for them, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?

Hunter casts him a wary glance. Alpha holds his gaze.

There’s too much we can’t say. It’s okay, vod - I think I’m starting to understand too.

________________________

Kashyyyk is dishearteningly vast, all sprawling jungles and endless island chains set on a swath of ocean that dissects the planet’s hemispheres. Getting in was no easy task, what with the Imperial blockade cutting off the planet from others in its sector. But Tech’s adroit piloting had come through, and they’d slipped past the blockade with little disturbance.

“You really think your buddy is here?” Crosshair asks dubiously, surveying the area with a distinct air of displeasure.

“I’ve seen the records,” Alpha says, as much to reassure himself as the other man. “The Empire’s tighter with the book-keeping, I’ll give them that. Fordo’s unit lost contact not long before Order Sixty-six went down. If they made it out, it would be on record somewhere.”

“And if they didn’t?”

Alpha battles his temper into submission before replying. “Then they would be confirmed KIA. But they’re still listed as missing as of two weeks ago.”

“Sounds like you’re leaving an awful lot to chance,” Crosshair opines. There isn’t malice in his voice so much as an unmistakable note of disapproval. “What’s your plan if it turns out they were just waiting for reinforcements and pulled out days ago? That leaves us here in the heart of Imperial occupation.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Alpha says grimly. “But if they lost comms before the order came through, then there’s a chance they aren’t with the Empire. Their main focus would be survival, not falling in line nice and neat like Palpatine expects.”

It’s clear there are a number of objections rising to the forefront of Crosshair’s mind, but the man keeps them to himself. There’s a conflict brewing there, Alpha knows, but that’s a matter to address at another time.

“There’s an area south of here where all comm signals go dead,” Tech announces, tapping furiously at the device mounted on his vambrace. “According to intel, the Wookies call it the Black Forest.”

“Sounds inviting,” Hunter says. “What’s the deal with it?”

“A prison ship crashed there centuries ago,” Tech relays. “The Wookies believe it’s cursed, so they avoid it whenever possible. It’s possible Fordo and whoever was left were driven back by the Seps - or it was a desperate bid and he was banking on the droids not following somewhere they can’t maneuver well. But why cut himself off from allies…?”

“The forward operating base was set up in Kachirho,” Alpha muses aloud “There was another commando squad deployed here, but they were retasked shortly after Order Sixty-six. If Fordo’s here, I doubt he would hang around anywhere with high Imperial activity.”

If he were operating alone, the decision would be simple. But he has the welfare of four other men to consider now; one wrong move, and they’ll all end up on the business end of a blaster.

With that in mind, Alpha looks to Hunter. “Sergeant. What do you think?”

“It’s your call,” Hunter answers. “If you have reason to think your brother is hiding out here, then I think it’s worth taking a look. So long as we go careful, I don’t see why the Imperials should notice us.”

Wrecker’s chuckle fills the comms. “Famous last words.”

_________________________

For all that they have a reputation for being unorthodox - a reputation that is doubtless justly earned - the Bad Batch can pull off stealth pretty well, too. It comes as a bit of a surprise, if Alpha is being honest, but if nothing else the overarching threat of Hunter’s wrath is enough to keep them in line.

“Keep an eye out for slavers,” Tech warns. “The whole planet has been a hotspot for them ever since the CIS first let them in.”

It’d be just our luck to run into slavers, Alpha thinks wryly. Individually they’re not much of a threat, but a group of Trandoshans spells trouble for anyone. Even without the training to back it up, their brutality can overpower even an ARC trooper. ‘Course, it’d be just like you to get into a mess like that, Fordo…

“We’ll be a bigger target if we travel as a group,” Hunter says.

“If we split up we might as well ask for a death sentence,” Alpha cautions. Typically his first choice would be to operate alone, but between the slavers, the Imperials, and the remnants of the Separatist forces, he’s starting to think their strength might lie in numbers this time.

Alpha mulls it over. Greater numbers means slower going. If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground. It’ll be risky, but - payoff is worth it.

“We’ll move faster this way,” Hunter says, echoing Alpha’s thoughts. “Wrecker, Tech, you’re with me. Cross…” He fixes his brother with a stern stare. “Don’t do anything stupid. Alpha has my full permission to stop you by any means necessary.”

Alpha rewards the sergeant with a wolfish grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He can’t read Crosshair half as well as the others, but the sniper doesn’t appear altogether displeased. He merely shrugs when Alpha jerks his head towards the route they’ll be following, and trails after him without argument.

Silence lays thick over the jungle. There’s an odd rustle here and there, interspersed with faint growls from time to time, but progress is relatively smooth. Alpha takes pains to remain on guard; just because he can’t see a threat doesn’t mean they’re in the clear.

Before long the silence is disconcerting. Given the planet’s Wookie population, there should be regular movement around them, or some sign of existence. But this stretch of the jungle is oddly lacking.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Crosshair mutters.

“Guess no one’s home,” Alpha answers absently, scrutizining the terrain. “Look - there’s no sign of a fight. Maybe no one was here to begin with.”

“Kachirho isn’t too far from here,” Crosshair points out. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that this path hasn’t been used at all?”

“It is,” Alpha allows, “but look at it this way. We’re traveling the way we’ve been trained to in this kind of setting. The Wookies probably have their own methods for getting around.”

“It’s still weird,” Crosshair decides. “And if your brother really was here, we’d have found evidence of that, too.”

He isn’t wrong, but it nonetheless stings to hear the man voice the doubtful thoughts that have been creeping up on Alpha. Still, we’ve come this far. What have we got to lose?

(More than he’s willing to surrender. But Crosshair doesn’t need to know that.)

“Let’s keep moving,” Alpha says, sharper than he intends.

“Hang on,” Crosshair says suddenly. “Contact - ”

Alpha pivots in time to see a Trandoshan emerge from the surrounding foliage. The lizard is taller and more solid than he previously anticipated; instead of hitting it head-on like he initially planned, Alpha redirects in order to avoid being gutted on the lizard’s knife.

He hears the shot and the telltale thump of the lizard falling to the ground. As Alpha picks himself up, Crosshair scans the area through the scope of his rifle.

“Oh, shab,” the sniper hisses.

It doesn’t take long for Alpha to locate the cause of Crosshair’s disgruntlement. A group of Trandoshans lurches towards them. Alpha does a rapid assessment: each lizard is packing some sort of ranged weapon - including slugthrowers, he notes unenthusiastically - and most are carrying an assortment of knives.

“Ideas?” Crosshair asks tersely.

“They’ll just follow us if we run,” Alpha says. “It’ll save us trouble in the long run if we take them now.”

“I can see why Hunter likes you,” Crosshair says, oddly nonchalant considering the circumstances, and fires.

With Crosshair covering ranged attacks, Alpha elects the more up-close-and-personal option. The slavers have the advantage of size, but Trandoshans aren’t renowned for their intelligence. As long as he stays in motion the risk of having his throat slit is greatly reduced.

Alpha targets a straggler first. He hits low, knocking the lizard off balance and sending it staggering into another. The other makes a grab for him, but Alpha is already ramming his vibroblade into the first slaver’s exposed neck. Using the limp body as a buffer, Alpha pushes against the other lizard, trying to force it onto its back foot.

Just as he feels his opponent’s defense start to give, another three descend on him. Cursing, Alpha throws himself aside before they can hem him in. One of the slavers has enough presence of mind to bring his knife down on Alpha’s unprotected back; the force of the blow has him crashing to the ground.

Alpha scrambles for a foothold, but one of the lizards seizes his leg in a vicelike grip. He writhes instinctively, kicking out with his other foot. He feels the impact more than sees it and wrenches himself free.

Just as a third lizard fills the other’s place, there’s a crack from Crosshair’s rifle, and the lizard topples. Alpha springs to his feet to avoid being crushed by several hundred kilos of Trandoshan. The others are wary now, trying to divide their attention between him and Crosshair.

Alpha doesn’t give them time to choose. This time he uses his blaster to put a round through the closest target. It’s not quite enough to put the lizard out of commission entirely, so he follows up with a quick succession of bolts.

It’s not exactly an even match, but things aren’t going as badly as he first feared, Alpha thinks. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than his helmet flashes a warning. He turns to deflect the attack coming from behind, but he moves too late and steps directly into the strike.

The slaver’s curved knife skids off Alpha’s breastplate and sinks into his bodysuit in the gap between the cuirass and the shoulder bell. Alpha manages to pull away, but not before the knife catches the underside of his arm and slices a gash halfway down his bicep.

