#or in pieces and not bother to scream because its useless to and i need to get stronger and junk and ignore me im figuring things out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spice-chan · 3 years ago

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Ethereal

Yan!Dragon King!Bakugou Katsuki x Water Nymph!f!reader

The water nymphs send an unusual peace offering this year...

Warnings: Reader sent as a peace offering so feelings of objectification are present. Yandere themes. Possessiveness. Yandere bakugou but only becomes outwardly yandere towards the end. Death (killing). Not too descriptive about wounds though, although they are mentioned (not inflicted on reader). Bakugou is a bit of a douchebag at the start.

wordcount: 4.5 k

tags: @angie-1306 (your ask got deleted but thank god you werent on anon) @axther @reddriot

A bundled-up body was dropped under his throne, the body writhing and trying to get muffled screams to be heard.

“My king, the water nymphs made a peace offering. She was dropped off in front of the castle entrance.”

Bakugou’s rich red eyes calculatedly glanced down, breath hitching for a second at the beauty of the roped female—a water nymph. An offering to him. His eyes made contact with yours, seeing the clear defiance and disdain in them, but he knows this look, behind made walls of resistance and will of steel is a petrified woman afraid of her fate. How unfortunate for you. Your eyes were wide and glassy, cute in their attempt at conveying anger, brows furrowed in a glare that merely made Bakugou smirk in amusement. Your mouth, even with the rope muffling every sound you made, clearly showcased a pair of sweet and kissable lips.

The nymphs who sacrificed you did you no favour as well, for they left you scantily dressed, leaving you exposed to the hungry eyes of dragons around you, irking Bakugou slightly that others are looking at his prize.

He left his throne, languidly walking up to you before crouching down to inspect you, to see what’s so special about you. The water nymphs never usually offered one of their own in their attempt at maintaining neutral peace. This ritual which they adopted since ancient times became nothing more than a nicety, they usually offered rare fish, nuts, never a full-fledged nymph, and an attractive one at that. Perhaps the fact that Bakugou, the most renowned dragon shifter finally claimed the throne made them feel unsettled. For his savage and bloodthirsty need to be the absolute best was second to none.

His calloused palms took a hold of your face, ignoring your attempts at deflecting his hold as his massive palm dwarfed your face and made it plenty clear he can easily crush you. He inspected your face from different angles, seeing nothing extraordinary. He took this opportunity to feel up your soft skin which had been tempting him ever since he noticed you laying helplessly on the floor. He then confirmed the validity of the rumours that claimed water nymphs had skin supple and silky as water. It felt like he was running his finger across the surface of a ripple, a mere dip of his finger could breach the surface.

Heh, you’re kinda pretty. So very different from draconian women, who had thick builds paired with excellent survival skills and shifting abilities, but you...he bets it was so easy to overpower you and wrap you up nicely for him to unpack his gift.

He lifts you, his muscles bulging and tensing, proving that carrying you was not a struggle to him in the slightest.

He ignores your useless thrashing, kicking and resisting like a wild bird held in a tyrant's hand. Its wings contained and nails not doing any damage, freedom seeming further and further away. He walks with you on his shoulders, his massive, hulking shoulders.

Soon enough, the rowdy chatter of the men becomes scarce, and their figures even more so, making you double your efforts in trying to escape the tyrant lumping you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“Tsk, keep bein’ a brat and I’ll have to tie your shitty hands.” He turned his head to look at you as he said this, cementing his statement with a fiery glare that only infuriated you further.

He ignored any protest you made after that, walking with you and entering a wing that looked to be heaven-sent from the sheer luxury, gold highlights emphasized in every corner, treasures and artefacts littered around the corridor in a painfully tidy and organised to the very centimetre, clearly they got shined twice a day. However, the further he ventured, the more the previous shine lost its glory, it appeared clean, however, the stark contrast to the speckless shine from before was clear.

Bakugou stopped in front of the grandest door, he twisted the golden doorknob, finally appreciating your quietness. You couldn’t help it, you weren’t particularly rich back home, so to see this reincarnation of decadence really has your eyes glassing, bright in some semblance of joy, you forgot your situation for a second.

You were rudely reminded when you were dumped down on a hard surface.

“OUCH, YOU ASSHOLE.”

When you looked down, however, every profanity disappeared from your tongue as it twisted in awe. You were thrown on a pile of fucking treasure. A huge, mountainous pile of glittering gold and brandished silver, rubies, and every single gem one could imagine.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, scowling at how much he liked the view of you on top of his hoard. He smirked, feeling prideful and accomplished until he noticed that the walls of fury and fire you built up ever since he saw broke in the worst way possible. Your face was scrunched, it felt like your cheeks were lit aflame in humiliation as tears streaked down your adorable face.

Bakugou felt like the biggest douchebag to walk the earth.

You brought your knees closer and hid your face behind them, body shaking as you sobbed. Your tribe sent you as a peace offering, not caring for the slightest about your well being and fate, and now you're stuck here with a brute of a king who has no qualms with treating you like a glorified piece of jewellery. You didn’t want him to see this side of you this soon, you didn’t want him to see how petrified you are, how weak and defenceless you are compared to him. You wanted to rivers of anguish gushing from your eyes to stop, but they wouldn’t.

“Hey…” he tried to console you. It was a poor attempt from an unpractised dragon.

You tried to speak, navigate around that lump in your throat to shout at him, tell him to leave you alone, but your voice failed you just like everything tends to.

You felt him clumsily try to lift your head in a gesture that fell between a forceful demand and a soothing touch. What is up with him now?

You relented and showed him your puffy eyes, glistening eyes, looking at him with trembling lips.

“Tch, stop crying! You—you’ll get snot and tears all over my hoard.”

It was the wrong thing to say, because a fresh batch of tears came, staining the apples of your cheeks.

“Fuck—no. I didn’t mean that.” Your sniffling was reduced to mere hiccups, break down halting at the sight of the most feared man on the earth, the legendary dragon king bakugou, most hardened warrior and skilled shifter, attempting to apologise.

“Shit—I wouldn’t have to be so rough if I knew it bothered you this much.” He pouted, cheeks turning a shade of red that seems almost adorable, turning away from you to scowl at the floor.

Fuck, his mother taught him better, yet the sight of you made him forget any semblance of manners, eager to get his hands on you and away from the prying eyes of people to who you didn’t belong.

An innate sense of possessiveness engulfed him, one that can only be appeased with you sitting on the one place most intimate and guarded by him: his hoard.

But, he’ll tone it down until he gets you more pliant and accepting.

“Stay where you are.” He simply commanded before walking off.

You stayed there, mind urging you to run away, a foolish choice your pride keeps urging you to make. Runaway, in a castle heavily guarded, without having the slightest clue how to get to the exit.

Yeah, bad idea. You’re sure you aren’t welcome back ‘home’ anyway. The thought feels like a sharp dagger slicing your heart, taking its time carving the pain into you.

Soon enough, Bakugou is back, trying to tone down his intimidating aura, but to no avail, for he noticed you shrinking at the sight of his hulking figure. It stung him a little, making his frown a little tighter.

“Come with me,” he said curtly, then walked swiftly out, his cape swishing behind him, making you scramble to follow him, struggling to keep up with his fast steps, frustration slowly rising like bile up your throat and making it harder to stay silent and compliant.

He took you out of the castle, ignoring the curious looks to the best of his ability, but before he could step a foot outside the gate, he grits his teeth in anger and took off his cape. He bundled you in it and lifted you, once again, like a sack of potatoes. But you were too busy feeling like you were lit on fire as you realised that you were walking around in the outfit you were donned in or lack thereof. You buried your face in the fabric, unintentionally making a sound that’s caught between a groan and a whimper.

He walked behind the castle, climbing places with you on his back until he got to where he needed to be

When you arrived, however, you are almost glad you didn’t voice your woos. The sight before you was breathtaking, so much so that your previous plights evaporated even if for a minute.

The scenery was breathtaking, it was a cave, and in the corner, if it was a treasure pile, except merely saying it's a pile was an understatement as it was a mountain in its own right. The hoard you saw back at the castle was incomparable. But that’s not what truly captured you. As he led you further in, you realised the true purpose of this journey.

There was a medium-sized pool, wide enough to fit comfortably in the cave without hogging up all the space, but deep enough that even Bakugou with his stature could enjoy a swim in it. It was clear too, so clear you felt like you could dip your leg in it and see through your very own flesh, that it would make your skin translucent. It was a shade of blue one could only dream of seeing, and after doing so would live their life content.

Perhaps you were biased, seeing that it’s in your very nature as a water nymph to be needing close contact with water, and to be enamoured with it.

All rationale left you though, needing for the water to cleanse you of all your stress and pain, and so bakugou’s cape slipped off your shoulders and hit the floor, your figure leaving it behind as you approached the water and slipped inside. You felt a rush of dopamine override all the negativity inside of you, feeling the water hug you, surround you, shield you.

“So it's true, huh?”

You almost forgot he was here, but Bakugou didn’t forget about you, not even for a second. He was watching you, fascination swirling in his pupils as your expression melted to one of near happiness, heart lurching with every cute expression you made, that *he* caused.

“What is?” You replied, turning in the water to face him.

“That water nymphs live such carefree lives because they spend them inside ponds and lakes.”

You scrunch your nose at that, unable to fathom the exact meaning of his words but having an idea. “We don’t live carefree lives. Not all are given that luxury, at least not me.” You said, giving him a once over with a glare to signify that he’s the problem. He’s the root cause of your misery, Bakugou doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s quite unfortunate really.

He shrugs his shoulders and reverts to his default face, feigning nonchalance.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like much goes on in your ditzy head.”

You felt your face warm, could very well hear the aggressive thrumming of your blood as you gritted your teeth in anger. And you were about to unleash the full force of your fury until you heard wings flapping outside.

You turned your head, trying to take a glance at the disturbance, but your view was shielded by Bakugou, who moved unnaturally fast for someone who made it clear how nothing phases him. And not fast enough for you to think it’s a real threat.

He came back moments later with an attire you regretfully recognized.

No, scratch that, he brought several. Pale, light flowy dresses that are often worn by your people. Light enough that they wouldn’t mind an occasional soak in water.

Your anger dissipated, melting into confusion, then quickly becoming embarrassment as you realised you were comfortably standing in front of him in your underwear.

You should feel happy, but bile rose up your throat, the taste of humiliation clear on your tongue as you realised with distaste that he was indeed right, you did live carefreely. You also realised you won’t be able to live like that ever again, and that very realisation brought tears to your eyes once again.

“Tch, just take one and wear it. I don’t need you crying again.”

Your face fell, and Bakugou felt his heart twinge a little when you responded with silence, looking at your sad face made him feel oddly protective. It’s probably because you were his treasure. Like his hoard right? He always needs his treasure to be kept in optimum conditions.

Having justified that to himself, he didn’t feel as weird now regarding what he was about to do.

While you changed into one of the outfits he got you, he dug through his hoard, knowing exactly what item he wanted to dig out. His fingers slithered through countless gold pieces, shining enough to cure a greedy man’s blindness. He finally found it, a delicate golden chain, but what demands attention is the ruby hanging from it. He brings a thumb to it, rubbing the rock appreciatively, liking the semblance of the colour to his eyes.

You coughed, signaling you you were done, snapping away his wondrous gaze from the necklace.

You looked really pretty in the dress, he’s got to thank Kiri for the speed run to the shops that he did. The light material hugs your skin, looking stretchy, yet form fitting that it hugged your body in a way that made Bakugou jealous.

You looked in your element now, but somehow the awkwardness still lingered in the air as you avoided his gaze.

Bakugo didn’t try to be subtle when checking you out, in his eyes, you were *his* whether or not that’s what he chose so he can at least check what he has right?

Bakugou didn’t pay heed to the slow spiral of his morals, of the things he worked so hard to uphold. His justifications were slowly manifesting into delusions.

He approached you, ignoring the way you tensed when he went behind you, turning around to question him, but he was quickly done. Your eyes caught the glistening red ruby hanging from your neck, the colour rich and deep like red wine. You didn’t hate it, but confusion swirled in your veins at his actions.

“Looks good on you.” The colour looks like my eyes, it reminds me that you’re mine.

Bakugo wasn’t sure why he held off on telling you what’s on his mind, he usually doesn’t hesitate once to tell the truth.

Your wide, glittery eyes stared up at him, trying but failing to hide their awe. The anger and resentment took a backseat to intrigue, so did he pick this out for you because he thought it would look nice on you? How strange of him.

He lifted a calloused finger up, face now cleared and relaxed that he looked pretty, not intimidating, not barbaric, but pretty. He caressed your cheek, smiling slightly when he felt how warm it was. It slipped off his face all too soon when he took the reins back. He squished your cheek, lips once again taking the shape of a sadistic smile.

“You look dumb”

Your features hardened, gaze narrowed in anger and hatred that it made Bakugou surprised. Surprised by how much he hated it, or by the sheer intensity? He didn’t have much time to dwell on his thoughts though, because a dainty hand flew his way and slapped his hand away.

“You-“ you nearly growled in anger, tears once again coating your eyes because of him. “You rude, barbaric, selfish, egoistical “jerk!” You shouted at him. Why were you this angry?

“Just when I think you might be a decent person.” You rub furiously at your eyes, shoulders slouched in disappointment as you disappeared deeper into the cave and out of his sight. You were always so naive and easy to fool.

Bakugou felt the full weight of your words weighing down on him, but he tried to shrug it off. He walked out, silently brooding with his thoughts until a servant came and delivered dinner.

He stood up, walking to you with tje food in his arms, hoping he could butter you up with it. He found you in the deepest part of the cave, face hidden behind your knees, unmoving.

You were sleeping.

He set the food down, bending down to try and confirm his observation, only for a remorse to hit him like a truckload after he saw the semi dried tear tracks. He didn’t have to be that mean to you. Maybe his dragon subjects can handle it because they have thicker skin, naturally, and they’re used to him. But you were just thrust into his life today and he’d been laying it thick on you. He’s coming to terms with his attraction to you and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He nudged your shoulder, not wanting to test his voice right now, afraid it might be too gentle.

You stirred awake, your face relaxed and serene as you blinked blearily.

“Hm?” You rubbed your eyes, looking at your surroundings with confusion. Your eyes were red.

He wondered how much you cried.

He mumbled something unintelligible, you turned your gaze to him, the sleepiness now almost all gone.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Your tone was sharp and cutting, and your gaze, now devoid of all confusion, was similarly icy.

“‘didn’t mean to make ya’ cry.” You nearly believed him, nearly.

“What’s this? Another act to make me lower my guard? Well you don’t need to, I’m at your mercy. You can skip the pleasantries and just laugh at how pathetic I am.”

He stared at the floor, well, *glared*.

“You’re not pathetic.” He simply said, glaring at you in a way that dared you to challenge him”-and I’m not going to laugh at you.”

He could speculate about his feelings all day, drown in this euphoria of infatuation, hate you for making him weak but one thing he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want you to hate him. He wants your eyes to look at him in wonder again, to admire him and fill him with endless pride, to maybe smile at him, he hasn’t seen you smile yet but he bets it’ll be gorgeous.

It’s only because he wants his treasure to be in optimum condition, nothing more, nothing less.

“Then why do you go out of your way to demean me?” You questioned accusingly.

“I don’t, that’s just how I am, you’re going to have to accept it because you’re not going anywhere.” Dread filled you, knowing your days would be filled with humiliation, mocking words echoing in your head like an endless loop.

You stayed silent, accepting your fate because what else could you do? At least you got your greatest companion to keep away the loneliness; water. He once again waited for a response that never came, and he stood up with a sigh, stretching his limbs.

“Just eat your food. I guarantee you’ll like it.”

He said, hanging his cape around him once again, reminding you just who he is, making it flutter behind him as he left you all alone.

He was back early the next day, he found you asleep inside the pool, your head resting on your folded hands on the ledge. The sight had his worry spike so much that a vein was visible on his forehead. He woke you up and scolded you.

And then he proceeds to lay food in front of you, climbing up to sit on top of his hoard to watch you while you eat, not minding the fact that his gaze was sealed on you for minutes, nor the fact that at some point you scolded him for making you uncomfortable.

You didn’t like the glint in his eyes.

In the afternoon he was back with blankets, pillows and other gifts, hoping to sooth the raging waves of your ire. Trying to convince you that he isn’t that bad.

After a while, his daily visits, gifts…reluctant kindness was all you knew. You were starting to let the memories of your home slip, you were accepting the fact that the previous bonds you forged were inevitably breaking. You were accepting the fact that you’re now stuck in a cave as glorified treasure.

And it showed, the sadness on your face would linger, numbness in your tone. Even the water was suffocating.

“CAN YOU STOP ACTING SOULLESS?” And Bakugou eventually couldn’t take it anymore.

You turned to him, no longer was there a fire raging in your eyes. He’s losing the girl he met in his throne room on a fateful day. He no longer cares whether he has to bare his raw feelings to you, the intimidate, gushy, soft, mushy feelings he feels every time he sees you. He wants to hold you everyday, not like you’re an exotic treasure, *but his* treasure. He wants you have his hatchlings with you, and he wants to see you smile at him.

“Why should I?” You replied with dullness, not particularly moved.

“Because…” he looked constipated, his lips clamped together while his cheeks were dusted a cherry red.

“Because?” You didn’t get it. You’re just like a piece of jewelry right? Why does it matter if you become quiet and compliant?

“Because I love you.” He said softly, too softly for someone who looks as rugged and rough as him. Now that broke your composure. Your eyes widened, surprise painting your features as the dragon king Bakugou Katsuki just confessed to you. The greatest soldier in the land, the most terrifying shifter.

He cupped your cheeks, softly stroking the skin, appreciating the soft texture against his scarred hand. His face was so red, even his ears but he was smiling. He was smiling so hard that you wondered whether this was the same person. “I love you, I want you to be happy.” He said, now louder, prouder and more confident in his honeyed words.

You slapped his hand away.

“I don’t believe you.” You cruelly stomped on his confession, making his smile fall.

“But why? Have I not treated you well? I’ve never cared about someone as much as you”

“Prove you love me.” You challenged, staring him in the eye before adding.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t though.”

You turned around and walked away from him, but he decided that wasn’t the end of the conversation and he grabbed your wrist.

“How?!” Frustration was evident in his voice, but so was desperation. He was genuine about wanting to prove his love to you, what would people think if they saw the great dragon king behaving like this over a woman?

You ripped yourself from his hold and spat “figure it out.”

He came back at the dead of night, grunting, laughing and calling your name. You stirred from slumber, eyes fluttering open and peaking out from the blanket you cocooned yourself in. Yoy felt a hand brushing the hair away from your face, lips pressing to your forehead before the fog cleared away to reveal a bloodied Bakugou.

You screamed, scrambling to move away from him, but he held you back, keeping your supine form in place. With his arms on either side of you, not only holding your arms in place but also supporting his weight above you as he stared down at you like some sort of predator.

He laughed heartily, and if he wasn’t drenched in blood you’d find it kind of cute.

“What? Ya’ scared of a little blood? That’s cute.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, asking shakily whose blood it is.

His eyebrows rose, humming at your question before a cocky smirk took over.

“You’ll see. This will show you for sure that I love your bratty ass.” He got off you, walking towards the entrance of the cave, dragging a lifeless figure with him before discarding it carelessly in front of you.

It was the chief of water nymphs. Her old and withered frame looked pale and lifeless, yet brutal gashes littered her body.

“She was the one who sent you here, right?”

You wordlessly nodded, eyes glued to the corpse in front of you.

“I couldn’t set you free, ‘cuz I loved you, I won’t stand to have you around. But she hurt you a lot didn’t she? If she didn’t send you here as simply a peace offering, I would have found my way to you eventually and fell in love with you anyway. I don’t keep you because you’re another treasure on my hoard.” Despite the flaw in his justifications, his manic ramblings and his lovesick eyes, you weren’t repulsed, you weren’t mourning the death of the monster who sent you as a peace offering for objecting to her new rules.

No. Maybe you’re as fucked up as he is, but in a moment of pettiness, you turned to him and smiled.

You weren’t sure whether the redness on his cheeks were blood or a blush. But his eyes were looking at you like you were a miracle, a shining star, it’s like he had heart for eyes but who can blame him? Who can blame the wild thumping of his heart, that’s hammering against his ribcage like a woodpecker does to a tree? He finally got to see you smile.

“Do you believe me now?” He said, leaning closer to you, his eyes looking misty, glistening like the ruby on your neck.

“I do, Katsuki.” You replied, letting your eyes hold his own as you also moved closer to him, cupping his cheek, hand tangling in his surprisingly soft hair.

He was mesmerised, breath lost at your soft touch. The only physical contact he’s had before was when he was out in the field slaughtering enemies, hurting, grabbing. Not being caressed, because that’s soft and he’s never done soft until he met you.

You pecked him softly, lovingly. But you soon moved towards his ear, whispering carelessly.

“You know this could cause war with the forest creatures, right? You broke a centuries long treaty.”

He growled, giving you a bloodied grin. “Whatever those shitty extras throw at me, I can handle it. They wouldn’t pick a fight with me if they are smart.”

You squeezed his bicep, marvelling at how hard it was, he’s not infamous for nothing.

Is that all it takes to win you over?

You looked down at the chief, or ex-chief. You could still remember her cold, cruel grin as she saddled you up, to make an example out of you. No one questions her rule, no one has the right to, even if she endangers them, even if she takes the land that they always freely enjoyed.

Yeah, maybe that’s enough, you believed him. Or maybe you’re picking your own poison.

#bnha #bnha scenarios #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bnha #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha fanfiction

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afolderfullofstories · 2 years ago

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Whumptober 2022: Day 26

Sequel to Day 16

TW: Very violent deaths. Not very explicit but its violent.

Luigi sat on the ground. His hands and legs were bound tightly with rope. They didn’t need anything stronger. They knew he wouldn’t try to escape. Not when they still had Pavi. Not when they had Pavi so drugged up, he wouldn’t be able to run.

Luigi’s nails dug into his palm once more as Pavi started screaming again. He didn’t know how long they’ve been there. His whole body hurt and he was sleep deprived and starving and dehydrated. But that didn’t matter. None of that mattered. He knew whatever they were doing to Pavi was worse. Luigi had to get him out of there.

His captor came in.

Luigi just glared at him, waiting for him to offer a trade like he always did. The pain he could handle. He was tougher than his weak, pathetic brother. He could handle it.

But the man just grinned at him.