A line of pain sears through his arm. There’s no doubt the Trandoshan cut deep into the muscle. That arm is effectively useless now; Alpha grimly switches his knife to the other hand.

He doesn’t have eyes on Crosshair from his current position, but the rasping breaths and occasional curses over the comms suggest the sniper isn’t having an easy time of it either. Time to fall back and reassess.

“Let’s pull back. We might be able to lose them.” Alpha bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a hiss of pain when his wounded arm is jostled. “We can’t take them now, at any rate.”

“You might want to rethink that, alor’ad…”

Crosshair jerks his head to indicate the slavers pouring into the area. There’s a slim chance they’ll be able to slip by, but not without risking serious injury. Slowing down to accommodate a bad hit would mean certain death or capture.

Pinned down. Shabla brilliant.

Alpha makes an effort to keep his rapidly rising alarm in check. “We’ll have to hold them off, then.”

“There’s no way,” Crosshair objects. “We’re outnumbered eight to one.”

Alpha sends a slaver sprawling rather than answer. He can see it as plainly as Crosshair, but he’s not going to lay down and die, not when his brother is still out there somewhere, not when there’s still a chance they could pull this off -

He hasn’t been this close in weeks and it isn’t his place to gamble anyone else’s life but his own, but even now he can’t bring himself to give in and he understands in a sudden flash of clarity that this is where he will always fail - because he has a foothold, now, and even though all logic points to turning back for once he can’t give in -

An arm clamps around his neck. Alpha thrashes, trying to throw his attacker off, but now that he’s been caught off guard the lizard has an advantage. His vision begins to blur at the edges and he redoubles his efforts, fueled in no small part by panic at being unable to draw breath.

He doesn’t know where Crosshair is anymore. He can hardly see beyond his own hands, scrabbling desperately at the arm locked around his neck.

No sooner does his vision begin to fade than the crushing pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. Alpha hits the ground gracelessly, coughing violently as he tries to inhale. His breath rattles in his throat, but his vision gradually returns.

He lurches to his feet and assumes a defensive stance as best he can. He’s lost track of how many slavers are still standing - too many is his best estimate.

But the man standing before him isn’t an enemy. He’s -

“Vod,” Fordo says softly.

Alpha can only stare at his brother in stunned silence, momentarily deaf to the ongoing struggle around them. Fordo....

“Later,” his brother promises.

______________________

“So how’d you end up running with them?” Fordo asks with a nod towards the Bad Batch.

“It’s complicated,” Alpha says lightly. “Too much to unpack now, at any rate.”

Fordo laughs. He’s battered and weary, with something lurking in his gaze Alpha can’t quite decipher yet, but it’s Fordo, and that’s more than enough.

“It’s quiet here,” Fordo remarks. “I like that.”

“‘S nice,” Alpha agrees.

They’re still hovering just above the surface. Tentative. It’s not exactly what Alpha is accustomed to, but for Fordo’s sake he lets his brother take the lead.

“Everything’s gone sideways, hasn’t it,” Fordo says suddenly.

“It has,” Alpha admits. There’s no use pretending otherwise. “But we’ll find a way through.”

Fordo flashes a small smile. “You’re good at that.”

Alpha merely shrugs. There’s a thousand other things he wants to say, but he hasn’t the faintest clue where to begin. Finally he ventures carefully, “Y’know, for a while now I thought this mission did you in.”

Fordo lets out a long sigh. “I was starting to think it might, myself.”

“I…” Alpha breaks off, startled by the sudden pressure behind his eyes. It worsens when he tries to continue. “I don’t know what I would’ve - ”

He falters again. I care more than I should. I never should’ve let that happen, but even now I don’t know if I regret it.

“Alpha,” Fordo says softly, and pulls him into an embrace.

Alpha doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally disentangles himself from Fordo as gently as he can and scrubs at the hot trails on his face. He can’t quite bring himself to feel any shame over it. He’s never been given to such displays, but… Fordo is his vod.

“So what’s the plan, alor’ad?” Fordo asks with a familiar note of mischief in his voice.

Alpha smiles despite himself. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Alpha laughs. “We have time.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #captain fordo #the bad batch #bad batch #clone force 99 #the clone wars #star wars #fic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#this was really fun #and i would absolutely write for them again #hunter specifically but shhh #if you make it through this post good on you lmao #my askbox is open!

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omgreally · 4 years ago

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The Apprentice Read on AO3 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader Rating: E for Explicit, Soon Wordcount: 5k+ Summary: Peli Motto took you off the streets of Tatooine to become one of the best apprentices she's ever had - but honestly, the DUM droids are setting the bar pretty low. Still, you work out well for the first few months until an armored Mandalorian stranger lands with a busted-up ship and a strange magic baby and, well, you're intrigued. Even though you know you shouldn't be. Peli's always teling you to keep away from anything hot but sometimes, to fix something, you have to stick your hand straight into the fire.

Chapter Two - The Beholder

The Mandalorian is always watching you.

You’ll be working on something on his ship and feel it - like standing with your back too close to a fire. The heat of his gaze gathers between your shoulder blades, amplified by the blankness of that damned visor.

He doesn’t give a flying kriff that you notice, either. You’ll glance over your shoulder at him and he’ll be there, lounging against something, effortlessly casual, and he’ll just look at you and shrug, as if daring you to say something.

You tell yourself that Mando is just protective of his ship. There’s a lot of surprisingly expensive hardware on it - the contents of that weapons locker, for example - and he doesn’t want you to fuck something up. After all, you are the apprentice. Peli vouching for you doesn’t make a damn lick of difference. This floating metal trap is his home, and the first time you met you spent some time insulting it. It’s understandable he’d want to keep an eye on you after that.

And you tell yourself you don’t like it.

At first you try to ignore it. You work, and you work hard because Peli expects nothing less. You end up with the arms of your coveralls tied around your hips, your tank damp with sweat and sticking to your skin, your hair an absolute mess, covered head to toe in engine grease.

You descend the recently-repaired ramp wiping your forehead on your arm, and here he is, leaning against one of the landing struts. “What are you doing?” he asks, making you jump near-out of your skin; you whirl to glare at him, clutching at your pounding heart.

“Taking a break,” you say, when you’ve recovered enough to speak. “I’ve been working all day.”

He surveys you impassively. Is there anything under that helmet, you wonder? Or is it just air and wires? Just like one of those droids. But no, the way he moves - all coiled, unreleased power, the potential for violence - you can feel he’s more than that.

You’re not sure if it terrifies or intrigues you.

You tell yourself it’s fine, that it doesn't really bother you. That every time he appears behind you your heart doesn’t skip a beat. But the sheer physicality of his presence is full of a devastating uncertainty and potential that you don’t know what to do with.

And he’s always watching you.

He says nothing, and you turn and shake your head, stomping off away from the ship. Razor Crest, it’s called. You think it should be called Tetanus Crest.

“What’s his deal?” you ask Peli as you grab some water inside. Your boss still has that weird green baby, but she’s given back your shirt, although you’re not sure you’ll wear it ever again. The thing coos and surveys you with googly eyes that creep you out only marginally less than Mando does.

“Whaddaya mean?” Peli’s only half-paying attention, too busy rocking the kid - Grogu - as she tries to get him to sleep in her arms. He waves his stubby claws, evidently enjoying himself too much to do so.

“He’s...very intense. Always watching me.”

“Well, he is a Mandalorian. They’re not exactly a friendly people. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s personal, Peli,” you say, shaking your head, “Every time he looks at me, I’m not sure if he wants to shoot me or fuck me.”

You expect Peli to tell you off for your mouth. She only covers Grogu’s ears and glances around to make sure Mando isn’t listening when she says, “Careful, Girl. It could be both.” She laughs as you blush, from cheeks to collarbones, and she wriggles her hairless brows at you suggestively. Then, her fun had, the mechanic shakes her frizzy head and sits back, her tone turning a little more to the serious.

“Don't worry yourself too much. I trust him. Mando won’t hurt you. If he did, he’d owe me even more credits'n he already does. But he’s...he’s a good man, kid. Grogu here is proof of that.” The stubby creature makes a happy burbling noise and claps his tiny hands together. You can’t help but smile a little.

“Plus, if he hurts you, he’ll be answerin' to me. And you can remind him of that, too.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind him hurting me in a couple of ways,” you say breezily, if only to see the shocked look on Peli’s face. You walk away laughing.

Well. Overall, that was...unhelpful. You grab a discarded rag and wipe sweat from your brow, probably only succeeding in smearing black grease all over your forehead. War paint, you think, not with a touch of irony.

You’ve had a few tumbles in the sand in your time. Nothing permanent, few even memorable. You even considered doing it for credits, when things started to get really bad, before Peli came along. But you’ve never been confident enough in yourself to just go for what you want, and you waited until the boys or the men or the women came to you with hooded eyes and soft, promising touches and you went along to see where it led you. It’s been a while, and sometimes the urge strikes you to head down to the Cantina and find someone for a night, but you always end up alone in your bunk with your hand in your pants and your lips clamped shut so you don’t wake Peli as you work out your own frustrations.

You could be wrong. You hope you’re wrong, in this case. Fucking a regular customer, much less one who is a Mandalorian, sounds like trouble. But it also sounds like a lot of kriffing fun.

The Mando in question is nowhere to be seen outside. You ascend the ramp slowly, cautiously. How a big, shiny, broad, tall, menacing Mandalorian can hide in a tiny little krill can like this is beyond you, but he manages it. He’s not in the cockpit when you ascend the ladder, but that’s fine - you’ve been working on the busted nav computer for the last couple of hours and it’s been impossible to concentrate with him breathing down your neck.

It’s been disassembled into a pile of wires and cables and circuitboards that make sense only to you. You sit in the pilot’s chair and pull it into your lap, humming to yourself as you tweak and twist things into place. You’re not sure how long you’re there for - long enough to rewire it into something that starts to make visual sense, long enough for your fingers and neck to cramp. Long enough to calm down after a very weird day or two.

“You’re good with your hands,” says a smooth, filtered voice by your ear.

You jump and the circuitboard almost slips from your fingers - you catch it pinned between your knees at the last moment, half-twisting in the chair to glare up at the Mandalorian who stands eclipsing the hatchway, leaning a forearm against the bulkhead, helm tilted as he watches you.

“How long have you been there for?” you ask, trying to keep your aggression levels down, but damn it he startled the fuck out of you and almost made you undo all the work you’ve been doing for the last - you check the nearest chrono - two hours? Have you really been up here that long?

Outside the viewport, the suns are starting to set, and the fading orange-purple light paints the brushed durasteel interior in hues of silvery midnight, lit only by the standby lights. It would be peaceful, if not for the metal hulk boxing you in and making your heart beat twice as fast at his proximity.

“Not long.” Mando nods to the boards between your knees. “You fix it yet?”

You draw a small, calming breath, hoping he doesn’t notice. “The computer? Sure. The ship? You’re asking a bit much for a day. Got at least a week’s worth of work left to get this thing into shape.”

“Will it fly?”

You snort. “Yeah, it’ll fly. Might explode or crash at any moment, but it’ll fly.”

He makes a sound like a displeased grunt, but it’s hard to tell through the vocabulator. Then he stills, just looking at you, and you turn your back, discomfited as always. You resolve just to keep working as best you can, even as his gaze bores into you.

The board is ready to go back in - you slide off the chair and onto your knees, carefully setting aside the mass of circuitry. Then, grabbing the front of the panel, you swing yourself underneath it on your back.

“Hey, uh - Mando? If you’re still there, can you hand me that board?” You hold your hand out from underneath the panel. Then you clear your throat and add, “Please.”

The wiring board is pressed into your palm, and you relax a little. You fit it into place - a lot easier now with the cables organized - and examine your handiwork for a moment. Then you run into a problem.

Easing yourself out of the cramped space proves to be more difficult than getting in had been. You realize you’re stuck about halfway through trying to ease yourself out on your back, and you end up jammed between the bottom of the seat and the top of the panel.

“Fuck!”

“Need a hand?” Mando’s filtered, scratchy baritone sounds amused, or maybe that’s just your imagination. You can see the edge of his gloved fingers hovering within reach. The muscles in your neck and back are burning and your hip is aching - if you stay there any longer, twisted up like a pretzel, you’re going to pull something. So you take his hand.

He doesn’t just pull you up, though, no. He reaches down with his other hand and a strong, metal-encased arm circles you, and you’re maneuvered out from under the panel, onto your feet and straight into his arms in one smooth movement.

You splay your hands on an impossibly shiny, smooth expanse of Beskar, your breath held up in its journey on its way from your lungs. He seems to eclipse your entire horizon, an expanse of silver and black.

This close, you can smell him, a mix of gun oil and cordite and oxygen that makes your mouth water. Everything about him speaks to the part of you that craves danger, but there’s no little warning voice in your head telling you that this is wrong.

He is the one to let you go - to pull back, almost apologetically, placing his hands on your shoulders and stepping back to extend the distance between you. “You okay?” he asks, for all the world sounding unconcerned, but there is something knowing in the tilt of his helm when you look up into his visor.

Kriff, he is so much bigger than you. You should find that terrifying. You should find this whole situation dangerous, alone with a strange, masked man in his ship where Peli wouldn’t be able to hear you scream if something went wrong.

But Peli trusts him, you tell yourself. And, evidently, he trusts Peli.

So where does that leave you?

“Nav computer should be fixed,” you say, and your voice is smaller than you would like. “Anything else you want, Mando?”

There is a moment that is far more heavily charged than it should be. Mando’s helmet inclines a little. His hands are heavy on your shoulders, and they slide slowly down, over your bare biceps, heedless of the buildup of sweat and grime as the leather drags roughly over your skin. It makes the hair on the back of your neck lift, a flush beginning somewhere in your chest and spreading outwards in both directions.

“Passive sensor’s acting up,” he says then, and the tension in the pit of your stomach fades, replaced by frustration. “Could you take a look at it?”

You sigh heavily, trying to contain any obvious display of emotion. “Sure,” you say, managing a smile. Then you realize his hands are still on your arms, and you don’t know what to make of that. “Where is it?”

The helm nods towards below the pilot’s chair.

You groan. “I gotta go under there again? Damn it. Let me go get my tools.”

Unexpectedly, Mando volunteers. “Wait here. I’ll go get them.”

“But you don’t know which ones I’ll-” need. You call after him but he’s already down the ladder. Sighing, you plop back into the pilot’s seat.

Now you have to add sexual frustration to your lists of complaints about this job. You never thought a fully-armored bounty hunter would do it for you - maybe it’s just been too long.

Shit, you’ve got to make an effort not to be alone with him, you think. Because if he’s just being a Mandalorian and he doesn't mean anything by it, it’s going to be embarrassing if you end up slipping up in front of him.

Soon he returns, a bag of your tools in hand, and surprisingly it looks like he’s found all the right ones. You nod appreciately, sliding off the seat and into the footwell again.

“Mind giving me what I need while I’m down here?” you ask, and there’s a pause where Mando’s helmet shows absolutely nothing, and your face threatens to flush again. “The tools, I mean.”

“The tools,” he repeats, his voice flat, emotionless. “Right.”

Fuck, you think. This is a bad idea.

Nevertheless, you forge on. You’re not going to run screaming from the ship and tell Peli it’s because the sexual tension - probably imagined - is too much for you to bear. You’d be fired and back on the streets in a heartbeat. So, you’re going to try to remain professional.

You move forward on hands and knees underneath the panel, until only your ass is sticking out from underneath it. You try not to imagine the Mandalorian’s gaze on you now . You concentrate on opening the little access cover to the passive sensor array, reaching into your coveralls for a clip-on flashlight which you fix to the strap of your tank top.

Yeah, it’s a mess in there, all right - corroded to hell with carbon scoring, probably from a glancing impact in a firefight. You don’t know why you find that thought exciting. You’ve repaired ships that have been in battle before, but - to be fair - none of them had been piloted by a Mandalorian.

“Hyperspanner,” you call, holding your hand out backwards. The smooth handle of the correct tool, thankfully, is placed in your palm. “Thanks.”

You forget the weird tension as you work, the immensity of the Mandalorian’s presence, your nervousness around him. You think only of what’s in your hands, the intricacies of electronics and wires and switches, the zen-like process of focusing on finding what’s wrong and fixing it.

In this case, it’s mostly a cleaning job. You end up covered in black carbon soot, coughing as you scrape clouds of it from the affected components. None of them look damaged, though, which is a good sign.

Eventually, you emerge, wriggling backwards hip-first until you can sit on your haunches with an elbow braced against the pilot’s seat. Half to your surprise, half-not, Mando is still there, though he’s taken up residence on the passenger seat instead, and he sits comfortably with an ankle crossed over his knee and his helm cocked at an angle to watch you work.