Did he want him to beg? Was that it? “Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Mr Largo? Revenge.”

“For who?”

“Does it matter? Would you even remember? How many people have you and your brother murdered, Mr Largo? What is one name in a sea of hundreds?”

Pavi screamed once more.

“If it’s revenge you want, then fucking take it. Torture me instead.”

“But I am Mr Largo.” He approached him, grin becoming wider. “Nothing physical I do to you makes you react. But everytime he screams-”

Pavi screamed once more just to prove his point.

“That look on your face is exquisite.”

Luigi just growled. He was transparent. He was too fucking transparent.

“So I let Adams do whatever he wants to your brother. Whatever I had planned for you, I let him do it on your brother instead. So you can sit here and know that your brother is suffering because of you.”

Something tight clenched in his chest. He forced his face blank. He couldn’t react. He couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Don’t bother, Mr Largo. You’re an open book.” He patted Luigi’s face.

Luigi snarled.

“Oh I nearly forgot. I need you to put your clothes back on. Adams has things he wants you to say to your brother. If you do well, maybe we’ll give your brother a break tomorrow and torture you instead.” The grin faded. “If your brother doesn’t believe you, we’ll kill him.”

Luigi could only glare murderously at him. He would find a way out. He would get his brother out. No matter how much he followed their orders, they would eventually kill Pavi to get at him. He knew that for sure now. He had to save his brother. He would find a way.

Luigi stepped into the room they held Pavi in. His breath caught in his chest when he saw his brother. Something flared in his chest and he had to keep himself calm. Pavi looked like shit. His fingernails had been pulled off. His skin was barely holding itself together. He-

No. He couldn’t focus on that. He had to pretend. He had to keep his face blank. They would kill Pavi if he couldn’t play his part. He couldn’t let them kill Pavi.

Luigi took a breath. He had to focus on something else. He looked at his suit. It had creases but otherwise it was in one piece. Would Pavi notice it was the same suit he wore the last time he saw him? It was one of those stupid things Pavi always noticed. Would Pavi realize something was off? And if he did, would he be smart enough not to say anything?

“Mr Largo, you have a guest.”

Pavi weakly opened his eyes and looked at him. There was hope for a moment before it fizzled out. Pavi just stared at him with dead eyes.

Luigi had to save him. Luigi had to save him before they broke him completely. Luigi’s eyes narrowed at Pavi. He had his script. He knew what they wanted him to say. He had to buy time. “I told you to kill him before the slut got suspicious. They are planning to look for him.” Luigi saw hope fill Pavi’s eyes once more. He was still there. They haven’t broken him. Luigi had to do something. But how? What could he say that wouldn’t raise suspicion?

“I’m sure you can buy us some time, Mr Largo.”

“Some. The GeneCops are efficient.” Useless bastards. How had they not found them by now? “I don’t need the bastard reporting to the slut I knew he was here all along. Kill him and be done with it.”

Pavi didn’t even look hurt. He just looked resigned.

No. fucking fight this. Fucking hate him if he had to. Pavi couldn’t break yet. Luigi had to get them out soon. Just fucking hold on.

“Just give us a few more days to play with him.” The man approached him. “Here. Try it out.” The man held out a cattle prod to him.

Luigi froze. This was not part of the script. This was not what he agreed to.

“Go on then, Mr Largo.”

Luigi took the cattle prod from him. This wasn’t part of the plan. They couldn’t make him.

Pavi looked up at him in fear.

Luigi couldn’t keep his hand from shaking. Pavi couldn’t see. He couldn’t realize. His grip tightened around the stick. He’s already experienced the cattle prod. It was the worst fucking pain he ever felt. But it would subside. There wasn’t permanent damage. It was just temporary.

“Fratello?”

And that small voice nearly made him break all resolve. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t hurt his brother. Not again. He couldn’t.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have a bit of fun, Mr Largo?”

And he heard the threat. They would kill Pavi. If he didn’t do this, they would kill Pavi. He had to do this. It was just temporary. The pain was just temporary.

“Fratello, please.”

Something clenched in Luigi’s chest and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do this.

“Last chance.”

Luigi gritted his teeth. He placed the rod at Pavi’s side and turned it on.

Pavi screamed and thrashed.

Luigi’s couldn’t breathe. Not again. He did it again. He hurt his brother again. And he could see his brother as a child screaming and writhing on the ground. He did it.

The prod turned off.

Pavi curled into himself breathing heavily. He strained at the ropes around his wrist and his skin was rubbed raw.

“That was good, right Mr Largo? You can continue having fun.”

Luigi just stared at his brother. He just stared at the horror and fear in Pavi’s eyes. He couldn’t lift his hand. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t hear Pavi scream like that again. He couldn’t let this continue.

“Fratello.” Pavi lifted his arm as if shielding himself from Luigi. He was scared of him. He was fucking scared of him again. Anything they’ve built over the past few years were destroyed. Pavi would never forgive him. Pavi would hate him.

“Mr Largo.”

Something rang in his head. Something he was noticing but not realizing. His gut was telling him something important but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He raised the cattle prod once more. Luigi couldn’t let them kill Pavi.

Pavi backed further from him.

He was moving.

That was what he was missing. Pavi’s body had thrashed and fought against the pain. He wasn’t drugged.

The man approached him. “Mr Lar-”

Luigi swung the cattle prod and hit him squarely across the head.

The man collapsed.

Luigi dropped the cattle prod and hurried to untie Pavi’s ropes.

“What are you doing?”

Luigi ignored him and focused on the ropes. This would be faster with a knife. But he didn’t have time to find one now. His captor could come in at any time. He had to-

A sharp, blinding pain filled him as his muscles contracted and tensed. The pain disappeared and he collapsed to the ground. It was temporary. He just had to catch his breath.

The man approached his brother with the cattle prod.

Pavi had nothing to defend himself with.

Luigi tackled the man to the ground. They struggled and fought. Luigi hit the prod out of the man’s hands. It slid across the room.

The man’s hands dug into his pockets trying to find a weapon.

Luigi punched him again and again and again. Adrenaline coursed through him. He ignored the pain and hunger and weakness. He just wanted to punish him. Luigi slammed his fist into his gut and the man curled into himself, spluttering.

Luigi just saw red. He wanted to punish the bastard for hurting his brother. He wanted to do to him whatever he did to his brother. But he wanted revenge now. Luigi grabbed the man by the hair and dragged him across the room, towards the cattle prod. Luigi slammed the man’s head against the ground.

The man grabbed his head, weakly flailing.

Luigi took the cattle prod and jammed it into his mouth.

There was a loud crack as teeth fell out of his mouth. Blood dripped from his mouth.

Luigi pushed the prod deeper until it went firmly into his throat.

The man choked and gagged and struggled. He tried to pull the prod out of his mouth.

Luigi turned on the cattle prod.

The man’s scream was cut off by a choke. The man writhed and thrashed but Luigi held firm.

The screams became unintelligible gurgles. Blood trailed out of the man’s mouth and ears. The front of the man’s pants became wet. But Luigi doubted he noticed. He was still writhing and twitching and gurgling. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. A rattle escaped his lips. Luigi pulled out the rod and the man collapsed to the ground. Twitches escaped his limbs. But he was still.

Luigi breathed deeply. He hadn’t meant to lose control. But the bastard deserved it. He wanted the bastard to pay. He wanted him to suffer.

Luigi turned back towards his brother. Pavi’s eyes met him for a moment then broke away. Luigi saw the fear in Pavi’s eyes. No. It had been years since Pavi was afraid of him. No.

Pavi shakily stood, his back facing Luigi. He took deep breaths as grunts of pain escaped his lips. But he still refused to look at him.

The door opened silently as his captor walked in with a gun.

Fuck. Luigi was carried away. They should have focused on escaping. He made too much noise.

His captor grinned at him before pointing the gun at Pavi.

Pavi hadn’t noticed the man came in. He didn’t know that they had two captors. Luigi did. He was fucking careless.

Luigi slammed himself against his brother as the gun went off. They both went sailing across the ground. Luigi got to his feet. He couldn’t check if his brother was shot. The rod was still gripped tightly in his hand. He ran towards the man.

The man lifted the gun towards him. He slammed the gun out of the man’s hands. He slammed the rod into the man’s head.

The man just grinned at him.

Why was he grinning? He lost. Why was he grinning? Something clenched in his chest. He was too slow. His brother was shot. That would be the only reason. Pain and rage and fear filled his chest. He slammed the rod again and again and again into his skull.

The man’s head caved in. Brain and blood decorated the walls and the ground.

But the grin didn’t leave the man’s face.

Luigi slammed the rod into the man’s head once more.

The man collapsed to the ground, convulsing. Finally he fell still.

Luigi tried to catch his breath. The rage tightened around his chest and he couldn’t think. Those bastards were dead. Those bastards who dared hurt him and his brother-

Pavi.

Luigi ran towards his brother.

Pavi was still on the ground.

No.

Luigi turned his brother. His clothes were soaked with bloodstains of various ages. He didn’t know what was new. He couldn’t see what was new. Where was he shot?”

“D…don’t t…touch me!” There was fear in Pavi’s eyes. He pulled away from him.

No, he had to see where his brother was shot.

Pavi pulled himself away from his brother and sat up. His shirt lifted slightly as he moved away. But there was no injury. There was no fresh blood.

“Were you shot?”

“No.” Pavi said shortly. But he still kept away from Luigi.

Something released from his chest and he could breathe again. He missed. The bastard missed. Luigi took deep breaths. It was over. Luigi could feel adrenaline sap out of him and he felt exhausted. It was over. They were free.

Finally Luigi looked up at Pavi who was still looking at him warily. “Can you walk?”

Pavi just nodded. He shakily got to his feet but refused to go near Luigi.

Something in Luigi’s chest clenched. But he gave his brother’s space. The kidnapper’s hadn’t broken him yet. He just needed time. He would be fine. Luigi stood and he could feel his legs shake in turn. Maybe Pavi was right about needing food and sleep. That thought just made him chuckle.

Pavi stepped away from him.

Luigi laughed harder. The adrenaline had long since fled from him and his body didn’t know how to react. So he just laughed.

Pavi just picked up the gun that their captors had dropped.

“You going to shoot me?”

Pavi didn’t say anything. He took unsteady steps towards the door.

Luigi followed him. The laughter had seeped out and a cold numbness filled him. Pavi was afraid of him. Pavi was angry with him. Pavi hated him. “Paviche.”

“What?” Came the cold voice.

Luigi shut his eyes. It was obvious his words were all lies right? Luigi got him out. It was obvious right he didn’t mean a word…right?

But Pavi just headed forwards and ignored him.

Luigi forced himself to his feet. He needed the adrenaline rush again. His legs refused to listen to him. He had to get them out of there. He headed out the door trying to catch up with his brother.

Pavi just continued walking forward.

Luigi just followed. The place was quiet. He couldn’t believe that it just took 2 people to take them. But the silence that surrounded them proved it. Luigi wanted to call out to his brother. Tell him to stop and try to figure out a way out first. But Luigi didn’t know where to go. So he just followed him, trying to find a way out.

Pavi found a tunnel. They must be underground. He continued walking forward, still refusing to look at Luigi, to say anything.

Luigi couldn’t stand the silence, the coldness. “Paviche.”

“Why did you save me?” Pavi still refused to look at him. “Were you scared sorella would-a find out that you left The Pavi to be tortured? You had-a fun hurting the Pavi too right? Why not-a let them kill-a me first?”

Something clenched in Luigi’s throat. His brother really believed… And Luigi could have told him the truth. And the logical part of him told him this was exactly what their kidnappers wanted. That Pavi had been tortured and he wasn’t thinking straight. But hurt seeped into Luigi, clenching his throat shut. “I should have.” He spat. “If I knew this was how grateful you would be, I should have just let them kill you.”

“Grateful?” Pavi sneered. He walked faster. “Do you know what they did to the Pavi?” he spat.

Of course he did. He sat in his cell just listening to his brother scream hours on end, too useless to do anything. And any torture he took on for his brother was never enough. A brief respite, that was all he could do for him. But it wasn’t enough. “Not enough, clearly.”

And Pavi finally turned. And the hate that filled his brother’s features chilled him.

Luigi couldn’t breathe. His brother hated him. He failed to protect his brother and that was the last straw. His brother hated him.

Pavi walked on faster and Luigi could not catch up with him. He was cold. His brother hated him. His brother would never forgive him for failing him.

“We should-a split up. Then you can-a tell sorella you had no idea what-a happened to the Pavi.”

His chest tightened. He didn’t want to split up. He wanted to make sure his brother was ok. But he couldn’t take another step. His legs felt weak. The hatred in Pavi’s eyes…He couldn’t bear it. “Fine. At least you wouldn’t slow me down.”

Pavi glared at him then walked off.

Luigi just watched his brother’s cold back going further and further away from him until he was finally out of sight.

Luigi leaned against the wall. He forced his leg to move, to take another step. His legs felt weak. He slid down the wall. A sharp pain filled his back. He looked backwards to see the trail of blood leading up to him. He hadn’t realized.

His captor’s grin was burned into his eyes. That was why he was smiling. Luigi hadn’t realized.

Luigi leaned harder against the wall. He tried to force his legs to move. He tried to force his body to move. But nothing reacted the way he wanted them to.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He’d lost too much blood. He wondered what his brother would think. That he was too ashamed to face them after leaving Pavi to die? Let the bastard believe what he wanted. He could believe whatever he wanted. Luigi didn’t care.

Of course he cared. Of course he fucking cared. Everything he’s done and his brother could still believe he would leave him to die. Hurt clenched his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Or was it the blood loss. Luigi didn’t know anymore. He didn’t care. He was going to die here in this fucking tunnel, alone.

“Are you throwing a tantrum, fratello?”

Luigi looked upwards, his eyes meeting his brother’s, standing down the tunnel. He had turned back.

Pavi’s brow furrowed. “Fratello?” Pavi approached him slowly and then his eyes widened. He ran towards him.

Luigi leaned heavily against the wall. He felt Pavi pressed against his back and he let out a curse. Then hands fumbling to pull up his shirt. “Don’t!” He didn’t want his brother to see.

“I need to see the wound. I need to see how bad it is.” Pavi pulled the shirt up and fell silent.

Luigi felt a shaky hand touch his back or more accurately, where he knew the burns and scars were.

Pavi just stared silently.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Pavi gripped his arms. “Get up.”

Luigi bent his legs but he couldn’t pull himself up.

Pavi pulled him upwards to his feet.

Luigi’s legs trembled.

Pavi grabbed him. “Lean on me.”

They moved forwards, Pavi dragging him the whole time.

Pavi was silent.

Luigi wanted to break the silence but it took all he could to focus one foot after the other.

“Why did you save me?” And the question this time was no longer accusing. It was quiet, genuine.

“I would have…never left you, Paviche.” And it was so hard to speak and walk at the same time. He was panting. He was exhausted. He had to focus on walking.

“That’s not what I…” Pavi cut himself off. He grunted as he dragged them forward. “That’s…” Pavi cut himself off once more.

His brother still didn’t believe him. “It was a trick…nothing more.”

“No.” Pavi choked out. He stopped and swallowed. “That’s a bullet wound.” He swallowed again. “I keep-a thinking…I keep-a trying to remember. He…He only shot once.”

Luigi’s brows furrowed at the pain in Pavi’s voice. It was so hard to think. “Paviche, don’t.”

“He only shot once.”

“Paviche, dont. It’s not…on you. Was…careless.”

“Why?”

“Idiot.” Luigi leaned heavily on his brother.

“Fratello, please. I can’t…I can’t-a hold you up. It’s just a bit-a more. We’re almost out.”

Luigi forced himself. One foot after another, then the other. Luigi felt wind on his face. They were out. They were-

Arms grabbed him as he toppled forward. “I know where we are. Fratello, I know where we are. I will-a get help. Just-a stay awake. I will-a get help.”

Luigi just nodded as he sank deeper and deeper downwards. Hands placed him gently on the ground. He couldn’t breathe. He was sinking deeper and deeper. He couldn’t see his brother. It was so dark.

“I need an answer, fratello. You’re not allowed to die until I get-a my answer.”

An answer? What was the question? He asked why he…he asked… Wasn’t the answer obvious? Why was his brother such an idiot? “I-”

“No! You’re not allowed to die until I get my answer. Don’t-”

There was a hand on his mouth. Luigi couldn’t speak. Didn’t Pavi want an answer? But Luigi couldn’t say anything.

“Don’t-a leave me with this guilt, fratello. Please.”

Pavi. He heard footsteps running away from him. Luigi tried to move, to speak. But he kept sinking deeper and deeper until nothing but darkness and silence surrounded him.

#whumptober2022 #no.26 #Pushed to the limit #rope burns #separated #why did you save me?#repo! the genetic opera #fic #torture #swearing #violence #kidnapping #Luigi Largo #Pavi Largo

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medicus-mortem · 1 year ago

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chatcambrioleur:

Nami’s stumbling, purposely clumsy body tripped over her own feet— her plan had been to dip forward, and reach for her baton. As she leaned down, she heard a familiar, smooth, low voice, that didn’t belong to present company. Before she knew it, she was back near the hole leading down the alley, and against Law’s warm, tattooed chest. Nami let out a squeak of surprise— obviously not expecting to be teleported.

“Wha— Law?”

It had taken a moment to process everything. She had no idea Law had been watching. Let alone that he would be cradling her in his arms like precious treasure, threatening someone with intentions to hurt her. As if he hadn’t just done so earlier that night. Her heart skipped a beat at the tenderness in his voice, her breath hitching at his touch. The graceless gait the cat thief sported in her act was gone, replaced only with widened eyes and a heart that could thump out of her chest at any given moment. She assumed he was running on the adrenaline — that the lack of light concealed the bright awareness in her eyes. One that certainly didn’t belong to a girl who had been drugged.

Part of Nami seethed, internally. Had he been spying on her? Keeping an eye on her like a child all night? How else had he been able to swoop in to rescue her, right on time? How else had he found her here, believing her to be in a moment of need?

Then again… if he was watching her… that meant she was on his mind. That meant Law was thinking about her. Just as she had been thinking about him, too, before this jerk and his stupid plans had tried to ruin her evening. An evening that already hadn’t been going so well — but at least she would have gotten to shock someone into the new millennium. Either way, things weren’t going so badly now, because…

Law was thinking about her.

The realization thrilled her a little more than it should.

She found her hand reaching for his as he pulled away, although she didn’t bother going to stop him. The pig who’d attempted to drug her deserved to die. Nami didn’t mind sitting back and letting Law kill him. She stood where the surgeon had placed her, inching closer with small steps. Soft, quiet steps that had earned her the title of cat burglar. She didn’t plan on disturbing him. Only getting a better view of the action.

“H—hey, man, I wasn’t gonna do anything!” Nami heard her filler date try to defend himself from afar, his feet not touching the ground. He kicked the air, pathetically, an attempt to get away. “I was just … I was helpin’ her out, is all. Helpin’ her get back home safely! Don’t hurt me!” He grunted and seized as Law reached into his chest, shuddering to a stop.

Law’s fingers wrap around a thudding heart and from between those fingers his power does its job. A clear gel shapes itself around that most important organ in a near instant and when Law tugs his hand free he now holds that racing heart, encased perfectly in a gel cube. That cube is meant to keep the organ safe within a sterile environment that is still somehow attached to the body it came from. It’s helpful when he’s trying to save a life but useless when he wants to end one, only elongating his victim’s suffering. Which he very much enjoys.

Merciless gaze takes in the features of this scumbag, takes in his pathetic pleading and his attempt to talk his way out of this. What the fuck drew Nami to this piece of living garbage? Surely, she could have found a better target. He doesn’t even look like he has anything worth stealing. Again comes that observation about tattoos and similar dark aesthetics and he discards it. He’s angry enough as it is.

“Yeah, definitely believe you,” Law deadpans, leaning back and raising the heart so the man can see it. “And this isn’t gonna hurt at all.”

He squeezes the heart in his fist, the bloody organ bulging with the growing pressure. The man screams, body wracked with agony as his heart is crushed. Law watches him writhe, watches his pain, and a wicked grin spreads across his features. He delights in it, in giving this monster the suffering he deserves. Drugging Nami, bringing her here. Those intentions deserve agony.

The heart bursts in its casing, the gel breaking in Law’s palm. The body goes limp, his cries dying. Blood drips through his fingers and the doctor drops the lump of crushed flesh and muscle. The corpse drops to the ground with a thud and Law lets out a breath. He turns from the dead man, from his grim work, and turns his mind to a doctor’s work. Except, when his eyes alight on the Straw Hat navigator, he doesn’t see a patient.

“Nami-ya?” he starts, confusion in his voice. She isn’t where he left her. In fact, she’s standing perfectly steady. He blinks, eyes adjusting to the gloom to see a face that’s focused. His head tilts to the side, arms crossing. “You’re not drugged. ... Okay, what the fuck is this? Did I just massively ruin some sort of weird ass fetish you got or was that piece of shit actually tryin’ to drug and rape you?”

#Captain's Log // Threads #Captain of Hearts // Canon Verse #protective possessive #rape mention tw #do not disturb // queue #cathiief

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aineryeo · 3 years ago

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Prominence ௹ ATSUMU

The letters of the first few days when you parted ways 📨

Prominence: “Find someone great, but don’t find someone better.” You’d say to yourself, though it was directed to your ex-boyfriend, writing in a number of papers, serving as letters. Awaiting your impending doom.

Timeskip! Atsumu x Reader

Synopsis: You break up with Atsumu Miya in hopes to alleviate his pain. And for what he'd have to deal with. » 6.2k Words

Warnings: Depictions of Mental Illnesses & actual disease, Angst, Suicidal tendencies, Cursing, Atsumu is an impulsive bitch, so is reader. Read at your own discretion. Do not read if this has any sort of possibility to trigger you, more if you feel encouraged to do something you shouldn’t. This isn’t what the fic is about.

It was a rainy day, droplets of water knocking on the window of what was your empty room. It wasn’t a space you were supposed to be getting used to at this point in your long life. A faint tune of a piano was penetrating through your thin walls as you stared into nothing in particular, maybe the particles that become visible with the peek of sunlight through the gray clouds piercing through your window pane.

Your body got up, but you had a stinging migraine, your limbs were weak, and today was an off-day from your work as a bustling city journalist. No phone calls for a sudden need for your presence in your job. Your blanket was wrapped around you loosely, your feet navigating through your creaking floors. How depressing.