You flush as you realize he’d probably been watching your ass that entire time, even while handing you tools. Say what you like about them, a Mandalorian is definitely still a man. It’s right there in the name.

“Anything need replacing?” he asks, all business - but can you detect a warmer buzz in the modulation of his voice? Or is that just your imagination?

“Just my clothes,” you say, dragging up the bottom of your tank top to wipe your face. A little deliberate, since doing so reveals some of your stomach, but Mando’s only reaction is a small lift of his chin and a slight shifting in the chair. “Sensors should be fine now. And I’m gonna call it a night.”

He rises at the same time you do, and before you register what he’s doing, he’s in between you and the hatch, so large he covers entirely your only method of escape. You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, your hand tensing around the handle of your toolbox.

Peli trusts him, you tell yourself. He won’t hurt me.

“I wanted to...thank you,” he says and that is definitely not what you’re expecting. You blink a couple of times and he continues. “I’ve been watching you, and you work hard. You might even be able to get the Crest flying in better shape than before.”

“Oh,” you say, unsure. “Well...What can I say? I like fixing things.”

He nods. You think then that he’s done, he’s going to move out of the way, when he speaks again. “What’s your name?”

You shrug. “Peli just calls me Girl.”

“You don’t have a name?” If you could see his face, you’re sure Mando would be rasing an eyebrow at you.

“Do you?” you fire back and that silences the helmet for a moment. Then it shakes from side to side slightly.

“Fair enough...Girl.”

“Fair enough, Mando,” you echo with something like a smile. He moves away from the hatch and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. As you move past him you stop and turn, seized by a sudden impulse.

“Hey, we’re having a barbecue tonight with some deep-fried gorg, leftover krayt jerky and pika fruit. D’you...d’you want to join us?”

He's silent for a moment, processing that. Not looking at you. Then: “I eat on the Crest. Alone,” he says pointedly.

Peli had told you he never takes off the armor, on penalty of his Creed - whatever that is, it sounds sacred, and you don’t mess with anything that’s sacred. So you don’t take too much offense at the rebuff. Instead, you opt for a compromise.

“You don’t have to eat in front of us. Just come grab something and take it back with you. Or I could bring you something before I go to bed?”

The visor stares at you blankly for several long moments before inclining in a nod. “Okay,” he says. You’re not sure what he’s agreeing to, but at least he’s agreed to something. You find yourself oddly eager for his company, and try not to read into that too much as you smile and nod at him.

“Great! I’ll see you then, Mando.”

You sling the toolbox over your shoulder and descend the ladder, eager to get out of the Razor Crest and under a shower for at least fifteen minutes before dinner.

Maybe then you can work off some of the weird tension before you have to see him again.

#the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin/reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x you #the apprentice

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reality-exodus · 3 years ago

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Episode 7 1/2 pt.2

"For Duskwood?" The driver asked through the speakers and I shot up looking around "Yes... wait a moment please." I spoke up as the loud sound of the speaker woke me up from the abstracted oblivion I had sank into during the route of the bus. The bus stopped, it didn't go to Duskwood it left me in the outskirts. I took a deep breath and disembarked the vehicle. It was high time I met my, for so long, pen friends. It had been a week since Richy's early passing, I haven't been able to talk to anyone but Jake, who was filling in the group for my progress via Lilly. I didn't talk again about this subject to anyone.

I got out of the bus and my gaze fell on the magnificent forest of Duskwood. It indeed looked scary... and dark. I hadn't realized that I was staring at it insistingly until I heard a horn and shot my head to that direction to notice two familiar faces with beard. I smiled at the vision of them expecting me on the road and started walking towards where the car was. Dan got out of the car and he raised his arms up as I was approaching with my suitcase.

"M/C" He sighed and pulled me in a hug, I let out a soft chuckle and hugged him back rubbing his back. He was taller than me, nothing compared to how he was as when we first talked to each other.

"Hello Dan" I let out a sigh of relief as we both tightened the hug for some moments. "How are you?" I asked him as we broke the hug and looked at each other. Things were sort of awkward, it was normal and it didn't bother me.

"We are doing the best we can... Hopefully you will upbeat Jessy a bit. But we will have time for that" Dan sighed and picked up my suitcase and I got in the backseat.

"Hello" I greeted Thomas as he turned and looked at me from the rearview mirror.

"Hey there..." I sighed and smiled awkwardly as Dan shut the door of the car, getting in.

"So how was your trip?" Dan asked me as I put on the utility belt. You never know what happens.

"Tiring... dull." I exhaled once again taking out my phone as I felt it vibrate and blushed a bit as I saw Jake's contact popping up on my screen. "It's Jake ..." I sighed and looked at them.

The boys looked at each other and sighed. "I really do want to talk to him..." Dan huffed looking at me with the corner of his eye. In the past he told me times galore to not trust the hacker... But well who knew I fell in love with him.

I took a deep breath and slid my finger upon the screen. "Hey..." I smiled blushed looking at the camera. "Hello M/C. Are you alright?" Jake was heard, he still had the voice altering application.

"Yeah... I am with Dan and Thomas actually. They just picked me up from the bus... They are here actually." I spoke to him and there was some silence.

"Hey Hacker!" Dan exclaimed loudly to be heard.

"Daniel, Thomas" Jake was heard.

"How are you doin?" Dan asked at the same tone.

"I am good. Still working on Hannah with M/C..." Jake spoke up.

"Good... Now if you'll excuse us we are busy." Dan said rudely.

"Dan!" I exclaimed annoyed frowning at him.

"Do not worry M/C. Text me when you are available..." Jake said and finished the call before I could even say goodbye.

"Good one Dan" Thomas huffed as his expressionless face was fixed on the road.

"Yea Dan, way to go" I deadpanned as I took out my headphones in order to listen to some music.

"Don't let his ass drag you down. Here connect your phone to the car." Thomas offered trying to repair the atmosphere Dan ruined.

"Oh Thanks... I appreciate" I smiled a bit to Thomas' intention and connected my phone to his car radio and put on my music. "You are probably the rap sort of guys or Metal or Rock. Billie Eillish and Bishop Briggs won't be your type of music..." I commented.

"Well You are not worse than Jessy... she listens to Justin Bieber." Dan laughed as 'Good girls go to hell' started being heard.

The way was long and Thomas said we were going on Phil's place where both me and Jessy would stay. I had fallen asleep on the backseat. I was extremely tired from my trip and the boys closed the music to keep me sleeping as Dan said I was even snoring.

"M/C" Thomas extended his hand and shook me as I ended up laying across the seat. "Wake up, we are here." He said smoothly and I blinked my eyes open sitting up. I fixed my dress and got out of the car as we moved in the block of flats with Thomas who was helping me with my bags. Dan did not do well with Phil so Thomas would show and help me upstairs.

I knocked the door as Thomas was leaving, he waved at me as Jessy opened the door. I took a deep breath at the footsteps I heard and the door opened soon and I faced a redhead girl, she was pale, and her hazel eyes were red and swollen from the grieve and the tears. I knew it was Jessy, I could recognize her despite the blues that worn upon her petite figure. She was shorter than me but with elegant curves. She was more beautiful in real.

"Excuse you my brother is not here." Jessy spoke with a huff, her shaking voice sounded angry.

"Thank god then..."I replied "I wouldn't be that fond of his arrogance right now." I added with a sigh.

"Oh my gosh M/C" she exclaimed and hugged and I responded rubbing her back. I expected the hug and I really liked it too."Its so good to finally meet you Jess" I sighed as I placed my chin on her shoulder as she is shorter than me.

"Me too." She sniffed. "You must be tired come on in" Jessy dragged in my suitcase and closed the door behind us.

"Indeed I am, I even fell asleep at the car on our way here..." I sighed. "I am going to make something for you to eat, you change and pick a movie and I'll get the pizza, no mushrooms extra tomato sauce." Jessy said and I smiled brightly at her as I moved to the bathroom and put on my pajamas and crushed back at the couch we were sitting before. "I am ready with a film." I spoke as I set up the TV with my laptop. "What movie?" Jess was heard. "V for Vendetta" I said with a smile as I texted good night to Jake. "You can't be serious?" Jessy let out a small laugh as she poked her head to look at me. "No really that's the movie we are watching." I nodded gazing at her innocently. "Is this some sort of type you have?" she asked as she sat next to me placing the pizza and the wine on the coffee table and covered both of us with the blanket. "Is this a Jake reference?" I asked and blushed as I took the glass of red wine. "You are really smart aren't you?" she giggled and I sighed in relief as she seemed to be forgetting reality, with Richy.