Empty fridge.

Messy bed.

Disorganized papers.

And clothes in unsuspecting places.

Your clothes. None of his. You can’t even reminisce about him anymore. Your migraine seems to have gotten worse. You spot one of the few things that were left organized. Your letters. You grimaced, the pain suddenly pushed to the back of your head as you were reminded of the contents.

“It won’t be bad to see him, at least once.” You reason to yourself with a small smile, it wasn’t a happy one. Nonetheless it was one. One reason out of many when you were always reminded that he was already happy, that Atsumu no longer needed you, and your relationship was a ghost of the past.

It has been for a month now, how else would it go, when you were the one who ended it?

Yeah, it was a bad idea to see him. You scold yourself for coming here, furthering your torture. You see him with a huge smile, bigger than when he was with you. Brighter than when you last picked a joke, at least that was what you thought. You dated him since you were sixteen, young, and fresh in-love.

“Tsum, baby, not here.” You vaguely make out, from hiding behind one of the tall bleachers near the exit from where their practice usually resided in. She was very pretty, her voice silky. You hear a rumbling chuckle in return, you feel your spine shudder at the familiarity. “Hm, honey where do ya want me ta do it then? I jus’ can’t resist ya.” You took your small window to catch a glimpse of them. The perfect lovers.

This was selfish, you knew it. But you inwardly cheered for him, happy to know that he found someone great. That he was happy, even if it was at your expense. Your eyes were glossy, dams about to break, so you walk away; like you always do, like you always did. Your mouth formed into a shaky frown, your fists clenching ‘till you were white-knuckling nothing in particular. White-knuckling all your pain, perhaps.

It was when you exited the establishment, into the car park, into your cheap second-hand car, did your tears fall; until everything kept breaking, your multi-functional tape to bar all your emotions inside, failing you for the umpteenth time for the past month. You were all alone, still clutching your keys to open the door to the driver’s seat. When you felt a hand on your shoulder, which made you jolt, you were too surprised that you didn’t get to wipe your residual breakdown off your face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Your blurry eyes adjusted, and your heart almost jumped at the familiar face. You turned your face away from him, you were too ashamed to show your face to him. To the brother of the man you were still in love with. You changed your voice a few octaves higher, “Yeah! Thanks, sorry you had to see that.” Mishandling your keys before being able to open it quickly, though Osamu stopped you just as fast.

“I know it’s you, Y/N.”

You froze. “I’m not—”

Hearing a small laugh from him made you stop. “I think I’ve seen your car enough times before, with the same plate to know that it’s you when I parked right next to it.” Turning back, he already had his hand out holding a handkerchief.

“Sorry.”

He smiled sympathetically at your small figure, noticing that you’ve gotten smaller than you already were. More fragile. So he placed his hand that was roughly the size of your face, gently on top of your head to stroke it, hoping to bring you some comfort; roughly knowing the situation about you and his brother. How couldn’t he?

“It’ll be okay.”

It’s not. You recall, already sitting in your bathtub, not really crying, not really feeling anything of the sort. You exhaled as if it lightened your burdens. It won’t be.

You hum. Knees to your chest, “Not when...” You sigh, not now.

It was time for work, tedious work that requires you to write articles and camp out places at 2am in the morning, only to turn up and camp out at a different place again, just hoping for an interview for your channel. You didn’t feel like breaking down at all, but it felt like everything is typically more down. You refused to eat when your co-workers asked you to join them, you had no appetite.

You hadn’t for weeks.

A heavy feeling is always stuck inside you. Like everything is screaming at you, but you can’t scream back. You just can’t. Always heaving sighs, always staring into what once was blue skies, turned dull grey. Was it because you regretted having to let go of him? Or was it because of the news you had received prior to when you left him? Was it because the one time you felt like you couldn’t walk, the doctor told you that you had a few left; extend your life with a surgery that was high-risk.

Your hand ran through your hair for the umpteenth time, thoughts drifting to whether you should just end it quicker than what you had. What was the point? You failed to notice that your hand was writing on another piece of paper, as if documenting everything that ran through your mind. And maybe you wanted them to find out, when you’re gone. So you don’t have to face the burden of facing them afterwards and giving them any answers.

But you don’t want to ruin the happiness Atsumu had right now. He’ll blame himself, but this was all your fault. You ended it with a bad note so he’d forget you easily, you yelled at him, told him that he was useless, you didn’t love him anymore. You open your eyes, seeing yourself back at the situation where it all began, and where it all ended.

“Atsumu, I hate you.”

“Angel, what are ya saying? I said I was sorry! I’m tired from practice.” He replied, he was tired. He was stressed. You were stressing him. And he was getting rightfully agitated, it was working.

Your thoughts briefly flash to the days before, same old. You chose to do it days slowly, so it wouldn’t be too sudden; so he’d lose all love for you once you leave him. So you nitpick him again, even though it never really bothered you, “You always do this. Maybe we should just...” You swallow, it was like eating hard, bitter candy at once.

“What? Break up? Yeah, with your incessant yappin’ these days, Y/N, I wouldn’t mind one bit.” He said, looking at you with a harsh gaze. Similar to when some random fan begins screaming during his serving routine. You were nothing now. You nodded, if he had the right mind that time, he would’ve noticed that you were eerily calm; you were expecting this, why wouldn’t you?

“Yeah, break up.” You confirmed, with a somber smile. He hadn’t even noticed that more than half of your things were already gone from your shared apartment. You had one last suitcase, it was right beside the door. Atsumu failed to notice all the little things disappearing, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he failed to also stop you before you hung your apron on the rack, turning the stove off, he was already gone. Into his bedroom, where he slept, too tired for anything his aching muscles couldn’t take right now. Your keys left untouched on the table before you left him altogether. Always, just always looking back with a heavy grimace.

The skies were the same color from that day, to everyday, same grey.

It wasn’t long before you found out he had a new love. Apparently an avid, and innocent fan of his whom he met during one of his morning runs in the park.

“What’re you writing there, Y/N?” One of your co-workers as of now, Akaashi Keiji, brought your head back up in the present. You hummed, folding the paper your hand subconsciously wrote in, and placing it in your pocket. “Nothing, really. My hand just kind of moves on its own when I think of anything in general.”

He smiles, sweet. “That’s endearing. Must be why you’re quite famous in the department.”

You chuckle, “I’m not famous, Keiji. If anything, this job just keeps giving me migraines. You’re the real MVP as a great editor in your dept.”

His hand was rubbing his nape, laughing softly with you. You stood up, supposed to get some water only to fall back down again. Your co-worker quickly catches you with worry etched in his delicate features.

“Y/N, have you been eating?” No, but..

“Keiji, I can’t feel my legs.”

It was showing.

You asked Keiji not to tell anyone, he in turn, asked if any of your family members knew this. It made you chortle, you said, “No. My grandmother died years ago, I’m an only child, and my parents didn’t last.” It wasn’t a funny thing, you knew that but it made you laugh anyway. Laugh at how pathetic you were.

He looked at you, on your bed at your home that he had kindly helped you in after calling your doctor from before. Saying it was that the disease was starting to become severe, causing your limbs, your legs, your arms, to lose its sensation. Slowly, you’ll become more agitated, and it’ll be harder for you to talk, or even move. Only your co-worker, and your boss knew for the time-being.

“You don’t have to help me. I know you’re busy.” You said, though weak, “I’ll only weigh you down.”

Keiji sighed, he knew that you worry too much about other people, he knew that you got lost enough to stop thinking about yourself. And it was sad, he empathized with you in the way that you were both overthinkers, though he’d understood for a while that you were more hasty with decision-making.

“No.” He said, simple.

You looked down at the blanket that covered your bottom half, your top half facing the big, musty, old window next to your bed. Facing away from Akaashi.

“Why?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, save for the usual noise from the surrounding roads. He looked up, before he looked back at your weak figure. “It’s just you—you’re all alone.” Walking around to the other side so he can face you. About to utter a tad more to his sentence, he stopped when he saw your eyes blown wide, a bit red at the bottom, a hard attempt to stop tears from falling. He didn’t miss a beat after, quickly crouching, and allowing your head to rest on his chest.

“So I thought you could use some company.”

You appreciated your co-worker, now close friend’s generous help. It’s been a few weeks, and you’ve been spending it cooped up in the hospital. He had also forced you to finally admit yourself so you can get immediate assistance in the case that something similar were to happen again. A similar event where he was forced to carry you to your car, and drive you home.

The cords stuck to your skin to hydrate you was a bother, but it was manageable. Here were your last few months alive. You still had no idea why you couldn’t just leave. You had no specific goal, you were bound to hit rock-bottom, and the least you can get is a few more months, maybe years of living if you get the surgery. There was no point, nothing to live for. You could work on your career, but what can you really do with legs that can barely stand, and… hands that can’t even pick up a pen.

The latter was the one that you cried to every night if you had tears to spare. The latter was the one where you try to continuously hit your head in hopes it can keep writing. It was such a simple task, why couldn’t it do its job? When Akaashi came to visit one afternoon, he had to rush and grab the sharp pen you had in your barely moving left hand, attempting to dig it in the skin of the right. Just to feel if it was still alive.

Then it was requested to have no pens, or sharp objects left near you without supervision. You’d call your friends, if by friends, you mean other than occasional visits from your co-workers that didn’t know much about your personal life; but still had the courtesy of visiting you nonetheless after hearing news from the boss, you’d consent to it since you were leaving the field. But he hasn’t fired you yet, apparently.

Sometimes it shifts, when your arms refuse to work, your legs will move for a bit, vice versa. A frown forms on your face when it happens to be both. Why couldn’t this just be quicker? You ponder, and hear the door open. Expecting the only person who visits you so frequently.

“Keij—” You stopped. He stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm? So I can’t visit ya now?” Oh, his familiar tone.

“How did you even know I was here?” You said, a bit agitated.

“Asked one of yer co-workers.” He shrugged.

“...You visited my workplace? And they told you immediately?” You raised your brow, bringing your body up to sit on the bed instead. It was a feat on its own, but he’d seen your struggle, he was about to reach and help actually.

“Yeah, I had deliveries to make.” He said, leaning back. “And I may have made them slip it after overhearin’ yer name. Couldn’t resist my charm.”

“You’re ridiculous, ‘Samu.” You smiled, for the first time in a while. He could tell that it wasn’t a normal occurrence in a while, the thought of at least alleviating your stress for a bit eased a tide inside Osamu.

Osamu took his hat off, putting it on the table next to your bed. He was humoring you, because he didn’t want you to see the first look on his face when he confirmed that it really was you who's been confined here. Not any other person with the same name. He sat on the sofa beside you, next to the window. You’d lie if your heart didn’t clench at the sight of him, If you’d look inside, you’ll spot the tinge of pain; but outside, all Osamu could see was that you still adored him. By that, he meant his brother. He knew he might trigger you due to him being the twin of what was your love. Still is, he was sure.

Clearing his throat, your trance broke. “Y/N.”

“Hm.” You lay your back flat on the metal headboard covered in the white pillows of your white bed, in your white room.

“Why are you here?” It was true that Osamu had heard you were confined in the hospital while he was making deliveries to your place coincidentally, so he couldn’t help but perk his ears. Despite your break-up, he was still your childhood friend, and although he heard of the story of how it ended from none other than his brother’s dull voice on the phone that night he was closing up Onigiri Miya; he knew there must’ve been something that caused you to do that other than Atsumu himself. He’d investigate, and help rekindle the lifelong relationship you both shared if he wasn’t so busy himself. And if his brother hadn’t immediately used a rebound to inflict immediate pain upon you, maybe he’d have considered it.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

Osamu sighs, “You do. Tell me,” he looks at you with sincerity, placing his coarse palm from the work he’s been juggling in, on top of your pale, lifeless hands. Almost wincing at the cold temperature they held, “Please.”

You sucked in a breath, he placed his, what you assume to be, warm hand on top of yours. But you felt nothing. So you let it out, “I have Friedreich’s Ataxia. Apparently it’s genetic, uh, doesn’t allow me to use these flimsy things.” You glanced at your legs, slightly waving them along with your hands, “I can’t even feel the warmth of your hand right now. I mean, that is, if you’re warm. It’s always cold here. The doctors said they’d try to give me therapy and train me to walk again, or actually use my hands.” You chuckle.

“And something about heart surgery, though that won’t really extend my life for long.” You finish, opting to insert a joke that you thought was bright until you let it out, “Better than turning out blind though! Haha… Kidding, it may happen to me too, which sucks, by the way.”

Your rambling was cut off when you were met with an intense stare from Osamu. “And you’ve found out of this, when?”

“...Nearly 2 months.. Ago?” You gulped the lump that was stuck in your throat.

Osamu rested his elbows on his knees, thinking. “So that was the reason?”

You retained silence.

He sighs. “I knew it would be a valid reason, but I really wasn’t hoping it would be this.” His face hidden in his big hands, frustration was visible. But it was the breathy question of, “Why are the gods this cruel?” To which your eyes soften, albeit a little bit.

“Samu, can I ask a favor?”

He looks at you, face out of his palms. “Sure.”

“Can you… Turn the TV on?” He raised a brow at first before standing up and getting the remote by the stand, switching it on, immediately being greeted by the sports channel on Volleyball. Oh, they had a game today. He had nearly forgotten due to this new revelation from you. He looked at your face that was staring directly at the screen, then he saw the number thirteen, and his heart clenched tighter.

He placed the remote on the table beside your bed, and he took his black cap. He spun it on his finger for a bit, “I won’t tell ‘Sumu.”

You hummed again, before looking at him. “Thank you.” Then he smiles sweetly at you before turning around, his face immediately turning into a painful grimace. Because even he could feel the tragedy of this love.

Each day you were gone was a punch in the gut for Atsumu. His initial lack of reaction to his overreaction, trying to get back at you for leaving him. It was wrong. All he ever wanted was to call you, tell you to come back, have you in his arms, the lot. He’d miss the smell of your hair when he hugs you tight, or the clean apartment whenever he comes home to you beaming, cooking dinner; like his precious wife-to-be. Though he hadn’t proposed, the ring he bought for you started collecting dust in his drawer.

The girl he was with didn’t really last long, she broke it off after getting annoyed by him calling your name instead of hers on any normal occasion on impulse. His head in his hands, bed half-empty. His games gave him a little bit of adrenaline, but every time he sees the empty spot saved for you in his jersey, the adrenaline will scafe off, bit by bit. It’d be a lie if he said that he didn’t at least try to call your number in the past two months, he had actually, for a couple of times. But your number was unreachable, and your social media was non-existent.

It was like you weren’t real. Like a ghost. Sand that was slipping far from his fingers, his hold. His hold loosened in a moment of weakness.

To say his biggest regret was the night you left was a lie, because the biggest regret he ever made was never immediately trying to get you back. He was dazed off in the locker rooms after one of their games, his water bottle in hand. Hinata waved in front of him, Bokuto right next; to which his daze cut off.

“You okay, Tsum?”

He smiled, nodding. But his teammates knew it wasn’t the same for a while now. He was more rigid and tired in his movements. Probably not the kind of exhaustion that could be solved by sleep.

“Yeah, no worries.” Even Sakusa worriedly glances once in a while, he still cares, though not openly shown. Atsumu slung his gym bag over his shoulders after changing, he decided to visit his brother in his shop for now. He was walking out to drive when he accidentally bumped into someone, trapped in his little thoughts about you again.

“Oh—Sorry, didn’t see ya there.” Atsumu apologized, knowing it was his fault.

“It’s okay, Miya-san.” It took a few moments before Atsumu registered who this was.

“Akaashi? Keiji? Bokuto talks about ya all the time! Nice to meet ya.” He smiled, putting his hand out for him to shake. To which the latter man does. Oh, Akaashi recognizes him, not just from being his friend’s teammate; but from being your ex. He concluded in his thoughts by the few seconds they shook hands that he wished for him to not find out about you any longer. Thinking about the pain it would cause for both of you, especially him. They nodded at each other before bidding goodbyes and heading off to their own destinations.

Atsumu drove past the busy streets of the city, traffic holding him back a little bit. He was stopped a little bit in front of the city hospital. He didn’t know why, but his gaze lingered on the building a little longer than he’d like to admit. His left hand clutching the wheel, the other on the stick; Why does it feel like… He shakes his head to rid himself of ridiculous thoughts, seeing as the cars were finally moving, he did too.

Just as his foot pressed on the accelerator, his eyes landed on you. His eyes were the widest it had been, and this was the day he felt the most emotions since the day you left him.

“Y/N?” He asks, though his window was turned up and he was inside his car. He must be going crazy. Were you on a wheelchair? Was it really you? Or were his eyes playing tricks on him again, just like it had been every time he visited places he used to go with you. Or when he needed anything in particular, his first call in the apartment would be your name, expecting an answer back like you always had been.

He rolls his window down, and at that moment he swears your eyes met before you quickly changed vision. He’d run out of his car to chase you right now, if it weren’t for the honking behind him. Fuck.

He drives forward, and goes around to park for the hospital real quickly. Just to see if he wasn’t going insane by the amount of times he’d imagined seeing you again. He looks around the area, arriving at the greener part of the hospital, probably one of the places where they take some patients out for walks. Atsumu’s heart beats faster when he sees the same beautifully familiar hair, and angelic face he’s fallen in love with. He misses a beat, he stops, just plainly admiring; he notices your weaker stature, and your crest-fallen face. Paler skin, and limp limbs. And for that mistake, he fails to notice you were being guided in already.

He panics. About to bolt when he suddenly trips over his feet, and gets a bloody knee as the door closes. That doesn’t stop Atsumu, no, he’s dealt with much worse; one of which was the pain of not having you in his life. So he runs, and he sees the wheelchair you resided in enter the elevator; and once again, he swears, he swears, that his breath catches in his throat as he sees your eyes, and you see his.

And maybe he didn’t know, and maybe you didn’t know, but for the first time in months, you both saw colors.

“She was there, ‘Samu, I was sure of it!” Atsumu yells even in the midday of the bustling Onigiri Miya.

“Yer delusional as always, ‘Sumu. Ya should get yer head checked.” Osamu says from the kitchen in the back, there was faint squealing from the men and women alike in the restaurant. Feeling blessed for being able to witness the Miya twins in one sitting. And bantering, no less; even if it was over a girl.

“I can’t have mistaken it. I know when I see ma’ girl, Samu. Ya know it.” Atsumu groans, burying his head in his arms on the counter. “But when I asked the nurses, none of ‘em are giving me details. They say there ain’t Y/N L/N on their recent list of confined patients.”

Osamu was lucky he was working the kitchen right now, because he was low-key nervous of what to say, to not compromise you. How was his brother so close to it anyway? He wants to drive him away. He thinks he can agree with your rationale, but when he thinks of his brother’s side, wouldn’t it be more painful to just find out that you were just… Gone? His mind was splitting in half because of this dreaded situation, until Atsumu called him out again.

“Hey, ya scrub! Are ya even listening to me?” Atsumu lightheartedly yelled as Osamu’s heart softened. If anything, he didn’t want to see his brother bear the pain of losing you, permanently.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut yer trap. I have a business running here. Yer scaring off the customers.” Osamu says, getting out of the kitchen, arms crossed with a scowl.

“Help me, Samu. I just… Can’t bear to lose her.” Atsumu finally says, with a lace of evident longing. Osamu’s face contorts into a myriad of reactions that he couldn’t pick from. Before he settled with a sigh, and a lean on his forearms to poke his brother roughly on the forehead. A grunt of pain from the blonde.

“The only one who can help ya is yerself. If ya want to go find her, go ahead. Whatever your choice will be, don’t let it end with regret.” Was all he said before he went away to tend to the girls who were about to order, red-faced, and all.

Atsumu didn’t understand it a bit. How was that supposed to help him? He thinks. His fist digging into his cheek, face contorted into heavy thinking. It went on like that. He had no other clue, but he kept visiting the hospital, kept driving through, hoping he could catch a glimpse of you; to prove to himself that you were real. But for the first few days, he had no sign of you whatsoever. He kept bugging the nurses, or at least asking them everyday and ended up getting rejected again, and again, and again.

He sat in his car parked in the hospital on his free-day. As if a lightbulb turned on, he felt stupid for not visiting your workplace. They should at least know something about you, right? You were pretty well-known, and idolized in the industry. So he drove there, he may or may not have sped up a little more than he should but all in good purpose. He arrived there, and immediately knew where to park, the signature spot for everytime he comes to drive you home. Recently hearing that you bought a car when you broke up with him, made him sink a little bit. But he saw the spot was taken, eyebrows furrowing for a little before parking to the spot next to it.

When he got out, he noticed that the car that took your spot had dusting on it. As if it hadn’t been let out in a while. Or used. Quickly putting two-and-two together, maybe this was your car? The one you had bought? And if it hadn’t been used in a while… Then that supports his thoughts about you being in the hospital. His face shifted into worry. That must mean.. Whatever you had been sick of, was serious if you haven’t been using your car as often, considering your job was hectic.

He shook the thoughts off for a while, determined to find more clues about you instead. But he thinks the search suddenly became too easy when he suddenly heard a few gossiping women.

“Oh, poor Ms. L/N… She’s been hospitalized for a month now.”

“Really? Have you heard of any reason why?”

“I’m still unsure but I heard it’s chronic, and she doesn’t really have long.”

He sucks in a harsh breath. What? His ears perk up more to their conversation. He hides behind a wall, he assumes that they’re probably heading for their lunch break as a group right now.

Then a snicker, “I know this is kind of mean, but who’ll be replacing her now? Surely her position is up for debate.”

Atsumu’s face darkens at this. Stepping out of the wall as his big frame became all the more intimidating, “I mean, she’ll be biting the dust sooner or—”

“Shut your damn mouth, filthy whore.” Atsumu says with a sneer. Chin up, looking down. “Continue that sentence and I’ll see who bites the fuckin’ dust first.” A whimper, “It’s him again!” Shuffled feet, then they’re gone and out of his sights.

It takes a sigh, and a slump in his posture before everything sinks in. What does this mean? Is it.. True?

He shook his head, sure, you weren’t looking so good when he last saw you. You looked especially sick. But it was like nobody, not even the universe, had wanted him to see you. He thought back to the gossiping workers earlier. It’s him again? Atsumu hasn’t visited in a while, and he doesn’t think that he’s seen them… Oh.

Fuck, Osamu.

He could pass off as a professional racer with the speed he was driving at, only lucky enough to not have any cops tailing him. He was breathing heavily, his brother knew about you and didn’t tell him anything apart from that vague statement a few days ago? He couldn’t help the light betrayal he felt but in all honesty, he’d much rather force his brother to take him to you now. So when he arrived in Onigiri Miya, he didn’t waste a second dragging his brother out who was grumbling incessantly.

“The fuck ‘Sumu, I have a business to run!”

“No you, The fuck ‘Samu. You knew where Y/N was? Take me to her, now.” Atsumu said, foot on the ground, he won’t let anything come between his decisions now. Taking the bag of Onigiri from Osamu’s hand, “I’ll take this too. I’ll pay for it, I need to give a treat at least but we’re kind of in a hurry.” Osamu sighed, finally getting the gist of the situation. Deciding to spare his brother, he’d have to apologize to you later for spilling the beans. But he thinks he needs to let his brother let his feelings out as well.

“Okay.”

“No, you don’t have any other cho—Okay. Okay, get in the car.”

Osamu briefly yells at the part-timer he recently hired, telling them to take over for a while. To which they nodded eagerly, and so, the brothers left. Save for the quiet ride for the first few minutes. “...How—” Atsumu clears his throat, “How is she?”

A quiet beat, Osamu thinks of his answer. He settles for a passive one, “Okay.”

“Hn.” Atsumu grunts.

Osamu leans back on the passenger seat, “Just… Just make sure you don’t regret any of this.”

Atsumu raises a thick brow at this, “Why would I?”

“I think you already know why.”

He sucks in a harsh breath at this, and the silence remains. Atsumu reaches the hospital, parks the car, and Osamu leads the way to your room. Every step Atsumu took felt like the ground was shaking and trying to eat him whole. He wanted to see your pretty face again, your smile that could make his day whole and puff his chest out, or your hands that would comb through his hair and ask how it’s so soft when he bleaches it regularly.

So why was he seeing your writhing body under nurses yelling your name this time. Osamu breathes in, slowly understanding the situation as he quickly glances at his brother who was frozen. Both of them kept walking, until they were in front of what was supposed to be your room. Door open, and multiple people, trying to keep you alive. He hears that the doctor is coming, that you should wait, that you’ll get better in no time, at this point Atsumu didn’t know if the reassurances were for him instead.

When he sees your weak hand gripping the railing of your bed, he breaks. The bag of Onigiri long forgotten on the floor as he runs towards your bed.

“Darling, hey, hey, Angel, you—Yer okay, yeah? You’ll be fine, please be okay.” Atsumu says with shaky hands gripping yours, it was intensely cold, as if you weren’t even alive in the first place. He wishes so much that he was the one to give you warmth. “Look at me, you’ll be okay.”

And for the second time in a while, your eyes meet his, your weak, fragile, pretty little eyes; finally meeting him. The nurses noticed you calming down more, but your state wasn’t getting any better. They were initially going to let Atsumu out, but noticing the intimate relationship you two seemed to have displayed, they decided against it. More focused on bringing you back to life.

You had the heart surgery. You took the leap to extend your life, ever since you caught a glimpse of him a few days back; you just knew that the biggest regret you’d ever have is to never try. You told Akaashi when he visited that you were deciding on it, and he was supportive. He was really supportive. But you weren’t blind that it was a risk that may also shorten your life instead. Though wasn’t that what you were asking for, this whole time?

So maybe the time you got out of the surgery unscathed was the calm before the storm, it was the calm before this. But you were glad that even through your hazy vision, it was him that showed. It was Atsumu that kept telling you to look into his pretty eyes, and tell you that you’ll be okay.

Atsumu thinks that even in this situation, you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. So when the most beautiful thing slipped from his grasp, with no chance of clutching it back; his heart is torn, and burnt into crisps, non-existent flakes as his mind replays every memory he’s ever had with you, and how he was standing and watching warm, sunny spring turn into the ruthless, cold winter.

Osamu watched his brother break down in front of your bed, his own tears mixing in the lot, his cap covering most of his face. Another familiar figure that frequented visits with you, a solemn expression on his usual calm face. Heavy feeling on his chest, Akaashi approached the man who lay on his knees in front of your bed while the nurses that were scrambling to keep your life had promptly announced the date and time of your death.

Akaashi handed the box in his hand towards Atsumu who was kneeling with all his might, head on the ground, continuously asking for forgiveness from you, continuously asking for more time, just a little more. He hates this, he hates it. Because, when it sank in, you were gone.

The scene of your death. ⁆ To Visualize :) But instead of it being Kousei playing the piano, it's Atsumu when he plays volleyball, but when someone comes up to him, tapping on his back with a bright smile for an interview after the game; it's not you.

#Atsumu Miya #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #break up #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #timeskip atsumu #timeskip haikyuu #Akaashi Keiji #Atsumu angst #MSBY

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lastxviolet · 3 years ago

Text

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader) - Ch. 2

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / eventual smut / kidnapping

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

The plane completed its descent, jolting you awake and away from the dream of what happened next.

His hands inside your dress and the moment in the evening that stopped feeling like an act.

“We are here,” he confirmed, gripping your hand and leading you from the plane.

The air wasn’t cold anymore and smelled like spring. It was May in the states and DC had felt the same so it was possible that you were still in the northern hemisphere. The United States and Canada weren’t options for the criminal, neither was Germany.

Italy?

He spoke to the driver in German and although you recognized the words, you had no clue what they meant. A short drive later and the car stopped. He untied the blindfold and you took in the sight of a lone chateau at the end of a lavish driveway. He opened the door and motioned for you to follow.

“No gun,” you questioned, eyeing his relaxed demeanor.

He smiled. Although you were angry and the sun was too bright, you were glad to finally be able to see something again.

“Not necessary,” he nodded at the rolling hills around them. “Where would you run?”

You glared at him, letting him know that this was still against your will and that any familiarity you’d had, was gone.

“You’re very confident that I prefer your company over death,” you hissed, eyeing the wilderness.

“You’ve come with me this far.”

Your eyes met his. It was impossible to know what he was thinking beneath the stern exterior.

“You could’ve screamed for your comrades,” he shrugged.

“There was a gun aimed at my temple.”

“Or jumped out of the plane.”

Again, you glared at him. If looks could kill.

“This way,” he said, clearing his throat. “Please.”

You followed him, debating if you could make it to the car or even out of the compound before Zemo shot you or caught up.

The terrain was unfamiliar, and now you were in a foreign country, alone and uncounted for.

Zemo slowed and matched your snail’s pace, signaling that it was time to hurry up. You moved slower despite his hand on your back and he clicked his tongue. You made the journey last as long as possible until there was no choice but to cross the threshold.

“Your room is up the stairs and to the right,” he said, eyes on your face.

You stormed up the wooden stairs, making each groan with your anger.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he called after you.

You slammed your door in response. The wall shook and you half hoped it’d bring the whole house down, taking you and Zemo with it.

An hour later, you entered the small and intimate dining room. A round table sat in a nook surrounded by windows, looking out onto the cliff-like drop below. You didn’t even glance at the food before you. There was only Zemo, and convincing him to let you go.

“Is your room to your liking?”

You scoffed. “My cell is fine, thank you.”

Unfortunately, your warden was fond of conflict, and difficult people. The words only seemed to intrigue him further. His eyes danced over your face, glancing down towards the exposed skin on your chest and then up to your lips.

“They say a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity,” he mused.

“I’m a pessimist because of intelligence,” you quoted.

His eyes twinkled again, he knew, as you did, that it came from an Italian philosopher. It was applicable but also, a guess.

He raised his glass towards you before finishing the quote. “But an optimist because of will.”

In true Zemo fashion, he neither confirmed nor denied your suspicion. You lifted your glass of red wine towards him with a scowl.

You ate in silence for a while, you, staring out the window, Zemo, eyeing you. You made it half an hour before the weight of his stare became unbearable.

“So what’s your game plan, with all this,” you asked, waving your fork to yourself and then to him and the house.

“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to,” he chided. “It is beneath you.”

“My life for your freedom.”

He sighed then, almost like he didn’t like that answer either. It was the right one, you both knew that but it looked like it pained him. Seeing that flicker of humanity hurt more than you wanted to admit. It'd be easier if the man beneath the mask wasn't real. It'd be easier if he'd been lying and there weren’t two versions of him. You wished that there wasn’t a charming and passionate man beneath the evil Baron facade, but there he was again.

“Prison is not an option for me,” he admitted, laying down his fork. “But I am sorry that it had to be you.”

You nodded and scoffed, rolling your eyes for good measure.

“I do hope to make you comfortable, in the meantime — ”

“Before you kill me,” you interrupted.

He clicked his tongue again and glared. It was the plan he orchestrated and yet, he didn’t seem to like it.

“I may not have to,” he corrected.

You laughed then, with little care for his strained expression. “Have you met the Dora Milage? They’ll go through whoever they need to, to avenge their king. They don’t know me nor do they care about me. You don’t have the winning hand that you think you do.”

“You are forgetting about your colleagues. They've lost one of their own. If not loyalty, then pride will make them come for you,” he corrected.

Again, you smiled at his miscalculation. “I’m a foot soldier, not an avenger; not a super soldier; not one of them.”

"There is no such thing as small people, only small — ”

“Great,” you bellowed. “More wisdom! Your riddles and literature are useless now. You should’ve spent more time studying negotiations while you were incarcerated. Why didn’t you take Bucky? Or Caps little assistant? The US would’ve been at your feet for them back. You could’ve gotten a pardon and a reward!”

“I have no need for a reward,” he spat.

Your chest was heaving, out of anger, out of nerves, but most of all because the man in front of you was once again, impenetrable.

“Or a pardon from the great United States,” he continued, almost in a whisper.

Your eyes snapped to his but he avoided your gaze. He swirled his wine and stared off into space before inspecting you again. Something was missing, something that didn’t make sense.

The glimmer of humanity returned, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He’d been the main orchestrator of his outbreak from jail. He had private homes, apartments, transportation, weapons, cars, everything. He could run forever but he didn’t need you to do it. How was this life any different than what it would be if he was free? He watched you come to the realization and winced as it clicked into place.

“Why am I here,” you whispered, squinting.

He was silent and looked back to the window.

“Zemo,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Funny enough, he followed the order.

His lips moved in silence but words didn’t escape.

“Why did you choose me?”

He pursed his lips in exasperation. It was no secret that he liked having the upper hand but he’d shown you all his cards a moment ago. You wondered why he hadn’t bothered to lie.

“I chose you because they wouldn’t — they won’t.”

He stood up and leaned against the sill, sipping wine in small swigs and staring out at the greenery.

“You would die for your country, Y/N,” he explained. “I find that admirable — heroic even but the problem, for me, is that they would let you.”

“Let me?” You repeated the phrase slowly, trying to understand the point.

He let out a huff. “If you caught a grenade in the name of bettering America, what would happen?”

You cocked your head in question. “I die? Maybe get a Purple Heart?”

“And then what? Would they bat an eye before rejoicing you — celebrating you and your sacrifice? Encouraging others to do the same in your name?” He paused and stared at you.

“No….no they wouldn’t because your death would mean that their wars are working. Another name in the long list of people that they were willing to gift to the god of war.”

“That sacrifice is what I signed up for — it’s my choice,” you explained, confused about where he was taking this.

He nodded and yet made no amends or clarification. The angry veins in his forehead receded and his gaze flitted away like he couldn’t bear to continue. You suddenly wondered if he'd even sent a ransom note, or whatever kidnappers do. The look in his eyes, told you no. The tone of his voice told you that he might not ever.

“Then you are doing your duty as a prisoner of war here, with me.”

He smiled and your anger dissipated. You lunged to grab onto any remaining frayed piece of it but there was nothing left. All those years of training and fighting, all to succumb to an evil man in a fitted turtleneck. You hardened your expression in an attempt to remain vexed.

“Your circumstance could be worse,” he concluded.

“And what of your circumstance?”

Silence ate up space between you. His gaze was set on you once again and then it seemed like you were the only two in this room, this home…the world.

“Better than it has been in a long time, schatzi,” he sighed.

“How so,” you asked, pushing for information.

He shrugged. “I am free and I am alone….with you.”

You winced and shook your head. “Don’t,” you whispered.

His brows furrowed. “In previous interactions, you did not seem to resent my…affections, Y/N.”

Butterflies ravaged your sternum, bringing memories of the night at Sharon’s with it. If it was different, if he had turned over a new leaf, then it would be easier to admit your feelings.

“Is this your version of affection? Holding me hostage?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming to sit next to you, so close you thought he might touch you.

“Let’s not…talk about it,” you whispered, trying to push away the longing in your chest.

“I would like to,” he pushed.

All you could do was stare. The memories should've stayed in Madripoor. It should live in your brief collective drunk past. But you could see that it weighed on him as heavy as it did on you.

“That is fine,” he sighed. “I can talk if you will listen.”

You nodded once. The residual affections plagued you and it was impossible to keep your heartbeat at bay. The thought that he might feel the same was exhilarating and terrifying.

“It was you who assisted me with my escape plan. You who tracked Karli. You who guessed that I’d betray you on countless occasions. You who ensured that we evaded Captain America as long as we did. You who played your part so well that everyone in Madripoor thinks I have taken a wife.”

“Your point,” you hissed, deadpan.

“The super soldier solution does not increase intelligence, as you know. Nothing does. Even all the books in the world cannot alter what is already there. Either you are born with the glorious burden, or you live in ignorant bliss,” he explained.

He reached up and brushed his thumb along your forehead. “I know your burden, Y/N, because I share it.”

A stuttering breath left your chest. Compliments were the easiest forms of manipulation. You’d studied it, known it, resisted it in many years of training but this felt different. Everything he did and said, felt different.

“I do my job Zemo, that’s it.”

“You excel,” he corrected. “You make the rest of your colleagues look like newborns and yet they don’t...value you. Not like I do, Liebling.”

“If this is about the incident at Sharon’s,” you said, recognizing the nickname. “It was a mistake.”

He chuckled. “An optimist would call it a happy accident.”

“I’d call it life-ruining,” you said, trying to decipher the feelings of anger and something warm inside your chest. “If it led you to this.”

“I understand if you hate me,” he explained. “But you should know that living here with your hatred will be akin to breathing, for me, if it means you are safe. Natural and life-bringing.”

Your face gave nothing away but he’d stunned you.

“The evil baron is becoming less and less of a character.”

“They say hate itself is a version of love,” he mused, ignoring your words and staring at your lips.

The word knocked thought and common sense back into your head. This wasn’t love. This was ownership and selfishness. A myriad of terrible things that had tangled you both in this mess. It’d spurred from fascination and proximity but for love to grow, there has to be more. There has to be more good than bad. You looked around the home, owned by the man in front of you. Both beautiful, breathtaking even. But not enough to trade your freedom for.

“How convenient for someone with so many enemies,” you hissed.

His eyes squinted then and the Baron who commanded respect in Madripoor returned. There was this side of him too, you reminded yourself. And it seemed to be winning over the side who loved books and witty conversation.

“Are you my enemy, Y/N?”

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Before this, it wasn’t safe to call him anything other than an enemy but now? He ruined any chance of normalcy or redemption. The question lingered between you and it struck you how close he’d gotten. It would take almost nothing to start a repeat of the night at Sharon’s. But this was a different man.

“I didn’t have to be,” you breathed before breaking eye contact. You gave him no time to answer before fleeing back to your room.

#zemo smut #zemo fic #baron zemo fic #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #zemo x you

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stusbunker · 4 years ago

Text

BGDC: Stay Down

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini-series

Featuring: Female Hunter!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Chuck and Jack

Written for: @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo

Summary: Everything comes to a head. Can she do better this time? Is there anything worth salvaging? Chuck has his own thoughts.

Square filled: In Vino Veritas

Word Count: 2615

Warnings: THIS HURTS, Flashbacks in italics, canon-ish, verbal arguments, that pesky motherfucker HOPE, Chuck is still a dick.

Series Masterlist

Inherit the Earth con’t

It had taken Sam two weeks to get out of Dean what happened, why she left. It was not his proudest moment, but the thought of her in their home made him sick. So, he had shown her the door. He thought he was her hero, he’d never imagined she’d treat him like a piece of meat.

There were some lines that you shouldn’t cross and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive her that.

The drive to Sam and Jack feels like an eternity, even ignoring all traffic laws. The day is bright, but the impala rumbles garishly, a black omen. The static hiss of unmanned radio stations gives her something to do. She diligently sorts the tapes, finds something to fill the void.

Melody as white noise. A band aid on a bullet wound. Dean can’t fix what’s been broken. But she never even tried.

Sam cries at the sight of her. She runs into his arms and he squeezes until he can’t any longer. An ounce of redemption in the ocean of guilt. Sam glances over her head to his brother, he feels the other shoe drop.

“Where’s Cas?” Jack’s obvious question echoes the shame in the new arrivals’ eyes. She holds her breath as Dean explains, like she’s waiting for his story before she can move on. Like he didn’t tell her either.

Sam aches with what he’s allowed to happen. The old internal rage gnashing at his gut as he screams in an abandoned restaurant. They’re what was left behind. All they have left to do is give Chuck what he wants.

His ending, at last.

Dean didn’t tell her what he and Sam were doing. Didn’t need an outside opinion on this one. Instead he asked her to keep an eye on Jack, knowing she’d say yes. He guessed he wasn’t done asking for things. The sight of Chuck makes him see red. But this was it, he’d die with his brother beside him. For the world.

When Chuck blows off their offer, he can’t say that he’s surprised. Disgusted, angry, regretful maybe, but Dean’s not surprised.

The house always wins.

They crash at a motel for the night, everyone gets their own rooms for a change. She knocks on his door just after midnight with a bottled peace offering and her ratty sleep clothes. Dean doesn’t need this right now, but he doesn’t have the energy to be cruel.

“Where’d you get this?” Dean holds the amber liquid up to the light to read the label.

“Liquor store down the street. Don’t even feel bad for taking the five finger discount anymore,” she sighs and drops on the spare bed. “You gonna tell me about your little side mission or do I just get to guess at the outcome?”

Dean cracks the bottle open and sighs. “Bupkis. So, nothing to tell, really.”

She’s watching him for signs of lies, at least she’s not overtly antagonistic with her appraisal.

He offers her the bottle and she shakes her head. ‘Maybe she learned her lesson,’ he thinks and then takes a long pull off the glass rim.

“So, the Empty, huh?” Dean grimaces as she closes her eyes, taken aback.

“What makes you think I want to talk about it?” Her faces pinches and he is just too fucking tired.

“Because you always want to talk about it. It was kind of a thing.” Dean shrugs.

“I came to check on you, dumbass,” she mutters. He sits on his bed, leaves the bottle between them on the nightstand.

He doesn’t stop the sour hum that claws up his throat. He was trying to play nice, but she just had to keep on being the tough guy. “Funny, didn’t think you cared much what happened to me anymore, or how I feel about things at least.”

She has the gall to look surprised, but underneath it he sees she’s almost as tired as he is. “I did not come here looking for a fight. If you’ve got something to say to me--- Maybe you should remember who called who. And who dropped everything to help.”

“And I don’t seem to remember you doing too much of that,” Dean snaps back, turning his head only.

She pauses and Dean feels a little smug that he’s getting to her. But not nearly as much as he should. He cocks his eyebrows, waiting for her obvious answer.

She shoves him back on his proverbial heels instead. “We both know you were just keeping tabs on me. There wasn’t anything for me to do. And then I became a fucking bargaining chip. So screw you, Dean. I’m not here for a performance review.”

“I think we already established, no one is screwing anyone here,” Dean mutters, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Is that what this is about?! You are honestly bringing that shit up now?!”

“So what if I am? Better than acting like it never happened. Playing the fucking martyr,” Dean bites back. “I, at least, own my shit. Maybe you should try it some time.”

“You kicked me out! What was I supposed to do, wait on a damn cross until you finished your case?!” She still doesn’t get it. Dean’s chest is writhing with all the things they never buried.

“It doesn’t matter. We were family. And you threw it all away,” Dean lays it out.

“ME?!”

“Yes, you!” Dean’s standing, hunching over her, unleashing. “You had to make it about your feelings and the crush you had on me when we were kids. Don’t you see? It was more than that. We WERE more than that. But you were lonely, or horny or needed to drown your feelings. And you cheapened everything. And now---- we can’t even have a real conversation.”

It’s like he’s looking at a completely different person. He doesn’t even know her anymore.

“Dean, I---” He cuts her off, this was entirely pointless.

“Don’t, okay? Just--- leave it. I’m gonna get some air.” Dean starts towards the door and slumps, half turned he continues, “Look, I’m glad you didn’t get stuck in the Empty. But Cas did---- And to be clear, this wasn’t ever about rebuilding bridges, it was about stopping Chuck. And we couldn’t manage that.--- But we can’t just go back to the way things were just because we’re all that’s left. The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be--- for everybody.”

The heaviness of wasted effort sinks into his shoulders. Dean closes the door behind him with a gentle click. They both know she’ll be gone before he gets back.

No one left in the entire world and one of my oldest friends still doesn’t want me around. This wasn’t humble pie, it was a goddamn humility infused vat of pie filling. Not a spoon in sight.

Fuck him. Fucking pie metaphors even. Fucking brain.

I leave the damn whiskey, but I really want to throw it against the wall. Dump it in his boots. Bath in it. But I don’t. I give him his twenty paces and I duck out, bypass my room, Jack’s, and head back towards the liquor store. There was a pick-up I might be able to hot wire, if I remember where I saw it.

I mash my lips together to stop their quake, but everything keeps clawing its way up, centering itself in my way. I did this. The one person I needed to believe in me and I fucking ruined it. It was never about Amara, or Cas or him being too good for me. I just wanted what wasn’t there.

The dirtiness slides down and clings to me, like a wet coat. An unwashable stain, that’s all my presence is anymore. I don’t want to be where I am unwanted, unneeded, unuseful. Well, useless really. But, I can’t lose Sam too. Not again and definitely not now. I stop when I spot the truck.

Running isn’t going to mend what running severed.

Know better, do better.

I creep back to the motel and pretend to sleep. There are salt lines dried across my skin when Jack knocks on my door.

The sun still rises. Dean tosses his things in his bag, even the whiskey. Waste not want not. They’re heading home to regroup or to hide or just for something to do. He doesn’t care, but being out in the open feels like he’s leaving them open for an ambush, or Chuck’s prying eyes at the very least.