I've been thinking about all day long. What he said, he heard a scream calling his name specifically, and then he recognized Hannah's voice. And then the his wide eyes staring right at me as his last breath was abandoning him. I haven't told anyone, not even Jake. The only thing I want is to find Hannah in one piece. I don't have anyone to worry or miss me... Atleast not someone who knows me. And things with Jake are really blurry but he simply denies to say anything or give me a hope...

I fell asleep on Jessy's lap during the film and I felt her stroking my hair, cover me better with the blanket and then leaving. I didn't pay much attention I was too tired for it so I let sleep take the best of me.

I shot my eyes open at the sound of cricking that came from the main entrance. I didn't move an inch from my position in fear... The man without a face? The governmental pursuers of Jake? I sincerely do not know which is worse. I surveyed the dark living room at Phil's place, seeking for something, an object, that I could defend myself with. I caught a glimpse of the wine bottle me and Jessy drank earlier. I extended my hand and grasped it as I fell off the couch and crawled to the hall standing by as a figure with a long coat stepped in and looked around.

I lost no time and brought with force the bottle to his head as he let out a gasp and turned around. It was too dark for me to see any features upon his face I made a move to punch him in my effort to prevent him from doing what ever he was to do to me and Jess. He grabbed my wrist and turn me around stretching my hand to my back and pinning me to the wall as he leaned his face to my face and

"My sister usually has less violent friends M/C" I heard him whisper as he breathed down my neck and stroked my waist.

"Phil Hawkins" I breath out in relief and let loose.

"In flesh" He chuckled and let go of me still holding my hand. "And you are M/C..." He spoke in realization and switched the light on and looked at me.

"Are you alright?" I asked feeling embarrassed as I was trying to calm down.

"I am but you will have to pay me back for the hospitality and my destroyed hair." Phil had a smirk upon his lips as his eyes were upon me.

"Oh of course" I nodded recovering from the embarrassment from before. "What can I do for you?" I asked politely.

"Oh many things. But how about I take you out for a drink. You can see me on duty too." Phil smiled softly.

"Sure I could ask the rest to come too." I smiled politely making an effort to avoid him.

"I was hoping for something more private but whatever makes you feel better." Phil spoke and stroked my waist discreetly and I pulled myself to drink some water.

"Um I should go and sleep, Jessy will wake me up in a few hours for... for the funeral." I stuttered and sat down "Good night Phil." I spoke and covered myself with Jessy's pink blanket.

"I would be better with you cutie but Good night" Phil waved and winked at me vanishing in the corridor.

I laid back down and closing my eyes praying that sleep will come after this scare. But it didn't so I reach for my phone

'Jake? Are you awake?'

'M/C everything alright?'

'Yes, I mean, I was sleeping Phil walked in his house and I got scared and attacked him... I am still edgy'

'I assure you are safe. Are you alright now?'

'Yea I shooed Phil to sleep and laid back down. Can you imagine I slipped away only with a cocktail date at aurora's with everyone 😊'

'Well I knew you were smart. Did he tried anything cute?'

I choked on my water as I saw the screen, I liked that he didn't bother being elegant and discreet with the question 'No I put him back in his place.' I said as the smile wouldn't leave my lips any time soon.

'You should sleep, the funeral is in three hours' He texted

'You are right, Sweet dreams Jake' I texted and placed my phone to the coffee table and heard it buzz with his reply, I didn't see it now. I wanted to see it in the morning.

#duskwood #duskwood thomas #duskwood hannah #duskwood jessy #duskwood richy #duskwood dan #duskwood lilly #duskwood phil #duskwood jake #duskwood cleo #duskwood everbyte #everbyte studios #duskwood mc #duskwood mc x jake #jake x mc #jessy x mc #phil x mc

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 4 years ago

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⇺ ⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ ⇻

↣ Masterpost

↣ inspired by @haik-choo’s post

↣ wc: 2.4k

↣ warnings: emotional pain, swearing, mentions of sex (not outright anything).

↣ format: mixed

↣ song recommendation: 5 Seconds of Summer - Lover Of Mine & 5 Seconds Of Summer - Ghost Of You

↣ preamble: atsumu miya never understands what he has until its too late. from a young age, he only focused on his own satisfaction and accordingly, his own pleasure. the only reason your relationship was able to stand the test of time was solely because of your accommodating nature. but sometimes, it still hurts… the lack of appreciation. would he truly care if you stopped leaving him little love notes in your shared apartment? would he notice if you stopped keeping pace with him during your morning walks? did he even care that you only woke up at the ungodly hour to spend more time with him? with those questions unanswered, some days you wonder if love should hurt this much.

After winning five consecutive matches, a formal banquet was arranged to celebrate MSBY’s notable achievement. The guest-list was littered with numerous B list celebrities, with the occasional A lister promising to attend. What was originally planned to be a small gathering morphed into an evening gala that attracted media coverage, and a significant crowd. Some were desperate to secure an invite solely to catch a glimpse of one of the star players; while others were significantly more interested in the foreign chief that would be designing the menu for the function. Whatever the motivation, each attendee expelled an aura of excitement, one that was highly contagious. Accompanying the delectable atmosphere was a sugary scent wafting throughout the establishment. It was what Atsumu Miya deemed heaven on earth.

The blonde setter had the stem of a wineglass tucked between two fingers nonchalantly, occasionally swaying the maroon liquid as he surveyed those around him. He adored these gatherings for numerous reasons, one being the unnaturally attractive crowd it allured. Not that he planned on approaching any of them with nefarious intentions – he had a date after-all. The same one for the last four years. You. However, he refused to believe there was any harm in simply admiring from afar what he could have but chose not to. It provided him a rush of exhilaration, knowing that if he chose, he could secure the interest of any woman within the vicinity. Oh yes, if only they were so lucky. But alas, they were not. Simply having their attention and compliments was enough, he was disinterested in the satisfaction of sleeping with them. The truth was, while they were surely attractive, none of them would provide him the consistency that came neatly packaged with you. To be blunt, you were easy. Low maintenance, as he explained two nights ago to his brother. Even now, rather than remain glued to his side, you were somewhere in the crowd, mingling with someone unknown. He preferred it this way, and you knew it.

Half an hour before dinner was to be served, Atsumu was invited to take a shot with the MSBY Ace. Bokuto’s best friend refused to drink, vowing to return home early to complete a manuscript, and so he sought a new drinking buddy. But when he approached the setter, his thoughts of drinking were replaced with a newfound concern. Atsumu notified his team-mate that his hair required a quick touch up. His usual spikes were beginning to droop, resembling a withering flower.

“Akaashi! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Tsum, do you have any gel?” A pout registered upon his lips as he attempted to sharpen the ends of his hair using his index finger and thumb. What if someone caught a photo of him appearing less than satisfactory? The Ace, ordinary or not, should appear extraordinary on a night dedicated to celebrating him (and his team-mates).

“I don’t think it looks that bad, Bokuto-san.” The black-haired writer shook his head, prior to bringing the rim of his coffee cup to his lips. Okay, maybe he could have something earlier. But to his defence, he had only noticed the imperfection now. With a wave of exhaustion weighing over his eyelids, he was less perceptive than usual.

“You know lying to him ain’t gonna fix the problem, right?” Atsumu shifted his narrowed gaze at Akaashi questioningly, something the other male did not appreciate. “And do you really have to ask? Of course, I do. Come on.” The blonde tapped against his lower jacket pocket, where a thin container of hair-serum was kept.

“I’m going to my seat. I’ll meet you there when you’re done.” The comment was directed solely at Bokuto, in a tone that indicated the writer would rather not spend any ‘quality’ time with the setter unless forced to. The brunette was not his biggest fan to say the least.

“I’ll be back soon.” He was well aware that his best friend and team-mate were not particularly fond of one another, placing distance was perhaps the best available option. Once the writer was no longer present, the pair began walking towards the bathroom. “Say… Tsum, where’s y/n?” Instinctively, the Ace’s golden irises searched the space around them for your familiar face.

“I dunno. Somewhere. I’m sure I’ll see her at the dinner table, since we’re sitting together.” The disinterest laced in his tone startled the other male, who failed to mask his bewilderment. Atsumu ignored the puzzlement that shined in his team-mate’s eyes, dismissing the action with a limp shrug before entering the bathroom first.