He knows they’re not safe from that anywhere. It just feels safer somehow.

Dean feels good in motion. Sam’s at his side, while she and Jack sit in their own quiet corners in the back. The looming reality of an empty planet unnoticeable on the backroads. Denial is a helluva drug.

So is hope. Good thing he kicked that one.

When they pull into the garage, he doesn’t even bother grabbing his duffel from the trunk. Dean bee lines for the hard stuff and no one even bats an eye.

Maybe he has always been that predictable. Maybe he no longer cares.

I’m sitting on my bed, flipping through an old photo album when Sam finds me. It’s been three days and the bunker just keeps getting hollower the longer we stay inside. It’s like Chuck is slowly strangling the oxygen from the air.

I’m pretty sure I’ll be the first one to break.

Dean’s too far into a pity party at the bottom of a bottle to be pushed off any one edge and Sam’s too good at keeping on. Of course, Jack is getting by on sheer purity of spirit.

“How you holding up?” Sam’s voice is scratchy, but familiar, I don’t know the last time we actually spoke. I don’t really make eye contact, but shrug all the same.

“You?” I ask, unnecessarily.

He sits down beside me, looking over my shoulder. He huffs out a laugh at one of the pictures.

“I can’t believe you managed to keep all of these,” Sam says as he reaches over and slides his finger tips over the poorly taped Polaroids.

“They were at Bobby’s for a while, but I dug them out of a storage unit after--- well, after I fucked things up with your brother. Figured they were all I had left after that.”

Sam inhales at my bluntness, cocks his head because it hurts to hear, but also doesn’t sit right. What a doof.

“Spit it out, Legs, I know you wanna say something,” I goad.

“I guess I don’t really--- what happened?” Sam’s eternal need to know things going for my weak spot. “I mean, Dean said you tried to put the moves on him, but I guess, why was it so horrible?”

“Well, I actually have some new information on that front,” I offer, turning to face him and placing the memories on the far side of the bed.

Sam’s brows pitch.

“Apparently, I--- cheapened everything. Dean thought whatever our relationship was, was more important than hooking up. And I made it all about me.”

“He said that?” Sam asks in a hush.

“Yup,” I huff out. “And a very firm, ‘there is no rebuilding bridges’,” I say in my best/worst Dean voice.

“Wow.” Sam looks to the ceiling then scratches the back of his head. He doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay, I mean, I did kiss him. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had psyched myself up that entire night, misread everything. I’ve never been the one guys willingly go home with. I shouldn’t have forced it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve had---,” Sam breaks off when he thinks about my asshole ex.

“I’ve had a couple of real winners,” I finish for him. “But it’s okay. Because now we’re the last people on Earth. No one left to break my heart.”

I slap the edge of the mattress and lurch to my feet, ignoring the pain in Sam’s eyes. He just lost Eileen and here I am moping about something that happened over two years ago. Once a shitty friend, always a shitty friend.

“You can keep looking through that if you want. I’m gonna start dinner,” I add at the door.

Sam nods, but he doesn’t reach for the album. He just sits on my bed and chews the inside of his lips.

Jack’s feeling things and Sam’s looking at Dean with insistence, but Dean’s hungover-leeched brain is not putting things together.

“What?!”

Sam grimaces, heavy on the bitch factor. “I think you should be the one to tell her we’ve got a lead. Meanwhile, I’ll start packing the car.”

“Great. Sure.” Dean does little to hide his disdain. Sam doesn’t budge.

He grunts through an explanation as she cleans her gun. Luckily, she doesn’t ask too many questions because the vibrations of his own voice are adding to the throbbing at the base of his skull.

She slips him a bottle of painkillers before ducking into the back seat next to Jack. He doesn’t say thank you, but he knows she knows he’s grateful. They used to be able to do that, not as easily as he and Sam, but silent communication was possible, once.

He gets them on the road before noon, the familiar feel of the wheel in his hands steadies Dean until the pain starts to subside. The soft, yet urgent Jack-P-S guiding their way.

They stop for an inevitable pitstop and Dean gets hit with a pure dose of that damning hope. A white, shaggy dog is laying outside the men’s room and his face breaks into a smile for the first time in weeks. It’s the proof he needed aside from Jack’s fuzzy radar.

Chuck didn’t get everything.

He scoops the dog up and shows him off to Sam, forgetting entirely about his need to pee. He sets the sudden miracle in the backseat, promises there’ll be enough room for him.

That’s when Dean spots Chuck in the field, menacing and knowing. Dean straightens on instinct, facing the threat. As Chuck raises his hand to snap, a gushing voice rushes to Dean’s side.

“Oh, who’s a good boy?!” She doesn’t see their destructive creator waiting in the wings and Dean moves to shield her from Chuck’s gaze.

It’s too late.

Suddenly Chuck is standing beside the impala’s trunk.

“Now, how exactly did I miss you?” Chuck gapes, the disbelief and rage shifting across his once amiable face.

She chokes on her breath, freezes on the spot. Dean sees the power trip flash in Chuck’s piercing blue gaze. He likes when people are fearful, he likes to see them squirm.

“She wasn’t here when you iced everybody, Chuck. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s still just us,” Dean reasons, downplaying her worth.

“Nah, I don’t like it. It’s supposed to be you and Sam. Jack, fine. He’s just a pet anyway. But her? You guys get over your crap and suddenly there’s a whole new generation of thorns in my side. Sorry,” Chuck huffs and snaps his fingers. She disappears faster than Dean could take it in. “Not sorry.”

“What the hell?!” Dean barks. Panic, rage, and overwhelming sadness shoot through him as he dives towards Chuck. But he’s gone before Dean can get there. Falling to the gravel, gracelessly, Dean spins on his knees to see if Sam or Jack are still alive and accounted for. He spots their silhouettes through the convenience store windows. With that little platitude, Dean staggers over to soothe the dog’s sudden whimper. And then it vanishes too.

Maybe Dean never made it out of Hell after all.

Tell me what you think?

Tagging: @peridottea91 @fookinghelljensensthighs @cosicas-cuquis @flamencodiva @akshi8278 @dontshootmespence @smi727 @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @dolphincliffs @spnfamily-j2

Read On: Free Will

#bgdc #dean winchester fanfiction #tell me a story bingo #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean angst #s15 fic #platonic!reader #plussized!reader #reader insert #spn angst #the dog gets dusted #no beta I die on my own sword

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itty-bitty-mess · 1 year ago

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hi uh, i know your bio says requests closed and you dont have to answer this if you dont want to but could you maybe make a short list of ideas to torture a cherry who is extremely clingy and pisses himself whenever his owner isnt on sight?

TW: BITTYBONES AB//USE, BITTY WHUMP, BITTY T*RT//URE

Hi!! Sure thing, i think i can do that no problem since that’s shorter than an actual piece of writing. Here you go, Im going to write this assuming it is the owner punishing the Cherry. Enjoy!

Extra TW: just mindless cruelty tbh.

You are completely done with this little Cherry. Its basically impossible to do anything without causing the annoying little shit break down crying every time you decide to stand up or go to the bathroom. No privacy or time for youself, you havent even picked up that book youve been meaning to read because Cherry keeps pissing his tiny little pants if you “ignore” him for too long. You are so extremely tired and you dont want this useless crybaby anymore, maybe its time to get rid of this worthless little pest once and for all. Perhaps you could…

-Go for the short route and throw him away in any way youd like! Maybe throw him on the dumpster, the trash or flush him down a toilet for a taste of his own medicine!

-Toss him on the blender, making sure he looks directly at you, knowing that all his clinginess was for nothing since his “beloved owner” is about to blend him without an ounce of remorse.

-As shown in my writing, you could glue his mouth shut. The type of glue doesnt matter, be it permanent glue, glitter glue, resin, hot glue, tape, etc, as long as it can keep his annoying little voice from ever escaping his mouth. No more whining or crying! -Toss him in an empty, dark enclosement. For example, a cardboard box left in the attic. Make sure it is extra thick to keep his screams from bothering you. The darker, emptier and smaller, the better. It is essential to play into the Cherry’s fear of the dark and abandonment.

-Constantly threaten to abandon him at every action he does. Make sure he knows he’s disposable and that you wont have a problem with leaving him alone in the cold, cruel streets to fend for himself.

-If the pissing has become constant, it is adviced to cut off the area where the bitty’s waste comes from. You could use a pair of scissors, a knife, or just fill the whole area with some durable glue which will keep the waste from ever leaving his body.

-Contain him in a clear plastic container and place him in front of a screen, then play loud music and graphic horror content to make sure he’s scarred beyond repair. Maybe he will even drown himself with his own waste!

-Maybe remove his legs to keep him from ever reaching you by himself. It will also make it impossible for him to escape :) maybe its better to glue a diaper to his lower body so he wont wet anything other than himself as he pathetically drags himself towards you lol -You could also tape his mouth shut, put him in a little jar and place him somewhere high like a shelf where he can see you while you ignore him and neglect his every need until the day he dusts. Make sure to emphasize how little he matters to you by moving on with your life.

I think thats all i can think of for now, sorry. Hope these are good anyways, thank you for the ask!

#ask #bitty abuse #bitty bullying #bitty torture #bitty whump #bittybones #cherry

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lizhly-writes · 3 years ago

Text

i do not have anything very new for you this week. i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite. i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her. to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long.

Why’s it so fucking loud. Who’s screaming bloody murder in here? Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better. If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed? You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair. It better not be vomit. Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me. “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes. Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really? Wow! Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet. Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar. Did I get run over by a carriage or something too? I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that. Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it. The aesthetic here is… really something. Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now. I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over. No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right. If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me. Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something. Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is. Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose. Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice. Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face. The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes. Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull. It’s a wonder he still has them! Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt. Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him. But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid. You might have a concussion. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding. A lot.”

…Hmm.

“Am I?” I say. I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah. My fingers come away red.

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound. Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed. Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say. “Lil later, then.” After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch. Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though. He ain’t wrong. I know how head wounds work. But those rules on what to do with them? That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please. Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of. So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever. Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand. Real fancy, real nice to look at. Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to. Nice little add-on, this. I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power. Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do. That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.

The face he’s making is probably hilarious. It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that. If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm. How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin. And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth. “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot. I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it? It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order. The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear. Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying. There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for. It should be gone. Is it not physical damage, then? What, is it psychosomatic or something? That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking. “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest. He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently. “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university. Not even close. Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up. Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear. Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here. Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No. I should have noticed that before, too. I don’t pass out. Alcohol fucks me up, sure. But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious. I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now. I didn’t go out drinking last night. No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me. I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead.

But I didn’t get to that part. The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing. That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something. I know I am. It’s pissing me off.

That fuckwad. What did he do? Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight. If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know? You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please. Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say. “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth. Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth. It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked. But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing. There’s a name he whispers: Allison. But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece. I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where? It doesn’t matter. I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building. Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country. An entirely different world.

How long was I out? Am I missing memories? What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started. He can’t have just coincidentally run into me. He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up. It doesn’t matter which. Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet. And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on. Say it. I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen. I’m looking forward to it, actually! Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness. How pretty. How valuable. Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color. Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

#original fiction #my writing #isekai #otome isekai #writeblr #everything #violence #implied violence

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annabethy · 4 years ago

Note

37, percabeth, (maybe teacher au, but you to you lol)

“You could always go nude”/“Lie to me, then.” (Didn’t know which so have both?)

“I have nothing to wear.”

Percy looks up from his position on their bed, unfazed. He was used to her dramatic complaints about having no clothes but based on the fact that his closet was overflowing and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen her wear the same outfit twice at work yet so far, he knew it wasn’t true.

“Help me, please.”

“Close your eyes and grab whatever,” Percy says, glancing back down to his phone. “We have to leave soon, and you’re nowhere near ready, but I am both your boyfriend and coworker who also has to be there, and I will pick you up and drag you out of the apartment—” He cut off immediately, dodging the heel she threw at his head with a laugh. “You look good in anything, and that’s coming from both me and your deeply-involved students, so just pick something.”

Annabeth stomps her foot in front of the closet like a toddler. She fingers her lanyard holding her school ID before giving up and turning around. She makes her way to right in front of Percy, staring down at him for a few seconds before she’s climbing on top of him, forcing him to abandon the phone in his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but he’s laughing as she headbutts him.

“I’m trying to curl up in a ball and die,” she says.

“Not on my lap,” he scolds. His hands smooth down her wild hair, knowing that it’s going to add another ten minutes to their voyage down to the school because she wasn’t going to leave until she looked perfect.

“Yes, on your lap,” Annabeth mumbles from where her face smashed into his chest. She jerks around for a second, trying to get comfortable, and then she’s on her back, Percy’s arm cradling under her and supporting her neck. “If I have to die, I want to do it with you.”

“No one’s going to die,” he says softly. His hand taps her hip, thinking for a moment, before he decides to humor her. “Talk me through the problem. What’s going on?”

“I have no clothes.” The way she says it, Percy would’ve thought someone got hit by a car.

Percy looks to their closet dubiously. “Then why am I looking at about twenty outfits?”

Annabeth pauses her moping to follow his eyes. She blinks as though she didn’t see any of those. “I don’t see anything.”

“You could always go nude,” he proposes.

Annabeth scoffs, bonking him on the head with a random throw pillow she picked up from behind him. “This is a school event, and all of our students will be there. You want them to see me naked?”

“That is a very valid point.” Percy hums. “Tie a bed sheet around yourself and call it a day.”

“You’re useless to me.”

Percy rolls his eyes and rocks her back and forth. He was rushing her to get out of the apartment because he knew she would take longer to get ready, but the reality was that they had some time. They had at least another hour before they absolutely had to be leaving.

Besides, she looked so comfortable in his arms, cradled sideways, body turned in towards him, that he didn’t have the heart to bother her. Especially not when her eyes started to slowly blink and flutter shut.

He lets her drift off to sleep, if only for five minutes. As he looks at her, he starts to notice something that’s been occurring to him a lot more recently.

Every time he looks at Annabeth, he sees more than just her. He sees a little girl with ribbons braided into her hair bouncing around between them. He sees a future with her that he wants so desperately to fulfil. He doesn’t think it’s going to happen — at least not anytime soon — but he knows he wants a life like that. They’re both still so young, and they’re so in love, and they deserve it.

Percy keeps rocking her gently, imagining what it would be like if maybe he was rocking a baby to sleep, or holding his family in his arms while they watched a Disney movie because their child was so excited to see a princess. It’s a life he’s always dreamed of, and now he knows it’s a life he has a chance of making come true.

“You gotta wake up, baby,” he whispers when he looks back at the clock. Somehow, half an hour had passed by. “We really have to leave soon.”

Annabeth stirs slowly. She wipes the sleep from her eyes, and as if on cue, her phone dings from its position in her back pocket. Percy’s hand digs it out for her, holding it for both of them to see, and it’s a message from someone he did not expect.

“Why does Piper have your phone number?”

Annabeth shrugs, taking the phone from him. She types out a response lazily, and Percy can’t hide his amusement at her blatant distain for Piper.

(Piper: where are you

Annabeth: none of your business, peasant

Piper: why can’t you love me?

Annabeth: you are peasant)

A second later, Annabeth’s forcing herself to get out of his arms. The absence of her body heart leaves Percy empty and cold, but it’s replaced by her lips pressing against his momentarily. He tries to grab her and keep her against him for longer, but she makes it a brief kiss, pulling away to head back in front of the closet.

“Does any of this scream I’m a math teacher but not one of those ugly ones?”

“You could wear a blow-up dinosaur costume and you would still scream hot math teacher,” Percy tells her. He goes to her side, picking up one of his favorite outfits of hers and holding it in front of her face. “Wear this.”

The smile that morphs onto Annabeth’s face makes him think that she was planning this the entire time. Her hand had brushed by that specific piece of fabric a million times over, but when it’s him that tells her to wear it, it’s suddenly exactly what she was looking for.

Annabeth Chase was his little troublemaker, never making things easy for him. He doesn’t mind.

And because he’s spent the last half hour thinking about their future kids, he doesn’t catch himself until it’s too late.

“Are you going to be like this with our kids too?”

Annabeth stops what she’s doing to look up at him, and now he can feel the blush start at his neck and travel its way up his face. She doesn’t say anything for a few painful beats, until her jaw is going slightly slack and she struggles for words.

“I— what?”

“Nothing,” he manages, already turning on his heel to walk out the room, out the front door, and to the middle of the ocean to become friends with an individual piece of krill, or something.

“No, tell me!”

Percy stops by the door, not ready to face her, but he knows she isn’t about to let him get away, so he lets himself look at her. Surprisingly, she’s looking at him with a smile.

“You said something about our kids?” she prompts.

“No.”

“Lie to me, then.” She bites her lip and smiles. “Come on. Please?” Now he can see the excitement on her face, and everything comes crashing back to him.

Clear as day, he can see the picture of Annabeth holding an infant on her hip, one hand sorting through their closet — no. It’s the closet of a nursery, filled with dresses and onesies. And Annabeth is dressed in a flowing white shirt and black dress pants to go to work, her blonde hair cascading down her back. He sees a baby that can’t be more than six-months-old with her tiny fingers tangled in Annabeth’s curls, and Annabeth is bouncing her as she finally pulls out a pink romper, but not before throwing him a teasing glance and telling him, there’s nothing for her to wear.

Percy’s heart stops when he imagines Annabeth holding the baby out to him with an endearing smile, asking nicely for him to change the diaper — he’d complain, but he’d still do it because he’d do anything she asked of him. And when their baby is in her outfit for the day, Percy’s kissing Annabeth goodbye by the front door so she could get to the school while he dropped the baby off at his mom’s before meeting her in her classroom.

It’s so real that a part of him thinks he saw a glimpse of his future.

A sudden boost of courage, Percy says, “When we have kids, they’re going to have so many clothes that it’ll look like the closet exploded, and you’re still going to say that there’s nothing to wear, right?”

Annabeth drops the clothes she was holding onto the floor just so she could take a step closer to him. He allows his arms to rest against her waist, locking behind her, and her arms wrap around his neck. “When we have kids?”

And Percy falters. “I mean— I thought you wanted kids?”

“I do,” she assures quickly. “But the way you said it… it was so real, like— kids.”

“Kids,” he repeats. “Do we want to have kids?”

“Eventually,” she tells him. “I’d like to be married first, though.”

Of course she would, and that’s why he loves her. She knows what she wants, and she’ll do anything to get it.

“Get married first,” he repeats again. “We’ve been together for a year.”

“And I really like you. I think a wedding would be a pretty good next step.”

“And then kids,” he adds.

“And then kids.” She looks around, and he thinks maybe she’s looking at their future too. “Let’s check back in two years and see where we’re at,” she says. “Then we can seriously consider this.”

“But you do want kids?” he asks.

“I want kids, if only to tell you that she needs more clothes.”

“You’re using me for my money, woman.”

“You love it.”

And he really does, because it means that he’ll get to have kids with her. The only concern really is that he knows she’s going to buy a million things for that baby, and they’re both teachers that don’t make that much money. Still, they’ll manage. They always do.

“I do love it,” he says, “and I love you.”

Annabeth kisses him once and says, “Here’s to closets and kids and not enough clothes.”

Now that’s something to celebrate.

#percy jackson #percabeth #pjo #annabeth chase #percy jackson and the olympians #anon #asks #my writing #teacher au

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a-smile-hides · 4 years ago

Text

A QUEEN - I.R.

Sum: Best friends Ivar and Y/N lie in a meadow not far from Kattegat. In your childish innocence you share your dream future. But in life, you can’t always have your dreams…

Warnings: mentions of an abusive relationship, fluff, some time jumps

A/N: Because I am in need of a cute and soft Ivar… He is a bit out of character but who doesn’t like a cute Ivar moment. This one is based on the “who would you be”-scene from Shrek. I just love that moment. Furthermore, this one is long. Like too long. But as you may know, I’ve been sick this past time, and I figured out that writing while you’re sick is impossible… Because then you get this. Haha, but still: enjoy! xxx

---

The sun tried her best to shine through the grey clouds that prevented her from warming the ground. Not that it bothered the two children who were lying on the grass not far from their hometown. The cold wind that blew through the grass tickled their faces, but they stayed where they were, looking at the grey sky above them.

Both were exhausted from running towards this place. Well… at least one of them was exhausted from running, the other had to crawl his way through the mud and dirt to get to this meadow. But he didn’t mind. Ivar was used to this. For some reason, the Gods had decided to let him be born with two useless legs. Two legs that prevented him from walking or running. They held him back from standing up tall like any other child. Only some time ago, his brothers would pull him through the streets with a small carriage, making him go as fast as the wind. But now he had become too big for that. Now he had to drag himself to the places he wanted to go.

Next to Ivar, lay a girl. Only a year younger than him.

Your eyes closed, a thin layer of sweat still visible on your forehead. Your chest went up and down with every deep breath you took. When you woke up that morning, you had almost forgotten about your best friend and had run as fast as your little legs could carry you from your home to this beautiful meadow. And when you arrived, Ivar was sitting in the middle of it. His eyes starred daggers at you and his arms were crossed over his chest. Completely drained of your energy, you had lifted one finger, silently telling him to wait for a moment so you could recover your breath.

“Work on your condition, girly.”

Playfully, you had rolled your eyes at the young boy who now smirked up at you. He had given you that nickname ever since the two of you met. It had been a very sunny day, and your mother had just given you a gorgeous new dress. You were over the moon with it and had run through the streets of Kattegat to show it off. Twirling and dancing around. Until you bumped into a boy that was only a few years older than you, called Ubbe. He was pulling along a carriage with a small boy inside of it. You had fallen on the ground due to the colliding with Ubbe, making your new dress a bit dirty. And apparently, that was the most hilarious thing the young boy in the carriage had ever seen. His loud laughs echoed through Kattegat as you stared back at him with an angry scowl on your face. Brushing the tears out of your eyes, you had stood up and cleaned the dust of your dress. But before you could scream at that small boy, your mother had intervened. She knew who you were talking to. And she knew better than to let her daughter speak her mind to the youngest prince of Kattegat. To the queen’s favourite son. She had grabbed you around your waist and lifted you up, taking you with her while you kept repeating that the small boy was a ‘meany’ and that you were wearing ‘the perfect dress’. The small boy, who you later found out was called Ivar, had only snickered, before his brother had dragged him off to his other brothers.

You had bumped into Ivar a few times after your first meeting. And each time it ended with him snickering and you screaming that he was ‘a meany’. And even thought it didn’t look like you were friends – with all the bickering that kept going on – for some reason the Gods made sure your paths crossed.