Bokuto trailed in a second later, pausing at the mirror with a hand extended forward. “You guys are really weird.”

Retrieving the container from his pouch, the blonde handed his team-mate the gel then began adjusting his own appearance, beginning by ushering aside some fallen strands. The observation that was offered only brought a little laugh to exit his mouth. “Yeah? Why do you say that?”

“You don’t act like a real couple.” Bokuto did not intend to respond immediately, particularly because he desired to avoid the stare he was now receiving through the mirror. The lack of hesitation was not well received by the MSBY setter.

“We don’t need to abide by norms to be a couple, Bokkun.” Despite the sour taste curling around his tongue, Atsumu managed to maintain a smile on his lips, finding humour in his own explanation.

“Alright, so is that why you haven’t proposed yet?” The white-haired Ace mentally scolded himself for his lack of restraint. He should have bit his tongue. Oh, if only he bit his tongue –

However, this was not the first time the question was posed to him. In fact, two days ago, it was exact topic that resulted in a very heated argument with his twin-brother. He truly did not understand why proposing was necessary. You both already lived together – was that not enough?

“It’s not that serious.” Tugging at his sleeves, the setter then adjusted his cufflinks. “I love her, but I’m not sure she’s the one. I don’t know if I can really give everything up forever, for her. For the time-being, I don’t mind. But I’m not giving everything up just yet.” The final sentence uttered by the blonde was more of an affirmation to himself, one that did not register well with his team-mate. It seemed that everyone but Atsumu could see how much you did for him. His unappreciated nature was rather toxic.

“That doesn’t sound like love, dude.”

No. It certainly did not.

They say that the truth will always be revealed sooner or later. Perhaps Atsumu Miya’s true feelings would have been revealed later, if he chose to lower his voice and restrict his sincerity. Had he known that you were outside, he certainly would have taken some precautions. But how could he have known that you were searching for him, when you ran into Akaashi? Who unfortunately knew exactly where he was?

How many warnings were issued by your friends over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? What would they say now? How many red flags did you ignore?

How curious how easily you confused ache for butterflies.

The strain circling inside of your temples morphed into a throb as the liquid distorting your vision began spilling down your cheeks, dragging your mascara along with it. Behind you someone whispered your name, fear gripping their throat and muffling the sound. But you were unable to recognize who the voice belonged to, as you no longer held the luxury of having a stable state of mind.

Lifting your trembling fingers to the area below your eyelids, you stumbled attempting to discard the substance hanging on your lashes. “I need to go. I… Oh, I’m stupid. I just… I need to leave. Please.” Sluggishly, you shifted your body to face the person who addressed you earlier, seeking any aid that was offered. You couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“I know. Come on.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi accidentally stumbled onto the scene just as Atsumu began responding to the inquiry. He was not staggered to hear the cruel statements fall casually from his team-mate’s lips. Similar statements were uttered in the locker-room on numerous occasions. It was your reaction that tugged at his heart. No one deserved to hear the one they loved speak with such venom, and certainly not you. “Let’s go before they come out, shall we?”

The thrill of partying as a newly single bachelor provided Atsumu Miya temporary satisfaction. Each night a stranger’s mouth was attached to his, as he clung to them, desperate to combat the vanilla scent that circulated in the apartment, even weeks after your departure. How many girls had now laid in the exact spot you once occupied on the bed? Dozens? And yet, every morning when he awoke, he continuously thought it was you in his arms, and not someone whose name he did not bother remembering. His endeavours to erase you were fruitless. Not due to a lack of effort, but because the truth was… He didn’t want to forget you.

It took a month for the realization to settle in. No longer interested in the meaningless sex that was offered by mistresses of the night, he found himself unable to leave the apartment unless there was a match scheduled. It was the only location where he could feel some connection to you. Particularly when intoxicated, he swore he could hear you whisper soothing sentiments into his ears, dispelling his fears that you no longer loved him.

But each morning, reality would register once more, providing him a metaphorical jab to his chest.

Today was no different.

It had been forty days since the gala. Forty days to mull over how just how much you did for him, and just how little he did for you. It wasn’t always like this. Over the years, he became too accustomed to your giving nature. Soon, he developed a toxic mentality that he was entitled to everything you provided. But it wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t. At least that was what he repeated to himself, hoping it was the truth.

After downing a liter of water, the throbbing in his head had dimmed to a tolerable level. And once the lights no longer strained his eyes, he reached for his phone, determination igniting in his heart.

“Hi.” The greeting was exhaled softly into the phone, as anxiety prompted your heart to beat irregularly. The uncertainty of what would be said by your former lover had your thoughts tangled into an incoherent mess.

“Hey. Thanks for talking with me.” Atsumu pressed a fist against his mouth, muffling the small whimper that threatened to sound. Oh fuck. You actually picked up. A single word overwhelmed him with the storm of emotions he usually suppressed with alcohol.

A little hum was given to acknowledge his gratitude, it was honestly the best you could offer. But it was unlike you to be so quiet. The thought that he impacted you this much only expanded the guilt he was suffocating in.

“Was I always this bad?” The setter’s eyes stung with fresh tears forming along his lids. Did he even deserve to speak with you now?

Inhaling a lengthy breath of air, silence greeted him for a minute as you mustered the courage to respond. You knew you should hate him. and yet, hearing the tremor in his voice broke your heart. Was it really your fault that you still loved him?

“You weren’t.” You prayed the words were audible, since you were unsure whether you would be able to repeat yourself.

The blonde found the slightest bit of relief in your response, although it only eased a tenth of the tension he was battling to contain. Swallowing once, he strived to stabilize his breathing.

“Will you give me another chance?”

You caught onto the small crack in his voice, symbolizing his distress and sincerity simultaneously. But you wished you hadn’t.

“Atsumu. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a future with me.” Even now, stating a reminder of what you heard activated the emotional wound you spent the last month attempting to heal. Could you truly ever get passed this?

“I can’t see a future without you in it.” He interjected, not missing a beat. He refused to deny it any longer. He was an idiot, but he loved you. It was more than the fact you were low maintenance. He knew that now.

“I feel like I wasted four years, do you understand that?” His confession promoted a swarm of butterflies to parade inside of your stomach, but the mental reminder of your friends scoldings kept you grounded. Pretty words would not heal the damage. Not this time. “I’m sorry. I can’t waste any more…”

“You won’t have to, y/n. I promise. Let me take care of you this time. It will be different.” At this point he was essentially begging you to place trust in his promises, even if he had no credibility.

Maybe it was unhealthy how much you wished his promise to be true. How desperate you were to lower your armor and envelope him into your embrace instead. You knew your friends would never approve of him, but his pleads were weaved together with a vulnerability you had never heard before. Before you could stop yourself, the one word the setter was waiting for left your mouth.

“Okay.” Dropping your face into your palm, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip.

The second you agreed, the blonde was already on his feet, fetching his keys before rushing to the front door. It had been so long since the setter was flooded with joy, he could barely contain himself. “Where are you? I’m coming to you now.” Clicking the lock to a close, he nestled his phone against his shoulder.

Upon hearing the shuffling in his background followed by his question, you instantly shot up to your feet, feeling a surge of hope enter your system. “Don’t you have practice soon?” You certainly did not expect this. Not at all.

Pausing in the middle of the hallway, he blew out a scoff. “I don’t fucking care. I need you in my arms now. Text me the address and I’ll be there. I fucking love you, y/n I love you so much. I’ll never let you go again. I promise.”

It should be noted that he wholeheartedly intended to keep that promise, and thankfully… he did.

Taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @shakiraisawesome

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu miya #atsumu imagines #atsumu haikyuu #atsumu scenarios #atsumu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years ago

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Check Ignition: Part IX

That Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts au that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

This fic is wrapping up and I love writing longform, so send me your new requests! (or ideas for oneshots, I love those too)

Robbe was ashamed to admit many of the things that made his apartment home. Here it was, the truth of it: everything here was in some way tainted by sickness. He didn’t talk about it while he was at school. He didn’t talk about school while he was here. It made sense to keep the two lives distinctly separate, save from a few consolation sessions with Jens and the occasional fact for Sander.

He bumped his shoulders on the narrow doorframe as he lugged his trunk inside, his mother right behind him. In the entryway, on a tiny side table, three bottles of prescription medication waited their arrival. Each had a sticky note designating the time of next dose. Past that, the hall led straight to a kitchen at its end. Three rooms—two bedrooms, one bathroom—broke off before then. Their living room branched from the kitchen, big enough for a couch and a flatscreen TV as well as a small-ish Christmas tree.