Now the two of you lay beside each other, looking at the grey clouds. Ivar had picked some of the grass around him and had spread the pieces all over your hand. Then he started rubbing the pieces over your skin, ignoring your sounds of confusion. Even when you had asked him why he was doing that, he didn’t stop. He merely shrugged his shoulders and answered: “I am a prince. I can do what I want”. But eventually, Ivar became bored and just rested his hand on yours.

While Ivar was close to falling asleep, your mind was full of thoughts. Smiling up at the sky, you decided to share them with Ivar. “If tomorrow you woke up… and you would be someone else. Who would you be?” you wondered out loud.

Ivar groaned out, “No one.”

“No really. If you could pick and just be whoever you want to be. Who would you be?” You urged him, looking to your side. The young boy next to you groaned again, opening his eyes.

“It is impossible for that to happen. So, I would still be myself.” He grumbled.

You gasped dramatically, before rolling onto your side. “You are no fun at all.”

Ivar ignored your comment and continued staring at the clouds above him.

“I would be a princess. Then I can wear pretty dresses!” You admitted dreamily, “I love my daddy and mommy. But I don’t want to be a farm girl. Hvitserk says they are stupid.” You frowned.

Ivar snarled, looking at your saddened face as you mentioned what his brother said. He felt anger creep up on him and he groaned again.

“Hvitserk is stupid.” He said through his teeth.

You giggled at his words. “You cannot say that! He is your brother!”

At that, the young boy sat up, looking at you over his shoulder. A smirk was plastered on his round face. “I can say what I want, girly.”

---

The sun was shining brightly as Ivar crawled his way to the only place that never failed in calming him down. The meadow had changed over the years. There were more flowers, the grass had grown a lot and it looked like one of the little trees – that randomly grew in the middle of it – had grown a lot. Ivar was grumbling under his breath, thinking about his brother Sigurd and how, one day, he might actually throw an axe in his direction. As he neared the meadow, his eyebrows shot up once he saw you sitting in the middle of it, next to the group of trees. Never had you arrived earlier than him.

The meadow had been your and Ivar’s special place. A place where the both of you could complain about the lives you lived. Where the both of you could be who you truly wanted to be. A place where you could dream big.

And each time, Ivar was the one who had to wait until you finally arrived. But here you were. Playing with a flower, plucking its petals off, and letting them fall into your lap. You hadn’t noticed him yet, it seemed as if you were lost in your thoughts.

“Hey girly!” Ivar yelled; the smirk grew wider on his face as he saw how you jumped up at the sound of his voice.

You let the flower fall down in your lap as you saw him near you, crossing your legs you leant forward a bit.

“There must be something terribly wrong with you” Ivar said once he was beside you. You watched how he placed his legs in front of him, leaning back on his arms. You sighed out, shaking your head a bit. Every time, the stupid man saw right through you.

“Got stuff on my mind.” You breathed out.

Ivar nodded his head, looking in front of him. The wind blew softly against his skin, cooling him down. As Ivar looked back at you, he saw how the wind let some hair escape out of the braid your hair was in. Ivar rolled his eyes, grabbing the clip keeping your hair together and forcefully pulling it out.

Your hand shot towards his to stop him, but it was too late.

“Iva-ar!” you complained, your voice sounding a bit higher as the hair clip pulled some of your hair out. Ivar frowned for a moment, but when he saw you roll your eyes at him, he smiled cheekily and dropped your hair clip back in your lap.

“You look better like this” The two of you mumbled simultaneously. Ivar’s eyebrows perked up.

“Always the same excuse.” You muttered, shaking your head. “One day your hair will be too long, and you will have to braid it too. Then you will know how annoying this is.”

Ivar ignored you and simply smirked back at you. You let out a breath and lay down on the soft grass. Chuckling, Ivar started picking at the grass and letting the green pieces fall down on your hand. But before he could start rubbing the little green bits over your hand, the same question you always asked him, but never really got an answer to, stopped him.

“Why do keep doing that?”

Ivar breathed out, watching you closely. Your eyes were closed, and a small frown was evident on your face as you hoped now you would get a real answer.

“You… You got soft skin.”

His words made you scoff. You didn’t believe his words for one bit. But you knew you weren’t going to get the truth out of him right now. “It’s not going to stay that way if you keep doing that.” With a groan you shook the grass of your hand, and lifted both of your hands towards your face, shielding your eyes from the sun. The grin on Ivar’s face made you almost roll your eyes again.

Ivar turned away from you. Placing his hands behind him to support himself, he breathed in deeply as he finally took in the beautiful sight of the meadow around him. The sun warmed his face and calmed his nerves. The hate and irritation about his brother slowly melted away.

“My father wants me to get married.”

Ivar felt his body freeze. His blood ran cold, his heart clenched. Marriage?

“To whom?” He asked.

You chuckled dryly. “Does it matter?”

Ivar turned around. You were still lying down, your eyes closed tightly. To anyone else, you might have seen at ease, but Ivar saw the pain you felt. He knew you had your eyes closed to hide the tears that were building behind them away from him.

“It does.”

“I do not know.” You said quietly, “Father has said that he will find me a suitable husband. One that could bring us all a lot of wealth.” You sniffed, lowering your voice to mimic your father’s. “One that I would bring happiness too when I give him children.”

Ivar coughed. His gaze dropped to the ground. He felt anger rise inside him. As if a beast was hidden deep within him that slowly crawled his way out. Rumbling in rage. When he heard you sniff, he looked back at you. He sighed out, calmed himself, and lay down beside you.

“You don’t want to get married?”

You laughed at him, rubbing your eyes. “What do you think?”

Ivar looked up at the clear, blue sky above him. His mind was blank. The words that had left your mouth had numbed him, stopping him from thinking of a solution. Or anything at all for that matter. The young man just lay beside you. Unmoving. Not talking. His chest went up and down with every steady breath he took. But his heart hurt as he heard your shaky breath and the sobs you couldn’t hold back. Eventually, he turned his head to the side. As your teary eyes met his, he took a deep breath in.

“Tell me…” he whispered, “If tomorrow you would wake up and not be you anymore… who would you be?”

You chuckled at his words. “Yeah, as if someone could change reality...”

Ivar grunted in frustration at your answer.

You snickered, looking up at the sky above you. Closing your eyes, you grinned. “A princess”

---

Time went by. Summer turned into winter. And winter into summer again. Many things changed. Your father eventually did find a ‘suitable’ husband in the son of the smith. A much older man who eagerly accepted you as his bride. You had to forget about your wishes and dreams in order to become the perfect bride for your husband.

Your marriage made it harder for you to keep up with Ivar, who slowly became more important. In time, Ivar was pulled out of your life by all the things that happened around him. His father Ragnar made a reappearance and shared his wish to return to England. And to your horror, Ivar went with him. This led to many months without seeing the man who you once called your best friend. For when he had returned from his trip to England, the sons of Ragnar found out their father had been killed by King Aelle. And they wanted revenge.

Your husband always kept you inside the house, never allowing you to leave. A true wife should stay inside and make her husband good food, he said. But still you tried your best to hear the stories. How they all got the revenge they wanted and how Ivar had shown great tactical skill. But also, how the brothers lost their bond and how an argument led to the death of Sigurd by the hand of Ivar. You heard about his conquering of a city called York. And how eventually, Ivar went into battle for the title of King.

A title that he now proudly owned.

It had been a few days since Ivar rode his chariot in Kattegat and proclaimed himself as King. Making everyone bow to him as he screamed at the people from on his chariot. From then on, everyone in Kattegat had been very cautious in everything they did. They didn’t know what to expect of their new King. The youngest son of Ragnar… a crippled man sat on the throne. How could they know if he was going to be a great king or not?

It was clear that your husband shared these doubts. He didn’t like the man one bit. With every opportunity that he got, he said something hurtful about “that crippled bastard”. From the moment he got out of his bed, he laughed at the thought of a thrall having to lift him out of his. As he walked to the table and drunk from his cup, he gloated how the new King would be never able to just roam around freely to wherever he wished. And as he looked outside to the harsh ground, he almost choked while laughing, thinking how Ivar must make his way through that. You had learnt very quickly that it was better to bite your tongue on moments like that, instead of speaking up and defending your old friend. In fact, you had learnt not to speak against him at any moment. Every time you tried to say something, and he did not like it, a handprint would be visible on your face for at least two days.

Even though your lovely husband hated the king, an opportunity to drink and eat without having to pay anything wasn’t something he would let slide. Which is why the man desperately wanted to go to the Great Hall. King Ivar had invited everyone so he could share his vision and his plans. To your surprise, your husband had allowed you to come along. Maybe it was because of the weird stares he had gotten when he showed up alone at the last feast or because of all the mead he had drunk already... You didn’t care. It had been the first time since long you had been outside.

You stood in a corner of the Great Hall with your drunk husband next to you, leaning against the wall. Everyone was laughing and drinking, forgetting about their worries. People passed you, patting your husband on the back – which made him lean even more against the wall – and nodding their heads at you. You only smiled a bit, averting your eyes as a blond thrall passed, filling your husband’s cup for the fifth time. It wasn’t because of his drinking that you averted your eyes, but for the hungry stare he gave the young girl, who cowered away in fear as soon as his cup was filled. The clearing of a throat made you and your husband look up. Your father and mother stood beside you. Your father looked disgusted by your husband’s behaviour while your mother’s eyes were only focused on you. Her worried gaze burned. You turned your body a bit, so your right cheek and the mark on it, was shielded from her. But you knew she had seen it. Giving them both the most convincing smile you could make, you took your husband’s arm, pulling him away from the wall he was leaning against.

“Mother. Father. It is great to see you both.” It had been a long time you had seen them both. Not being able to go out of the house meant not seeing anyone. Not even them.

“It is great to see you as well, dear.” Your mother said weakly. The man beside you didn’t address them, his eyes still followed the blond thrall serving as many people as she could. Before your father could say something about his wandering eyes, a silence fell over the Great Hall. King Ivar had arrived.

Everyone’s eyes were on the king who slowly made his way to his throne. His brother Hvitserk right behind him. It was now that you saw that he wasn’t crawling on the ground. No. The boy who you had grown up with was walking! With a crutch and with small breaths that showed the effort he had to make; the new king walked to his throne. As he sat down on it, a smirk was plastered on his face. He looked confident and proud of what he was able to do. He placed his crutch next to his brother, who sat down on the ground next to the throne. His gloved hand went over his hair, which was braided beautifully, and looked around. He clasped his hands together, startling some people.

It was then that he started speaking. He shared his dreams with Kattegat. His plans about raiding. His plans of war. And with his big speech he skilfully made the last people who doubted him, believe in him. One for one, the frowns melted away and more people expressed their belief in him openly. Raising their fists in the air as they shouted out “King Ivar!”

Grinning, Ivar asked them to quieten down. “For now, … Let us feast!” He chuckled, lifting the cup his brother offered him into the air. “Skal!”

The word echoed through the Great Hall. Men and women lifted their cups in the air, some spilling their drinks because of their enthusiastic movements. The cheers made your husband’s head perk up. During Ivar’s speech he started leaning against you, the mead had affected him enough to make him drowsy. But apparently, the prospect of more drinks had awoken him. Before you could hold him back, he had left your side. Leaving you to go and find that poor, blond thrall. Your mother and father stayed with you, both looking at you with saddened eyes. But again, your father was interrupted right as he wanted to speak. This time by Hvitserk, who had walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Little Y/N!” he laughed out, lifting you up in the air. You shrieked as he did, causing a few people turn their heads at you. A blush covered your cheeks.

“Let go of me, you stupid!” you whispered-shouted, hitting his hands until he released you. He smirked down at you, before turning towards your parents.

“It has been a long time since we have seen each other. But unfortunately, we must catch up later…” he said smiling, “If you don’t mind, I am going to abduct her and take her to the king.”

Before your parents – or you for that matter – could utter a word, Hvitserk had lifted you over his shoulder and walked to where Ivar was sitting. You struggled against him, kicking your legs, and hitting his back to make him release you. But it didn’t bother him. When you were younger, Hvitserk would do this to you all the time. If Ivar wanted to see you and he could not find you, he would command his brother to look for you and bring you to him. And instead of asking you, Hvitserk would always lift you up and carry you to his little brother.

Once he had brought you to Ivar, Hvitserk finally set you down on your feet.

It was as if he could read your mind and see what you were planning to do. The moment your feet touched the ground, you turned, wanting to get away as soon as possible. But Hvitserk grabbed your waist, preventing you from running away. With a sly smirk, he cleared his throat loudly to get Ivar’s attention.

But the young king didn’t look up. His eyes were scanning the crowd, a proud look on his face.

“Ivar” Hvitserk hissed. Still, his brother didn’t look.

Becoming frustrated by Ivar’s lack of response, Hvitserk yelled out his name. Which – finally – made Ivar look towards his brother, annoyance clearly written on his face. But that annoyance melted away as soon as his eyes fell on you. His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth parted a bit. Blinking a few times, the young king composed himself, lifting his hand to signal you closer.

Licking your lips, you stepped towards your new king.

“We meet at last.” His voice was light and raspy, but his tone was strong. The young boy who always lay beside you on the grass, complaining about his older brother had changed into a proud and seemingly fearless man sitting on the throne of Kattegat.

Intimidated, you nodded at him.

“Are you shy? Or scared?” Ivar grinned. His finger traced the edge of his cup as he chuckled out: “Girly?”

The nickname made you look up, all the fear and timidity melted away. Resting your hands on your hips, you looked at him challengingly.

“As if… meany.”

Ivar snorted, rolling his eyes. Behind you, Hvitserk quietly sneaked away from the conversation. A smirk plastered on his face. He knew that you and Ivar had a lot of catching up to do.

Ivar looked back over the people drinking and feasting in his name. His eyebrow lifted for a second as his eyes met one man in the corner of the Great Hall. Ivar lifted his cup, nodded his head lightly and drank from his cup. You watched with a small smile on your face how the man nodded his head back in respect.

“It seems that you have finally become who you always wanted to be, king Ivar” you sighed out. Your words made him frown, his cup hovering just in front of his lips. He raised one of his eyebrows and licked his lips.

“I’ve never told you who I wanted to be.” He said, leaning forward.

You grinned. “You didn’t need to. I’ve known you my whole life, Ivar.”

Ivar smirked; his hand rubbed his face. It is true that he wanted to sit here, on this throne. To be someone. To be respected. To show everyone that he is not just a stupid cripple who crawls in the mud. However, it didn’t feel like his dream was completed. Something was still missing. Ivar looked to his left, where a smaller and empty throne stood. Awaiting Ivar’s future queen.

Ivar blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. His eyes scanned your body. The dress you wore was ragged and filthy. The dirt on your red and scarred hands betrayed you hadn’t escaped the farm life you were destined to. Your hair, for once, was down. No additional braids, no clips, or any other accessories. Just the way he liked it. But it looked messy. It had lost the shine Ivar was familiar with.

“I must say you have looked better…”

A laugh mixed with a scoff passed your lips. “Charmer.”

Ivar’s eyes stared back at you intensely, until his attention was pulled away from you by a large figure stumbling his way to the two of you. A frown appeared on his face once the man had placed his hands around your waist. Slowly, they travelled upwards towards your breast. Where one stayed and squeezed the flesh as the other kept going up towards your face. Slowly, he ran his finger over your ear, tapping on it as he laughed evilly. The sickening grin coated on his face showed how he didn’t feel ashamed of his behaviour. Your hands shot up towards the man’s, hastily pulling them away from your body. But the man fought back and put his hands back around your waist, where they stayed with your hands resting on top of his. It was then that Ivar saw the tiny silvery brown band that decorated your finger. Ivar clenched his jaw, his hand tightened around the cup he was holding.

“Wife,” The hairs on the back of your neck stood up once you heard your husband slur his words in your ear. The smell of mead on his breath made you almost gag, “Why are you still here?”

The man behind you hummed as your eyes fell down on the ground, your hands tightened around his wrist as he slowly rubbed his hands over your stomach. Even through his drunken voice, one could still hear the threat behind his words.

“You are not to be here. Leave now.” He hissed in your ear.

The whisper made your blood run cold and nod your head. Without looking back at your husband, you unhooked yourself out of his hold. Casting one last look at the man in front of you through your eyelashes, you turned around and walked as fast as you could out of the Hall. Ivar stared at the two of you dumbfounded. The girl he once knew would have never let anyone command her what to do.

Your husband snorted as he saw you hurry away, his tongue running over his teeth while his eyes scanned the hall for the blond thrall that caught his eye earlier. As Ivar realized your husband was staring at one of his thralls, he threw his cup at the man’s feet, bringing the man’s attention back to him. The two men looked each other dead in the eye. A silent battle going on between them. But before Ivar could question him, the man smiled and bowed mockingly, before darting after his wife.

Ivar glared at the man’s back. The sickening feeling that hadn’t left him since the man had stepped forward, made him feel worried about your wellbeing. Without looking up, he lifted his hand, urging one of his guards closer with his finger.

He wasn’t going to let this pass.

---

The meadow had never been more comforting than now. And yet, it felt horrible to be there. The long grass itched. The ground was cold and wet. And the soft wind that blew in your face made the stinging pain in your cheek only worse.

A sob passed your lips, making you let out a little cry as another wave of pain went through your body. Even after all this time, it seemed as if your body still hadn’t gotten used to the pain.

He had never been so mad. Never before had he been so violent. His anger fuelled by the mead he had drunk the entire evening. He had slurred his words, screaming about you acting as the king’s personal whore in front of everyone in Kattegat. As the favourite plaything of his older brother. He had pushed you around while shouting how you were the biggest burden in his life.

His words still echoed through your mind.

The loud noise of something falling down on the wet ground made you look up alarmed. You looked around, trying your best to search for the source in the darkness around you.

“It appears that you are scared of me after all… girly.” The raspy voice made you drop your head between your shoulders. You should have known better than to come here.

“Never of you, meany.” You murmured.

Ivar shook his head, lowering his body to the ground so he could crawl his way to you, abandoning his crutch in the mud. With a small groan that he tried to keep hidden from you, he placed his legs in front of him, breathing out once he felt the pain slowly leave his body.

“I have talked with your husband.” He started; his voice dropped slightly as he mentioned your husband. “I must say that you have made an interesting choice.”

You looked ahead of you while you forcefully ripped out some of the grass and flowers around you. “We don’t always get the chance to make a choice, Ivar.”

Ivar turned his head towards you. His jaw clenched as he heard the venom in your voice. The soft and gentle tone you had used before was now gone. Your brows were furrowed and your eyes red from crying. Your cheeks were stained with tears and marks from when you furiously tried to wipe them away. His heart clenched.

“What is it that happened to you?” Ivar asked gently.

The question made you halt your movements and look down. In your lap lay all kinds of different coloured petals. All of them ripped apart and scattered over your dress. As tears filled your eyes again, you pressed your lips on each other, turning your head away from him.

Ivar bit his lip and frowned at your behaviour. Frustration piled up inside of him, and the want to shout and demand you to answer grew stronger and stronger.

“I am trying here, woman.” He grunted. “This stubborn, stupid side of yours is not helping.”

You flinched at his words. An image of your husband standing over you, his hands balled into fists and his voice screaming one insult after the other, crossed your mind. Pulling your knees up, you wrapped your hands around them.

“Leave, Ivar” you mumbled.

The man beside you breathed out a dark chuckle. His voice became very low and cold. “You are demanding your king to leave?”

You closed your eyes, laying your head on your knees. You nodded your head once.

Ivar’s hands slowly turned into fists as he took in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes were closed while he pressed his nails in the palm of his hands. The reaction you gave him was not the one he aimed for. With each passing second it seemed as if you hated his presence more and more. This was not what he had in mind…

Ivar picked at the grass under his fist. At first, he ripped it out quite harshly, the sound making you hide your face even more, but with each movement his anger slowly faded away.

Then, an idea suddenly came to his mind.

Ivar looked down at his fist for a second before raising it above your hand. One for one, he dropped the grass on your hand. You raised your head, watching how some fell off your hand onto the ground. Once he had no pieces left, Ivar traced the empty space between the few pieces that had not fallen off your hand with his finger.

And you couldn’t help it. A faint chuckle passed your lips that blew the remaining grass off your hand.

“Honestly… Why is it so fascinating for you to do that?”

The question had left your mouth before you could reconsider thinking about it. But the thought had been burning in your mind for years. Ever since you were little, Ivar made it a habit to rub grass over your hand. Always ignoring your soft breaths of discomfort or the angry red marks that appeared on your skin afterwards. But never had he actually given an explanation for his odd behaviour. Ivar’s hand froze at your question, his eyes focused on your hand. He seemed uncertain whether to answer or not and just shrugged his shoulders.

You shook your head at him. “You once claimed it was because you were a prince. Then my ‘soft skin’ was the real reason why. What is it, Ivar? Do not lie to yourself. You know why.” You paused, watching how the fearsome king from a few moments ago changed back into the young boy with whom you shared all your secrets. “Do not lie to me.”

Ivar swallowed and whispered “Because… then I know you are really beside me.”

His answer made you furrow your brows. As he retracted his arm and turned his body as far away as he could from you, you quietly crawled in front of him. Bending down a bit so you could look him in the eye.

“What do you mean?”

With reddened cheeks, Ivar mumbled his response. “You say you know me, Y/N. So, you know why.” You closed your eyes, desperately hoping he was not going to say that one word. “I am a cripple. I knew it would not take long before the two of us would drift apart.” He licked his lips as you narrowed your eyes at him. “It was not the way I believed it would happen, I must admit that… Even when you now sit beside me, I still doubt it that you will stay with …” He trailed off, his focus no longer on his words or the aching feeling in his chest. But now on the big mark on the right side of your face. Your cheek had a mix of purple and blue while your chin and temple had a very angry red colour to them.

Ivar felt the anger building up inside of him again. His nose flared and a fire was evident in his eyes. Your eyes widened; you knew what he had seen. You turned your head to the side, but Ivar grabbed your chin. As you flinched at his harsh grip, Ivar let go of your chin. His hand now simply rested on your left cheek, his eyes pleading with you not to turn away from him.

“Don’t” Your mouth curved up into something that resembled a smile while you stared down at your nails, picking at the dirt under them.

“Tell me.” He demanded. His voice was soft, yet firm. “Who?”

But you remained silent. And the silence was enough an answer for the king before you. However, he wanted to hear you say it.

“Who… Y/N?” His tone was gentler this time, but still demanding.

It took you a moment to gather your courage and Ivar started to fear he had lost his old friend. This was not the young powerful girl he grew up with.

“The man whom I must call my husband.”

Ivar had almost not heard you through the sobs you desperately tried to hold back. What he had figured out already was now confirmed. He dropped his hand and chuckled darkly.

“I should have killed him the moment he came forward and dared to touch you in my presence. Even if he is your so-called husband.”

Your eyes were closed as his words brought back that awful, burning sensation your husband’s hands left wherever he touched you. Your stomach turned. Your head felt light. Yet somehow, the words and the hateful tone in Ivar’s voice didn’t faze you. It didn’t scare you nor make you fear for your husband’s life or an outsider’s reaction. It only made you chuckle. Ivar watched amused as the small and light chuckle slowly turned into laughs. And the monster inside of Ivar purred as he saw a smile appear on your face that for once wasn’t forced.

“I wish I could say that you are mad, Ivar.” You shook your head at him and looked deeply into his blue eyes. “But I can’t.”

His eyes went from yours to the bruise on the side of your face. Ivar clicked his tongue. A thought crossed his mind that made a knowing smile form on his lips.

“Remember who you always wanted to be?”

Biting your lip, you looked to the side, where you and Ivar used to lay in the grass. Two innocent children lying next to each other. One brooding and one dreaming about the perfect future. It seems so long ago now… Nodding your head at him, you laughed. “A princess”

Ivar smirked and stretched out his hand. “I cannot make you a princess, Y/N.” You laughed at his statement, nodding your head in agreement. He raised his eyebrow, making you smother your laugh and place your hand in his. Very lightly, he brushed his fingers over your ring finger. The old silvery brown ring reminded him how you were imprisoned in an unhappy marriage. Ivar shook his head, carefully sliding the ring off your finger. “But I can make you a queen. Leave your marriage and become a queen” He asked. His voice was quiet but strong, the question sounded more like a demand.

“Become my queen.”

#vikings #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar x reader #ivar ragnarsson imagines #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar fluff

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siimjaeyun · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: Beast from Below

Synopsis: When five teens set their hearts on mystery solving, maybe they'll just uncover something that's a lot bigger than fake masks.

Series Masterlist

‐----------------------------------

"Another mystery solved!" Five palms met at the center before the metal bars behind them clasped shut; once more did they find themselves enclosed at the city jail.

"Time and time again. Must I remind you kids about not interfering with city affairs."

The man pinched his nose bridge before giving them a piercing look through the cage. They expected nothing less from Chief Kim: always bossing them around like toddlers and painting them as fools.

"Just fantastic. Can't wait for another pep talk from my father." Heeseung fell to the ground dramatically as he looked at his four friends. This occurrence of the city jail never fazed them, and at this point, neither did the fear of being punished by his father.

A couple minutes elapsed before Chief Kim made his way back to the five teens in the cell. With one movement, the door bolted open, allowing them to go home at once.

"Wow. Only an hour wait. New record." Sunoo mischievously smiled and hung his shoulder over Jungwon, his shorter companion.

"Beats that time we spent the night." Sunghoon only scoffed at the duo, no longer amazed by the words that came out of their mouths.

"Heeseung! Y/n! Hurry up won't you!" You and heeseung strutted through the doors of the city building. You knew heeseung would be faced with utter disappointment from his father, head of the city, but you knew he could care less at this point.

"Park y/n!" You hated the voice trailing in front of you. Your eyes slowly made their way to meet your brothers, a teen boy who's purpose in life was to delight others and be the puppet of any tiger parent.

"Go away Jay." You shoved him in the opposite direction and tried to make your way into the van. Frankly, he was the last person you wanted to see.

"Mom and dad asked me to pick you up. Jungwon and Sunoo as well." He eyed the youngsters goofing off in the background, and when they met his gaze, they walked off the van.

"Catch you guys later okay?" Sunghoon and Heeseung drove off in the mini-van, leaving the four in silence.

You said nothing and sat in the back seat of the old Honda. The smell of pine was obvious, and the stack of prep books in the back seat didn't faze you either.

Jay dropped off Sunoo and Jungwon at their home, and later made his way back to your own.

"It wouldn't hurt to stay out of trouble y'know." He finally broke the silence and looked at you through the car mirror.

"I could care less about what you think. Plus, city jail visits from mysteries beat being my parent's trophy any day."

-------

"You should've seen our parents look. I think they don't bother with grounding us anymore." Jungwon continued to chat about the lack of punishment he and Sunoo received.

"Mine don't mind at this point. They told me to might as well study forensics if I'm into silly mysteries." Sunghoon laughed a bit and scanned the tension of the van.

"Better than whatever my father, the head of the city, had to say. He just laughed and insisted I be a role model." Heeseung added to the conversation as he drove the kids in the van. Being designated driver had its perks and its downs.

"I think I win considering Jay fucking perfect Park had to try to give me the 'stay out of trouble' peptalk." You crossed your arms and entertained yourself with the surrounding buildings. Trees, children running, a giant monster coming out the sewer.

"Heeseung!!" Abruptly, a pile of fog escaped from the sewer, blinding Heeseung who tried his best to stop the van from crashing.

"Looks like a mystery has arrived." Once Heeseung was safely able to stop the car, the rest of you left the van as well.

Small droplets of water dancing were heard from the ground below. The five of you climbed down the ladder, stepping with caution of course.

You trailed off with Sunghoon and let the bright light of your flashlights illuminate the cave.

"Why are we in a cave?" Confusion struck your minds, there was supposed to be a river of sewage water. Why you had stepped foot on a cave tricked your minds.

The teens continued to explore the cave, sharp rocks and pools of water were at your feet. As the light continued to roam the black and gray walls of the cave, a golden object shined from afar.

"Sunghoon, look." You picked up the object and your hands met with a locket. The locket opened and revealed a photograph of a young couple, probably of your same age. Before you could ponder more about the couple, a terrified shriek left Sunoo's mouth.

"What's wrong!??" Heeseung followed Sunoo's fingers and he came face to face with petrified bodies.

Three workers were frozen in a pile of green goop.

-----

"So?" Jungwon asked the officer with signs of intriguement, but he was not interested in the young one's questions.

"Dad." You turned and saw Mr.Lee make his way to Heeseung, grasping his shoulders once he had arrived.

"Do us a favor and go to school." He left almost immediately, and you were scared about what would happen next.

Turns out that 'next event' meant running away with one of the green creatures.

When you had arrived at school, Sunghoon and Heeseung plopped the green creature onto the table of Professor Kang, the science teacher.

"You think you can help?"

Professor Kang placed the stethoscope around his neck and began inspecting the creature.

"Well, it's alive; I'll tell you that." He continued to pace around the table, hesitant in informing the group about the odd human in front of them.

"Hey, sorry to bother you Professor Kang, but um...I was hoping to submit my form." A boy stood awkwardly by the door with a thin piece of paper in his hand. His black hair covered most of his forehead, and the only visible part was his shy smile.

"Come in, you weren't interrupting anything. In the meantime, I suggest you go off with this thing." Professor Kang turned his way to address the newcomer in the room; the boy responded and followed him to his desk.

"Quickly, quickly, I've got a class to teach!" Professor Kang left the room once attending to the stranger's needs.

"You heard the man, lift with your legs." You giggled slightly as you saw Sunoo hesitate at touching the green slime.

"You guys need help?" The voice behind you observed quietly, and almost gasped slightly when seeing what exactly you were trying to carry.

"It's fine, but thanks." Heeseung threw the body over his shoulders and made his way out the door.

"You're Jake right?" Sunghoon immediately began a conversation with the young boy, and didn't see his friends waiting by the door.

"Wanna come?"

The three of you wanted to kill Sunghoon for inviting a stranger to these sort of things, but it was merely too late and the unknown boy looked too nice to shoo away.

"Sure, beats sitting through Professor Min's lecture."

Jake trailed behind the trio as he chatted with Sunghoon. Heeseung through the van spotted the newcomer, and was slightly confused considering no one had ever tagged alonged.

"We've got a monster to catch, hurry and get in the van!" You opened the door with force and welcomed Jake into the back.

"This is Jake by the way, he's joining us for today." Sunoo introduced Heeseung to Jake, letting his mouth ramble on about the few details he had already learned.

"Where to captain?"

"RM's studio of course." The rhythm of the music played quietly in the background, and they all found comfort in having Jake around, they didn't expect themselves to be given their history.

"So you guys travel in a van solving mysteries?"

"Pretty much. We get thrown in the city jail occasionally." Jungwon mentioned the detail nonchalantly and expected Jake's natural surprise.

------

It was late that night when the group gave back the body to Professor Kang.

The teacher's steps were audible as he trailed back and forth between one table to the next. He became startled at the sudden noise of the janitor mopping in the hallway. He peered outward and went back to his work.

Before long, and with an audible gasp, his body was now entrapped and enclosed in the similar green goop on the ceiling.

------

"It's all my fault!" Heeseung banged his head on the table and looked at his friends with a sad expression.

"Don't say that. After all, besides Jake, we all helped steal the body from the authorities." Sunoo patted his back gently and observed Jake who placed a container of green smush on the table.

"I managed to collect a sample, maybe it'll help us."

Jungwon and Sunoo were drawn to the fruity smell, and hunger couldn't stop them from nearing the sample of the monster.

"Don't eat that!!!" Before they could stop him, Jungwon and Sunoo had already placed the oozing substance into their mouths.

"This is lime sorbet.."

"It's Ricky's Rickwracks." Confused, but curious, the other teens dipped their index finger into the mush and tasted it as well.

"You're right...I think we just got our next clue." Sunghoon smirked at the rest of his friends and grabbed the keys from Heeseung's left pocket.

------

[RICKY'S RICKWRACK]

"Since Jake, Sunoo and Jungwon are the shortest, they get to shimmy through the air ducts and open the back door."

"How come y/n isn't coming? We're the same height!"

"Because I refused." You gave him a bright smile and helped the three unbolt the door.

The trio crawled their way through the ducts and yelled loudly when they hit the ground after their sudden fall.

"We didn't mean to crush your body on the first day Jake."

They opened the door and let the three bodies waiting outside came in. The restaurant was dark, slightly humid, and oddly quiet.

"Scream if you see anything." Sunghoon and Jake led you through the left corridor and the others headed right.

There wasn't much to see, but when you had turned your back to face the door, it closed shut. Your six fists banged on the door continuously, but you figured it was useless.

"Y/n! Sunghoon! Jake!" Heeseung's voice echoed behind the door, and he managed to pry it open.

"My hero!" You happily hugged him and it didn't surprise him; apart from your hard exterior, you often liked skinship with others.

"SUNGHOON HYUNG!" the four of you ran back to see Jungwon pointing at a figure, and behold, it was the monster from below.

His bright green and sticky appearance startled you, but his roar bounced louder causing your feet to quickly flee.

Jake had become frozen; it was his first encounter of course. You took hold of his hand and ran off with him.

Constant twists and turns led you through one hall and the next. The six of you managed to head back to the closet that once trapped you.

"I-i think it's g--ahh!" You fell backwards and pushed a box aside by mistake. It was no mistake however.

It was a hole and hidden for a good reason. You jumped first and met eyes with a familiar cave.

The carts and marked arrows in the ground were a good reminder that it was no mistake.

"Follow the arrows."

Sunghoon led the way and you found containers of the same green substance from the monster. It startled you at first, but why had there been this in the first place ?

"Wouldn't this path lead to the bank?"

"By why would he need a path?"

"I'm assuming there's another type of dessert old Ricky likes to indulge in."

"Take those items, let's build ourselves a trap.."

-----

They handled the ropes and buckets in every step.

Sunoo and Jungwon handled leading the creature into the cave, running in terror like always; they were the bait.

"Now!" The trap was set off, a toss here, a toss there, and the cage landed everywhere but on top of the monster.

It continued to chase them, and they soon found themselves trapped inside the cage. Well, everyone but you and Jake.

The two of you continued to run and eventually your two pairs of feet met a dead end.

"I'll help you up."

Jake mounted you on his back and hoisted you enough to get a hold of the floor from Ricky's Rickwracks. With enough strength, you pulled yourself up and stretched your hand towards Jake to pull him up. The two of you continued to play a game with the monster on your trail.

In the meantime, the four boys played with the bolts of the cage until it managed to come loose. They went back to you and Jake and grabbed the hose of the lime sherbet.

At the right time, the creature was pushed towards the wall by the force of the blasting sherbet. His body was now too cocooned like his previous victims.

"What do you think you're doing!?" Chief Kim walked into the store through the front door alongside Heeseung's father, Mayor Lee.

"Well we caught the monster from below of course! Ricky couldn't fool me." But unknowingly, Ricky walked through the door.

"I called the police when my alarm went off."

"Then who?" Jungwon did the honors of pulling off the mask revealing the human within.

"Professor Kang!"

"That's right. When I discovered the cave while looking for samples for science class, I knew I had found my ticket out of this place! I used Ricky's sorbet to cocoon people who came too close and used the costume to scare people off. I even did it to myself to throw you people off. I would've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!"

"But Mr.Kang, what about this locket?" You held the pendant to an eyes view but his answer let you know it didn't belong to him.

"I say we celebrate at RM's Studio !"

------

The soft music let you guys know of another job well done. A loud ring broke through the silence and Sunoo went ahead to answer it.

"Welcome to RM's studio mix, what can we do for you?"

"You're all doomed!" The seven of you, including RM, closed around the recorder.

"You should've never taken the locket out of the cave, but now you've done it. You've found a truth that has been hidden...a true mystery behind Seoul City has begun."

And just like that, the room went silent.

#enhypen #kpop #jake #jay #heeseung #sunoo #sunghoon #niki #jungwon #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jake imagines #heeseung imagines

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di-kut · 5 years ago

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Baar Bal Runi: Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Words: 5.5k

Summary: (Body Swap AU) With fuel, water and food running dangerously low, you have to stop the Crest on an unnamed planet in the outer rim to stock up. You and the Mandalorian have to interact with other people for the first time since the swap.

Rating: T (I believe?)

Tags: body swap, force sensitivity

A/N: This is kind of a part one, because this chapter was originally one long part which got to nearly 12k. So it is now split into two. I honestly don’t know how I feel about this chapter though hopefully it’s good, it was a bit of a struggle to get out.

The planet is small and an angry red in the distance, floating amongst the stars. Visible, finally, after a long thirty-two standard hours. The ship’s clock blinks at you in the dimness of the cockpit, your only measure of time in the emptiness of space. Without enough fuel for another jump it had felt a lifetime away. But it was still only a dot, a tiny promise in the distance. It would be hours before you reach it. Your datapad sits abandoned on the edge of the console, the meagre collection of articles you had downloaded to it were had proved useless in answering any of your questions. The Mandalorian had stopped asking. He idly flicked controls from the pilot’s chair, occasionally easing the ship left or right. The autopilot was off, you suspected he was enjoying a distraction. The lights of the panel were hazy with sleep. You hadn’t slept since you’d left the grey planet, but neither had the Mandalorian.

Instead you watch the planet. Different to the stars around it. Planets are always brighter than you imagine them to be, but unlike the glow of the thousands of stars around it the planet glows warm. It captivates you, even after half a cycle travelling from planet to planet with the Mandalorian. You know it means nothing to him, he has seen more planets appear and disappear in his wake than you ever will in your lifetime. But it is a gentle kind of mystery to you, life against all odds. Even though your eyes itch and burn from lack of rest you cannot look away. Imagine you can see it growing larger as you watch.

“You should sleep.”

You sigh. Pick up your datapad and wave it slightly in the air above you. He doesn’t turn but you know he sees the action. “I’m reading.”

He scoffs, tilts his jaw in your direction. You wait for an argument, but there is none.

He had woken you in the early hours of the day before, a hand on your shoulder. His knees were still pressed to yours in the middle of the cot. The child was asleep so deeply between you he didn’t move even as the Mandalorian jostled you awake. You had been having a nightmare. You were screaming, he told you. You hadn’t even meant to fall asleep.

“We have nine hours,” Mando says. You think he is working up to something, some argument to send you to your cot downstairs. He doesn’t. He ticks the radar over again, adjusts the ships trajectory. “He’s been asleep too long.”

The child. The Mandalorian had moved him to his cot, kept it at the back of the cockpit with you both. He hadn’t woken when your nightmare had startled the Mandalorian from his sleep, or afterwards.

“He’s probably exhausted, poor little guy.”

“It’s been too long,” he muttered again.

You look over. The kid’s eyes are closed, his gentle breathing quiet and even. You reach your hand in, pinch the tip of his ear gently. The child doesn’t respond, doesn’t even shift in his sleep. You flatten your hand over his tummy, slip a gloved finger between his hands. You can feel the rise and fall of his breaths, feel the warmth through the glove and from beneath the blankets.

“Are – “

The Mandalorian bites down the rest of his question. When you look up, he is watching you. Has swivelled the pilot’s chair around to face you. His eyes move to the kid and then back to the helmet. Choosing his words. At first you think the creasing around his eyes is from annoyance, but you realise it isn’t very quickly. He shifts in the chair. He’s uncomfortable.

“Can you…” He works his jaw as he thinks. “What you said, last night, about talking to him. Can you… right now?”

You swallow thickly and remove your hand from the child’s crib. Embarrassed. Mando’s unease suddenly makes sense. You curl your gloved hands tightly in your lap, so tightly your knuckles creak from the strain of it. You can feel the burning spot on the helmet where Mando stares, burning all the way to your skull. He sounds so – you aren’t sure how he sounds. Like he is holding something sour in his mouth. It makes your stomach curdle. You remind yourself of the story of the mudhorn. Remind yourself the Mandalorian is an enemy of the Empire. You should not feel nervous he will reject you for what you have revealed to him. And yet.

“No,” you admit. “Not with the gloves on.”

He continues to stare. Drops his eyes to your hands. “But you could? If you took them off.”

“I – I might.” You pick at the leather. “I’m not sure. Normally I can’t just… well, sometimes. I don’t know what everyone around me is feeling. Not very clearly, anyway. Maybe if someone was really angry, or – or – “

You aren’t sure what you are trying to say. What you are trying to assure him of. Mando is quiet.

“Have you… Have you ever – with me?” His tone his calm. Had you known him less you wouldn’t have noticed the way his pitch fell slightly.

He lifts his eyes from your hands, catches yours. The lie slips out before you can stop it, can’t bear to tell him the only piece of his soul you had ever felt. His horrible, consuming fear after the change was something he didn’t need to be subjected to again. Something he wouldn’t want you to know. “No. Not you.”

He doesn’t bother to hide the way he slumps in relief.

You make the excuse of sleep to escape the cockpit. You see on his face that Mando doesn’t believe you, but he says nothing. Doesn’t accuse you of lying. You almost drop your datapad when you collect it. He watches your stumbling without judgement or comment. You are grateful for that at least. The child doesn’t move at your clanging either, sleeps on, oblivious and peaceful in the crib. You envy him. Think it will be worth even pretending to sleep just to take the helmet off, to breathe properly.

“What did you dream about?”

You are almost out the door and have to catch the edge of it from sliding closed behind you. Mando is watching you again, has moved closer so he can rest his hand in the crib with the child. You think about lying again but can’t really find a reason to.

“You were scared,” he says when you don’t answer.

“It was a nightmare. I dreamt,” you fiddle with the ends of the cape. “I dreamt of that place. The cave.” You don’t tell him the rest. Don’t tell him you haven’t slept again because you are scared you will go back.

He nods. “Are… Are you like him?”

You both look into the cot where the child continues to sleep. “I don’t know.”

Down the ladder, your cot is lumpy and cold now you are alone. You must drift, although you don’t intend to, because when you wake you feel heavy and disorientated. There are no sounds but the quiet humming of the engine. You blink at nothing in the dark, roll over so you can watch the light of the freezer. Your eyelids are still heavy, you can’t tell how much time has passed, like you slept and slipped through hyperspace. You had slept deep and dreamless. No memories of the cave had haunted you. You had fallen asleep with the gloves on, but you slip them off now. Think of Mando’s soft voice before you had both fallen asleep in the dark, telling you if it was ever too much you could take them off. Take the helmet off. Just turn the lights out.

You land not long afterwards. By the time Mando clambers down the ladder you have the gloves and the helmet back on, the lights on as well. There are few settlements on the planets, and only one with docking bays for the ship. Bays where you can get fuel and supplies. And despite everything the familiarity of landing on an unfamiliar planet, only you and Mando and the kid against whoever is outside waiting for you, brings with it an old routine. You work on getting the kid and his cot maneuvered into the hull, check the temperature and climate of the planet, prepare for the day ahead. The local time on the planet is midmorning. You adjust the ships clocks. The planet is small and far from its system’s central sun. The days and nights are short. Mando is outside, talking to the dock’s mechanic, paying for the space.

The kid wakes while you tuck an extra blanket in around him. Blinks his huge dark eyes up at you, glassy and unfocused. Your heart dips in relief. The Mandalorian’s worry had been eating away at you guiltily, paranoid you had been reassuring him when there had been no reassurance to give. But the child is fine. He yawns and clicks his tongue in his mouth. Reaches his hands up towards you. You coo sympathetically at him and lift him into the crook of your shoulder and neck. He tangles his tiny hands in the thick cape, tucks his head under the edge of the helmet and into your neck. You hold him tight. He’s quiet and warm.

When the Mandalorian stomps back up the ramp the child is fully awake. He extracts himself from the armour and the cape and leans around you towards Mando, cooing loudly and grabbing at the air. You see the tension in Mando’s face drain, go slack when he sees the kid up. You set the child down so he can waddle to his father, already waiting for him on one knee. Mando scoops him up, presses his bare forehead to the child’s and you have to look away, cheeks and neck burning. Remember the sound of laughter in the edges of the Mandalorian’s voice when you had told him you had tried it. Kov’nynir. Still jealous the child won’t allow you to do it with him as well.

“He’s charging us for a service.” Mando tells you when he puts the kid in the crib.

“Did you tell him I do the servicing?”

“Yeah. Said it doesn’t matter. We use the dock; we pay for the service.”