This apartment worked in a way that his friends’ magic-filled homes did not. Sure, when his father was around, they never did the dishes manually or resorted to blankets when the heating went out, but it wasn’t what Jens had. Perhaps that was why Robbe did not see Jens much over the holidays.

Robbe crossed the threshold to his bedroom and dropped his things on his bed. His thoughts returned, as they were wont to do, to Sander. Sander must be all alone at Hogwarts right now. Robbe didn’t know what to make of him.

“It’s Christmas,” said Robbe aloud to jar himself from that rabbit trail. He put away everything that mattered. Scattered everything that didn’t across the floor. There, now it felt like his dormitory at school.

Against his better judgement, he scrawled out something on a scrap of paper. Maybe if he could contact Sander, things would make more sense. Or maybe he was stupid. Either way. A simple tracking spell, an open window, and it would zip its way to its recipient at Hogwarts. He doubted he’d get in trouble for such a simple use of underage magic.

Happy Christmas. Sorry you have to spend it alone. Yeah, it totally didn’t sound sarcastic.

Robbe let the message go. He watched it disappear over the London skyline, dancing above the twinkling lights of the city. This view had nothing on the view from Hogwarts. After that, he was exhausted from exams week. He curled up on his mattress—the sheets on this one were a nice touch—and went right to sleep. There was time for life to happen tomorrow, and he didn’t fancy making conversation with his mother so soon into their two weeks of forced proximity.

***

Robbe spent most of the next days hiding out in his bedroom. Jens took care of his required communication rather early in their separation; the owl arrived at Robbe’s window before lunchtime the second day: Robbe, my parents invited Jana for Christmas dinner. She'd going to be there. Please inform me of your plans as soon as possible, so I can join you instead. Not really. I honestly think we're going to get back together. Wow, it sounds dumb as I write it. Have a Happy Christmas, if I don't write again before then, and make sure you eat all your vegetables. Love, Jens. Robbe hastily scrawled a reply and sent it right back: Jens, I never have any plans. You can come whenever you want to. Love, Robbe.

Around dinnertime on the fourth day, Robbe walked back into the hallway and down to the kitchen, where his mother poured hot chocolate powder in two mugs. She dumped a can of soup into a pot and set it to simmer on the burner, stirring occasionally, while she microwaved a measuring cup of water. Something rammed into the window at full force, startling her into dropping her spoon.

She put a hand on her forehead as if checking for fever. “Robbe, what was that?”

“Owl, Mom,” said Robbe. He tried not to be frustrated with her. There was just so much on his plate, and he wasn’t supposed to be here, because he was supposed to be with Sander at school. If Sander was doing okay.

Robbe’s mother had never gotten the hang of a magical household. Robbe didn’t have the right to be bitter about it.

“Should I open the window?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

His mother slid the window open. A barn owl flapped into the apartment building, despite their landlord’s explicit animal-of-any-kind prohibition. It landed on top of their refrigerator and ruffled its brown and white feathers. Clutched in its beak was a folded piece of parchment, tied with a long twine thread, sealed with a stamp of red wax. Robbe recognized the owl from the Hogwarts owlery. They were general-use.

He jumped up to take the note. Jens did not usually send two owls in one day. Aaron’s owl was white.

“I’ll never get used to that,” said his mother as the owl flew back out the window. An alarm on her cell phone beeped several times. “Oh, pills. I’ll be right back.” She rushed into the foyer.

Robbe surveyed the apartment in her absence. A sprig of mistletoe hung over the space connecting the kitchen to the living room. Several wrapped presents rested beneath the tree, one or two with his name in brightened cursive that he could see from this far away. He spotted the special picture ornament he made for his mother when he was little, the photograph of her and him riding on a swing in a public park. They used to get along.

He looked down at the paper in his hands and broke the seal.

There were no words written. Only a telephone number. Jens and Aaron did not have phones in their houses; muggle technology was useless in areas permeated with magic. Moyo owned one for clout purposes, sometimes, and this could be him—except, he did not use the school’s owls if he could help it. He borrowed from Jens.

That left one person who might want to contact Robbe.

“Alright, soup,” said his mother, reentering the kitchen. “Tonight, I was thinking we should catch up on TV. Honestly, I don’t know how you survive without it at Hogwarts.”

“There are other things to do,” said Robbe.

“Maybe, but not as exciting.” She took the soup pot from the burner and poured it into two bowls, which she then carried into the living room. They stored a small folding table under the couch. She set it up like a coffee table and left their bowls there. If they had any class, they might have the money to afford something made of wood, at least.

“Can I actually—” Robbe began. He gestured to the phone number.

“You’re spending your quality time with me,” said his mother. She patted the spot beside her on the couch. “C’mon. I’ve been recording everything. Oh, hang on.” She waited until he sat down to lean over. “What’s been going on at school. Tell me all about it. You never write.”

“You never got used to owls.”

“That’s an awful reason.”

“Nothing important happens,” he assured her. “I’d write if it mattered.”

“Nothing? No one special?”

“No, Mom, nothing you’d want to hear about.”

“You know I don’t believe that,” she said. “Handsome boy like you.” But she sat back and turned on the television. Christmastime here was TV shows, silence, dancing around one another. This was why Robbe would’ve liked to stay on campus with Sander, when Sander still wanted him there. If Sander ever wanted him there. They watched three whole episodes of Call the Midwife without saying a single word to each other.

Robbe’s mother was a good person. He knew she was a good person. She tried so hard to be things for him, to be involved in his life. He understood her illness wasn’t her fault at a basic level. He understood that he was wrong to be angry about an innocent, poking question that any parent would have likely posed.

But there was a part of him missing that she couldn’t give back after she’d taken it. What kind of parent leaves their fourteen-year-old in the house to care for everything while she lies in bed all summer? What kind of parent—

There was someone special, there was Sander. Sander and his mother were apart because they needed to be, because school and home did not mix.

Robbe rose from the couch during the credits of the third and motioned apologetically to his mother. He pointed toward the bathroom. On the way there, he snatched her phone from the kitchen counter. His fingers shook as he dialed the number.

Someone picked up on the second ring. “I just got home,” said Robbe. He didn’t know why he felt so bad about not calling sooner.

“You got my letter,” said Sander. Robbe’s heart turned into a dozen origami butterflies. He tried to catch them in a net and stomp them underfoot.

“Owls are cool,” Robbe said.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

The line went silent. Was that it? Did Sander send a whole-ass latter to hear Robbe’s voice for two seconds? Kind of romantic, yes, but it didn’t do anything to fix anything. Robbe couldn’t reconcile the way Sander spoke to him with the way Sander acted around him, the way Sander acted around other people.

This could have been their time. Two whole weeks of kissing, or whatever it was couples did went they were unsupervised.

“Listen,” said Sander. “I’ve been thinking.” His sentences took on a sort of pregnant quality, as if each contained multitudes more within it. Sander was fighting down dozens of others to say each one.

“About what?”

“About, um, you. I guess.” Sander cleared his throat. “You really liked me?”

“I guess so.”

“How is—how’s your mother?”

Robbe didn’t know where something like that would come from. “She’s fine for now. We’re watching Call the Midwife.”

Sander’s laugh sounded forced. “My mother likes that too. Is it… not good to be there?”

“Well, she hasn’t drowned me in a bathtub yet. You sound like you have something to say.”

“I was thinking we could just—talk.”

What the hell was this? “Sander,” said Robbe, doing his very best to sound like a prefect. “It was a Christmas card. If you have something to say—” He tried to channel the voice Jens used when he was disappointed after a Quidditch match, the kind of steely cool that could only come from a place of care. As it was, he knew Sander could hear the hope festering beneath his skin. He wants to tell me he loves me.

“I—I don’t have anything to say,” said Sander, but it was an obvious lie.

“Then I’ll hang up.” Robbe braced himself against the bathroom counter. Polished marble reflected his face almost as clearly as the mirror ahead. “I said I didn’t want to be friends. I can’t handle being friends yet.”

“No, don’t hang up.”

“Any more questions about Mom?”

Sander’s breath caught. “You don’t like me.”

“Not this again.”

“No, really, you don’t.” Sander spoke faster. “You said so. I don’t know, when it was fake, I thought—” He coughed. “I can’t go back to nothing.”

“I said I liked you,” said Robbe. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you really send an owl back to talk me out of a crush? Or are you in love with my mom?”

“No, I—”

“Good.” Robbe knocked his toothbrush cup off the sink, sending it clattering to the floor. He heard his mother shifting around in the living room, poised to come check on him any minute. This conversation would have to end sooner rather than later. “I have to go. If you’ve still got something, spit it out.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Robbe could hear the beginnings of a sentence several times, nothing quite reaching the air.

“Okay,” he said. “Goodbye.” He tapped the end button. That might have been a little harsh, yes, but it was Christmas. The couch and Call the Midwife awaited. He rejoined his mother in the living room, leaving her cell phone plugged into its charger beside their toaster.

They watched another whole episode. It pained him to think of her loitering about the house while he was gone, rearranging the cabinets and recording television shows, even if he hated the thought of staying with her more. He didn’t get Sander’s interest… come to think of it, Sander was concerned about her during their make-out session in the workshop.

The phone started ringing.

“I’ve got it,” said Robbe, before his mother could get off the couch. This time, he took it all the way to his bedroom and locked the door to answer it.

Sander was quieter this time. “You called the number.”

“It would have been rude not to. You didn’t sign it. It could have been anybody.”

“You knew who it was.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Robbe waited instead of responding. Sander filled the gap after a while, in something even smaller than a whisper, something that sent shivers down Robbe’s spine. “I miss you.” A whistle sounded somewhere in the distance.

Too much. Ugh, why did Robbe think he could handle something like this? He did what he always did when Sander was involved: he was honest. “Look, you don’t make any sense to me. I hear from Noor that you’re head-over-heels in love with me, I hear from you that you’re back with Britt. Well, you’re not, so I’m hearing you’re a liar, too.” Robbe bit his lip to keep from getting choked up. “We barely even had anything, Sander, but I loved every second. You can’t keep pulling on my strings, okay? I can’t handle it.”

“I don’t mean to be pulling,” said Sander. Something ruffled against the receiver. “Your mother, though, she—”

“Good, then don’t bother calling again unless you have something new to tell me. Goodbye.” Robbe smashed the end button this time, scratching the screen protector with his nail. He promised himself he’d fix it later, provided no one got him trouble for his magical Christmas card to Sander.

Back into the living room. His mother lay down across all the cushions and monopolized the space. She pulled a crocheted blanket across her legs, her eyes glassy as she stared at the TV. Robbe flashed back to his worst year again—getting up for school and seeing her there, unmoving.

The last Christmas they spent together, her medication mixture made her violently ill at the slightest hint of indigestion. That could happen this year, it could. There was too much going on in Robbe’s life to deal with her right now.

They’d make blueberry pancakes together. She’d microwave soup for dinner. This was his life.

The phone screen lit up once more with an incoming call from the number as before. Robbe let it ring out. Another came. When he let that ring, another. He answered on Sander’s fifth attempt.

“Please don't hang up this time. Your mother is sick,” blurted Sander on the other end, almost as if he read Robbe’s mind. If his speech was unhinged earlier, now it was a runaway train. “She’s sick and you hate her and I’m sick so you’ll hate me. That was it.” He took a deep breath and the phone line crackled—Hogwarts wouldn’t have the best reception, would it? “I have liked you for forever, okay? That’s my something new.”

Wow. Okay. What the fuck.

“What?” managed Robbe.

“That’s what I needed to say. Before. You don’t like me because you can’t. It has to be over because it can’t ever happen.” Sander’s voice lowered. “I thought it might hurt you less if you knew. But I also can't sit around and pretend that nothing's wrong.”

Robbe rehashed every conversation they ever had in a second. He did not talk about his mother much in any of those—he tried to keep her out of it. She frustrated him to no end. Her stupid pills, the stupid genetics that doomed him to a future of dealing with the same problems, his stupid father walking out. If it wasn’t for her, everything would be fine. But he didn’t—he didn’t hate her.

Why would Sander think he hated her? What was going on?

The library, the offhand comment on Lexapro. The workshop, how he said he didn’t want to return to her because she’d ruin Christmas. The way he referred to her on his and Sander’s second astronomy tower rendezvous: “sick in the head.” Every little thought he had about her.

“It was always going to be like this,” said Sander. Wind blew against his end of the phone; Robbe had to strain to hear most of the words. “I thought when it was fake, it could be okay, because, well, you know, but then you kissed me and I just—There’s no hiding it forever, is there? It's got to come out.”

“What did you say about my mom?” Robbe demanded.

“I stopped it because it isn't what you want.”

More than that. Britt came to Robbe in the astronomy tower with a slip of paper and a warning of sorts—He isn’t going to tell you. And what had Willem said to his friends, when Sander was asleep the day after they kissed? Was that something that just happened? Were there times that Willem couldn’t wake Sander up?

Robbe knew what that meant. Britt’s voice echoed in his head. It’s hard to tell between what he wants and what’s a symptom. He’d thought it controlling at the time, and it was, but he also understood the feeling. When you loved someone, you wanted to keep them safe. Robbe was a certified idiot. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

Sander did not slow down. “You were going to stay here with me to avoid being there with her. But we’re the same. We’ve always been the same. It’s bipolar, Robbe, and it’s fine that you don’t want it. What matters is that I can’t live with nothing from you, okay? We can’t just not talk.”

Robbe’s hand went numb from gripping the phone so hard.

“I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to hate me like you hate your mom.”

“I don’t hate my mom,” said Robbe. “I won’t hate you—don’t hate you.” He felt bewildered, standing in the middle of his living room, with this crisis happening a whole train ride away. What the fuck was going on? His mother raised her eyebrow at him from her position on the couch.

“You do, you said so. And you’d hate me. I didn’t want to upset you, I didn’t—” Something in the background blared, loud enough to mask the rest of Sander’s sentence. Wind? Rain?

“Where are you?” Robbe asked. Britt’s piece of paper—what did it say? He should have taken the time to set it aside, stupid stupid stupid—

“This was stupid,” said Sander, suddenly even more rushed. “I’m sorry. I should have sent another letter. I let Jens talk me into it—” Robbe waved his wand in the general direction of his bedroom—the Ministry of Magic could expel him for underage sorcery—and summoned Britt’s paper. Still a mess of cursive lines. Still blurry.

His mother made a face like, is everything okay? He nodded back.

“I’m putting too much on you,” Sander continued on the phone. “I don’t want to be another thing you have to worry about. That’s why it has to be over. We’re over. But I don’t want to never hear from you again. That’s not what I want.”

“Are you alright?” Robbe whispered.

“I’m fine. I’m, out--” Sander sounded a million miles away in a snowstorm. The end of the sentence got lost. "Moyo and Jens said you'd be here, and free, so...I'm in love with you. This is my something new." The line clicked dead, although Robbe couldn't tell if it was Sander's decision to end the call or fate had intervened. His arms dropped to his sides, the phone to the floor. Something sounded at the door to the apartment. A knock? Robbe remained rooted to the spot.

There wasn't a list he could put together for this situation. He did not hate his mother. Sometimes he hated her. He hated what her disorder did to her. He hated coming home and finding her somewhere, not doing anything, holding a glass of water without the will to bring it to her lips. He hated having to search all the cabinets for bowls when she reorganized their kitchen at three in the morning. Everything he said to Sander, he meant. Everything about her. That could be number one on the list. Number two, he loved Sander. Sometimes he convinced himself he didn't. He thought of his mother wasting away on their couch, lying about taking her pills, camping out on the bathroom floor during rough weeks. Home and school were supposed to be separate. He did not want to think of Sander throwing up blueberry pancakes after taking a handful of pills. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He needed time to think.

The knocking came again, harder. Robbe walked over as if in a dream, barely touching the floor. He vaguely remembered Jens saying something in his letter about visiting, though this seemed short notice. He only said yes to the proposition because he knew Jens would never actually make good on the offer. Robbe opened the door to Sander, hair ruffled, eyes wild. Fucking Sander. What the fuck. Sander's brown roots were more visible than the bleach blond, even though they did not seem to be any longer. He wore the same leather jacket as their first date wrapped tight around his shoulders. In one hand, he held Moyo's broomstick— Robbe could recognize it by the scrapes on the wood. He had the same look on his face that he had that night in the dormitories when he was drunk and reaching out for Robbe. This wasn't happening. What the hell was happening?

"We need to talk to each other," said Sander, without pause for breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about everything, and I'll ruin anything else, I know I will, but you have to tell me we can."

#sobbe fanfic #wtfock #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #hogwarts au #fake dating #requested fic

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