The mechanic had at least given Mando directions to a cantina, the best place to ask for the right people to see for any supplies the dock didn’t carry. Water was one of them. The Mandalorian hands you his calf holsters and bandolier, shows you how to strap them on. You feel too large and too stupid wearing them. Feel lumbering and awkward again at having to face the world outside the Crest. You bump your head against the edge of the weapons compartment with a clang which echoes around the hull. You catch Mando wincing at the sound from the corner of your eye. He brushes off your apology. Continues to strap on extra weapons to the holster you normally wear at your belt. Stuff ammunition rounds into the calf holster he’s tightened to fit your smaller leg. You almost ask him if he thinks you will need all of it. The question is a stupid one, one that you swallow before you can ask. Mando is always prepared for a fight. Even if the planet is some outer rim backwash.

The crib hovers by Mando as you descend the ramp. The baby watches the opening world around him with unrestrained wonder. The sky is bright blue, and the red dust which coated the planet’s surface had made a haze over everything in sight so that even the grey walls of the docking bay were a sort of dull orange. Mando has on the thick jacket again, an old rag of the same wool as his cape wrapped around his neck and chin. The mechanic is waiting for you at the side of the ship, a dirty rag in hand. He’s wiping it on the side of this thick coveralls, his nose and cheeks ruddy from the frigid air. He’s got the side covering for the engine open.

“There’s some tuning I can do, and you’d do well from a fuel rinse. You’ve got scorching around some of the fittings too.” The mechanic isn’t looking up. He’s a large man; tall and wide. There’s straw coloured hair sticking out from beneath the fleece lined hat he’s got shoved far enough down to cover his ears. “I could replace them, if you wanted.��

“We don’t need a service,” Mando says.

“This ship is old. It needs all the help it can get.”

You step off the ramp after Mando and watch the mechanic stick the rag into the engine, wiping at something. “The scorching is all superficial,” you say. “We’re not paying for replacements we don’t need.”

The mechanic jumps at the third voice, hauls himself out of the engine compartment to look at you. You see the recognition when his eyes lock on the helmet, the look of sudden fear. Had seen it happen around the Mandalorian dozens of times. Never had it extended to you. The mechanic is taking stock of your armour, your riffle, the blaster at your hip. He comes back to the visor, but his eyes don’t find yours, hover somewhere just to the left of eye contact.

“Kark!” He moves towards you both. “Mandalorian, sir, sorry I didn’t see you there.”

You tilt the helmet towards him. Next to you, in your body, Mando twists his head up to look at you. The mechanic is wiping his gloves on the rag and shoving it in his back pocket, nearly tripping as he moves to get out from the side of the ship.

“I didn’t realise – I mean I didn’t know this was your ship.”

Mando bristles beside you. “We don’t need any servicing,” You say.

“But – but – “ The mechanic hits boot on a crate of poorly cared for tool. He flinches away, step around it. “The engine – “

“I do my own servicing.”

The mechanic looks towards Mando next to you, seeing your body, back to you. For the first time he notices the crib, but he doesn’t pay it much mind. He never looks away from the helmet for very long. His tongue comes out to wet his lip over and over, he’s ringing his hands together. “Sir, it’s… I mean, I don’t mean any disrespect,” his voice cracks when you tilt your head slightly. He stumbles to get back on track. “I don’t, and I won’t replace anything. But it really could do with a good clean. Run some fluid through the engine.”

“And how much are you gonna’ charge us for that?” Mando asks.

The mechanic doesn’t look away from you. You can see the shifting out of the corner of your eye, know Mando is losing patience and his temper. You know how he feels, too often being lost in the shadow of his imposing presence, of all the Beskar. It makes you angry as well, angry on your own behalf for all the times you’d been ignored, angry for Mando now.

“How much?” You have to repeat.

The mechanic opens and closes his mouth. “I’ll do it for the price of the docking!”

Mando grunts beside you and turns. You stare at the nervous mechanic for a few moments longer before following him out. Mando has the spare remote for the crib, you’d managed to temporarily disable the one built onto the vembrance in his armour. So, it hovers just ahead of you, disappears just after the Mandalorian does out of the docking bay and into the wide streetway outside. You follow Mando through the streets without question, let him work through the anger you can see in every step. It isn’t a busy planet, and the market around you is mostly quiet. The lifeforms there are, though, stop and watch as your mismatched trio passes by.

He stops when the market does. Stops dead in the middle of the street. He stands there and stares at the flat lay of desert ahead, wobbling through the brightness of the light so that in the distance it fades to become a haze of orange and blue. There are no clouds. No hills. You can see his shoulders heaving even from where you stand some distance away. Giving him time, giving him space.

He turns eventually. His eyes find yours through the visor straight away. You nod slowly so that he knows. You understand. He doesn’t have to explain. His frustration is one you have experienced first-hand. And you know he is struggling to watch you through the armour, think he must be feeling the loss acutely in that moment. His eyes linger on the butt of his rifle you had strapped over you back and then down to the chest plate and the sling of explosives over your chest. You feel silly wearing it all, big and stupid and aching at the look on Mando’s face. You shift your boots against the dirt and have to look away from him.

Before you step into the cantina Mando pulls you to the side. A Twi’lek watches you from her spot against the wall, her curious eyes bright in the dim. You let Mando draw you back against the wall. You turn to the Twi’lek and on noticing your gaze she scuttles off, disappearing down the alleyway between the mud walled buildings. You sigh and turn back to Mando. The child is chewing absently in his crib, some small local stall had traded you a spare part for the snack. You had some credits between you, some from the Mandalorian, the stockpile you had been sequestering into hidden accounts since before you fled Coruscant. But yours were Galactic credits, useless now on many of the outer rim planets. From planet to planet you could go from riches to rags and back again. You were currently in rags, and you needed a trade.

“Be careful inside.”

“I will.” You nod, do your best to try and appear solemn through all your coverings.

Mando catches your arm. “Don’t let anyone get too close. I don’t know how this will go if it comes to a fight.” He lets you go and rests his hand over his gun. The bandage was still wrapped around it, although the bruising in the fingers had finally dimmed to a mottled yellow-green. You were running low in Bacta as well, Mando had applied the last of it to his swollen hand earlier that morning.

“Do you think this will end in a fight?”

“Maybe.” He taps the handle of the blaster. “Mandalorians don’t usually get around without someone trying to test their strength, or their skills. It’s the helmet, I guess. Everyone always wants to take it off.”

You grimace. “Okay. Keep my distance. Don’t let people touch the helmet.”

“Have your blaster ready.”

“Okay.” You don’t feel okay at all. Any sort of bravado was fading away in the face of a real fight. You were confident with a blaster, but your general fighting tactic was to avoid them at all costs. Your trust in the Mandalorian was unfaltering, but without his strength and without his armour – thoughts you couldn’t afford to have. You hover your hand over the blaster at your thigh to show him you are ready.

The cantina is dimly lit and sparsely occupied. Most of the patrons look away quickly when you follow Mando inside. You can see the dull light slipping over the Beskar, so that you are only a glinting shadow. Your hand flexes over the spot where you gun is holstered. There are tables towards the back of the cantina which stare openly, eyes flickering between Mando and yourself. You feel a pit form in your stomach, realise you hadn’t thought of an alternative where someone decides your body is their target, and not the Mandalorian. You feel stupid. Blind. Try to remember Mando’s words when he’d shown you the planet’s specs two days before. No Guild presence. No friends of the Empire.

No friends of the resistance either, you think.

No one moves as you find a table. The crib hovers at the end of it, within arm’s reach of both you and Mando sitting on opposite sides, facing each other, but both watching the space around you. The child has gone quiet, mostly buried himself beneath his blankets, only his huge dark eyes peering out at you. You can see the sidelong glances around you, the dimness in the cantina oddly brightened through the helmet filters. The hot plate of food nearby almost glows, although that might be mostly your wish for a full meal, something which isn’t rations bars.

The server isn’t a droid, like the two behind the counter. He’s human, with cautious eyes and cautious hands. Mando orders milk – yes, whatever one you have – for the kid and two drinks. He doesn’t see the incredulous look you shoot him. He asks about supplies, food, medical. Water. Your skin itches at the promise of a shower. You shift around in the seat and both pairs of eyes move to you. The server had been studiously ignoring your presence, and that of the kid, but you can see the wariness in his eyes when he looks over the helmet. He looks away quickly.

“Water is more expensive than fuel round these parts,” he says to Mando. “They don’t have it at the docking bays with the fuel. You have to go to the farmers, good day and a half out from here on a bike.”

Mando’s eyes slid across to yours. A silent question. You shrug slightly, not sure what else you can do. You have barely enough filtered water left to drink, the engine can run on recycled water, but you’ll be out of that before long as well.

“There bikes around here we can hire?” Mando asks.

The server nods. “Up the market, there’s a parts shop. The Kitonak who runs it owns some. He’ll rent them to you,” he glances over at you, “for a good price.”

“Thanks.”

The server doesn’t linger. You both watch him go, watch everyone around you watch you in turn. There’s a brief tense moment which catches and lingers in the air, like the cantina holds its breath. Then Mando reaches into the crib, tweaks the kids’ ear, and sits back into his chair and it dissipates. He presses his shoulders into the back of the booth, sprawls slightly. His knees almost knocking yours under the table. You brace your elbows on the table and lean in towards him.

“What are we gonna’ trade for the bikes? And the water.” You do a quick mental inventory. “We have some spare parts, but I don’t think we should give them all up. Most of them are so outdated they’ll be worth next to nothing.”

He watches you, still and seemingly at ease. But his lips are pressed together and jaw tense. “We’ll figure something out. We need the water.”

“Yeah,” you rub absently the spot on the helmet where your temple would be. “Yeah.”

“There’s always something.”

Your drinks arrive, brought by a protocol droid. It lowers the tray onto your table and unloads the drinks in a neat arrangement. It lifts the tray and leaves again without a word. You spot the restraining bolt drilled into its neck socket as it leaves. Mando passes the child the cup of Bantha milk, pulls down his blankets enough that the kid can sit up properly. You stare blankly down at the two cups on the table and then up at Mando expectantly. He glances you from the corner of his eye and looks sheepish. Let’s the kid handle the milk and moves the two drinks away from you both.

“Habit,” he says. He must sense your scepticism because he says, “Ordering for you, not me.”

“You may as well,” you say. Try not to sound as put-out as you feel.

He regards you warily for a few moments before he gives in. Takes a slow sip and then chugs the rest down so quickly you would be impressed if you weren’t so jealous.

“I’m starting to feel bad for every time I’ve eaten or drunk in front of you.”

Mando’s eyebrows shoot up over the rim of the cup. An abrupt bark of a laugh follows, descends into quiet chuckles. It startles you enough that you jump at the sound. He doesn’t stop, keeps quietly laughing until the corners of his eyes are wet. It’s almost silent, just like everything else about him. You can’t stop the grin which spreads under the helmet.

“You get used to it.” His voice still slightly winded.

The Kitonak is a huge slow creature. It lumps in the corner of a shop which looks more like an Ewok scavenging vehicle than anything else. When you got close enough it’s crepe-like skin gave off a soft, sweet smell. It jarred with the grease and metallic tang in the air around it. The huge Kitonak moves slow and languid, like it was moving through water. But it cuts you a good deal and accepts Imperial credits. You buy more spare parts to trade for water and fuel for the ship. The speeder bikes are old but well serviced, sitting in the back yard of the shop. The Kitonak offers its droids to help you wrangle them out of the yard, but Mando waves them off. The Kitonak shows you the range locks on the bike, warns you good naturedly about stealing them.

You are worried he will be upset when you offer to deal with the bikes and send him back to the ship to collect the last of your food and water reserves and packs for the trip into the desert. He isn’t, but he is quiet when he leaves. The settlement is small, and by the time you have both bikes ready to leave Mando has returned. Has bought more food, salted meats and hard breads. A feast after weeks of rations bars.

You set your radars and start out. Agree to ride until the sun begins to dip. The alien who had sold Mando the food warned him of the fast setting sun. When a planet is too far out from it’s galaxy’s centre the days are cold and bright, but the nights are sudden and deadly. Mando packed extra sleeping rolls in both of your packs and old thermal capes. He admits they don’t work as well as they should, but he’s given the best of the ones he has to the child. The next best are at the top of your packs. The desert will be cold and unforgiving once the sun sets.

The ride is long. Dull. So flat and empty you catch yourself almost drifting atop your bike. You are glad for your radars, know if they break or aren’t properly calibrated you will die wandering the empty planes, an endless stretch of red and blue. The same everywhere you look. You are glad for Mando less than a league ahead, a break in the landscape, dark and solid. The crib hovers along at pace with his bike, closed against the whipping of the cold air. Mando has pulled a spare coarseweave clock from the trunks as well, has it wrapped around his face and head, tucked under the edges of his goggles to protect him as well. You are grateful for the helmet, for the thickness of the Mandalorian’s clothing. You feel none of the cold.

The sky is bright blue for hours, so bright it is almost painful to look at. The sun had been high in the sky when you had set off from the small settlement, you watch it dip slowly towards the horizon, until suddenly it seemed huge, glowing white, disappearing behind the dust. The sky changes from blue to a blooming purple, bleeding across everything above you. The sand is orange, then grey, then black. It happens in minutes. Constellations wink out of the darkness above you, droplets on water, ripples across the surface. Even before the purple fades completely they appear. You see Mando raise one hand in the distance. Begin to slow the bike.

You ache when you dismount. Sore and stiff from stillness. Your arms ache. Your thighs are burning. You think the rush of blood to your toes hurts more than anything else. But you don’t have time to dwell on the pain, night is falling quickly, Mando is digging a pit for a fire, and you are rolling out your bed packs as close to it as you can get. The cold is starting to bite even through the Mandalorian’s protective clothing. When you look over to him, Mando’s teeth are chattering together. You move faster, get out Mando’s thermal cape and drape it over his shoulders as he works. He nods his thanks at you, hands shaking. The pieces of woodbrick light just as the last of the purple fades from the sky and the world around you is plunged completely into darkness.

The fire glows bright and orange around you. You have your bedrolls laying around them lengthwise to try and take advantage of the heat. The crib floats just further away – the inside is temperature controlled, a true marvel of engineering. You think, on a night when it isn’t so dark and so cold, that you will ask the Mandalorian where he acquired it. You think it must be built specially for the child. Doubt it was the work of the Imps.

Under your blanket and tucked into the thermal cape the cold is bearable. Mando seems to have stopped shaking, his bedroll lying near enough to yours than you can see the glow of the flames on his face, casting it into deep shadow. The wavering light makes it almost impossible to recognise the face he wears as your own, so distorted orange and black it is the face of a stranger. Your heads are near each other, near the crib. You find yourself unable to look away from Mando in the bright firelight, watch the rise and fall of the blankets around him as he breathes. He just stares into the flames, eyes seeing something which is no longer there, some memory or nightmare which haunts him.

You blink and when you open your eyes, he is looking at you. Eyes catching the light and glowing, otherworldly. It unsettles you. The feeling is a slippery thing, shifting between many feelings. Guilt, anger, fear. A hundred others, a spectrum of restlessness which moves and changes and fills you up. His gaze is so sharp and direct. So, used to the covering of his helmet. You know now why you feel his eyes so intensely, if he looks at the world like he is looking at you in the firelight in the frozen desert. Like he can see beneath your blankets and your flesh at the soul beneath.

“Are you warm?” He asks. His voice puffs into a small cloud of air in front of his mouth and disappears into the air.

“Are you? Whatever this cloth is – it’s incredible. I couldn’t feel anything until the sun went down.”

“I’m fine. I’m warm.”

“Okay. Good.”

You spend some time getting warm enough to brave the cold. Wait until your stomach is twisted with hunger until you push back your covers to retrieve your pack. You go as fast as you can, pull apart the bread and some meat for the child and enough for Mando. Hand them both food, check on the child, and scuttle back beneath your covers. You aren’t tempted to take off the helmet that night, the burning of the cold even through the Mandalorian’s armour leaves you in no doubt. You huddle under your blankets and thermal cape and stare at the fire until your eyes slip closed. Your sleep is deep and quiet and when you wake in the morning the sky is pale lavender and the endless flat planes around you are grey. The air is bearable at last when you push back the covers. The Mandalorian is nestled so deeply into his blankets you can only see the shape of him rise and fall as he breathes. There is one star left in the sky, the glow of the sun on the horizon. You check the radar. The moisture farm is still most of the days ride away.

Tag List: @btillys @vercopaanir @absurdthirst @sistasarah-sallysaidso @adikaofmandalore @babyomen @purpleeeslurpppp @fleurdemiel145

#feeling very #krjfhkjerf #about this #let me know thoughts I guess??#feedback highly highly appreciated #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian imagine #reader insert #force sensitive reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #Baar Bal Runi #din djarin #mandalorian #fic #my fic

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snippetsnitch · 4 years ago

Text

(I have never written animals, so here I go with my first snippet! 😁 I always thought there was way too less phobia-whump, so please enjoy.😄 Also, can anyone guess the dog breed?🙈)

❗(TW: Panic Attack, Severe Cynophobia, Humiliation, Blood)❗

#10 - Beg

"Fuck, get this thing off me!!", [Hero] screeched, trying to push themself further into the cold stonewall behind them.

"Goddamnit, [Villain]!!", they sobbed, eyes searching frantically for something like mercy in [Villains] face.

[Villain] just looked at them with raised eyebrows and was seemingly not the slightest bit interested in whistling their companion back. [Hero] grew desperate. "Get it off!!"

The amorphous shadow growled, ready to attack whenever it got the deadly command. "Get it fucking off, [Villain]!!"

[Hero] hated dogs.

German ones in particular.

The one in front of them was only held by the thin leash in [Villains] hand and pulled heavily into their direction. It would shred [Hero] into pieces, if their enemy let go. They just knew that.

[Villain] looked unimpressed. They made one step towards [Hero], who whimpered from fear. "I will, when you talk."

Desperately, [Hero] turned their face, blinking away the tears that started to rise in their eyes. The dog pulled ever so strongly.

"I can't talk!! I don't have anything!! I-"

Barking. Saliva. Teeth.

[Hero] squealed. They were gonna faint.

"Out!"

And it was quiet. The only thing audible was [Heros] heavy breathing. They sank against the wall with shaking legs; cold sweat was covering their ashened face.

[Villain] looked at [Hero] with a strange kind of fascination. "Your record says that you have a problem with dogs, but I never knew it was this severe.", they said, eyeing their enemy with a calculating curiosity.

[Hero] said nothing. Apart from the fear, the hot feeling of mortification rose in their chest.

They knew it wasn't rational.

Even though the fleabag [Villain] brought was a realistic thread, they shouldn't be standing there with quivering legs and tearing eyes.

[Hero] could handle worse forms of torture. All of them painful and degrading, but they could stand it. They could always stand it.

But dogs...

"You were attacked by one as a child, right?", [Villain] drawled and grinned when [Heros] eyes lowered in shame. "Funny that something so silly can drive you nuts now..."

[Villain] snickered and lightly pulled on the leash. "Up!" A deep growl emitted from the dark mutt that obeyed instantly. [Hero] could not avoid the cold shudder that ran down their spine.

"To be honest, [Hero], I didn't think you were such a wimp!", [Villain] mocked. The criminal saw the impact of their words in [Heros] abashed face and continued with a nasty smile: "For real, how did you even get so far in your fucking job? Probably slept yourself up, huh?"

"Fuck off...", [Hero] hissed and balled their fists. They felt the heat creeping up their cheeks. A huge clumb formed in their throat, making them want to vomit.

It wasn't rational.

It wasn't fucking rational.

[Hero] was strong.

Had the abilities to finish this in less than a minute.

Shouldn't even bother about [Villain] and their grilling, should've just turned and left this fucking situation.

It didn't work.

Didn't work because of those teeth viciously gleaming in front of them.

Paralizing.

[Villain] grinned and looked at their watch leisurely, unfazed by the trembling human in front of them. "You know, even though I love chatting with you, I need to hurry. My boss wants that info really bad."

[Hero] shook their head wordlessly. They had nothing. They couldn't talk, even if they wanted to.

The criminal ignored them.

"And also...", [Villain] casted a look towards their dog and looked back to [Hero] with a wolfish grin, "...she's getting hungry."

It was visible how [Hero] tried to collect themself. To force themself to keep calm despite [Villains] teasing and the growling of their companion.

[Villain] saw [Heros] fight for control, even though they were loosing more of it with every passing second.

"Well...", the criminal drawled and gestured towards the dog, "I guess we have a solution to that..."

They let go of the leash.

[Heros] eyes widened.

"[Villain], don't-!!"

"Sick'em!"

Brown-black fur was flashing into the light and [Hero] jerked up their hands with a desperate scream.

"NO!!"

The monster sank its' sharp teeth into [Heros] forearm. Crimson blood.

They violently tried to shake it off, but it didn't let go.

Wouldn't give up its' prey.

"Call it back, [Villain]!!"

It bit down again.

"Call it back!!!"

Oh god, it would kill them, if [Villain] didn't do something!

It would tear them apart.

Oh god, their arm.

"[Villain], do-" [Hero] choked on the words.

Docked tail.

Sharp teeth.

They couldn't think straight.

Listed dog.

Dangerous.

Their brain filled with black mist.

Couldn't breathe.

They were going to suffocate.

[Villains], voice, ringing in their ears: "Tell me what I want to hear."

Had nothing.

Gone in the abyss.

"I-I c-an't, I-"

No air.

They were suffocating.

Didn't [Villain] see that they were fucking suffocating?

[Hero] only shook their head. They couldn't breathe. There was no air around to fill their lungs with. Underwater.

A cold hand harshly grabbed their collar, pulling them up. "Calm down, you useless piece of shit!"

[Hero] yelped, when [Villains] fist connected with their ribcage. The crack was clearly audible.

"It's not that hard to talk, you fuckin' wussy!"

They dumped them on the ground.

Cold concrete. The smell of trash and piss in the run-down part of the city no one would search [Hero] in. Dirt that mixed with [Heros] own tears.

...And [Villains] voice, sharp as a knife.

They couldn't take it.

Couldn't take [Villain] standing nearby, as they gasped for the air that didn't seem to enter their lungs. Couldn't take it when [Villain] knelt down and grabbed their face with a cruel grin.

Where was the dog?

[Villain] only gave a chilly laugh.

"I sent her away." Then, sneering: "I can get her back if you want."

[Hero] frantically shook their head.

"I don't have anything!", they wheezed against the hands that had grabbed their wet cheeks. "Please, I don't have anything!"

An awfully triumphant grin formed on the criminals face. They pulled [Hero] closer.

"Huh...? What was that word?", [Villain] crooned in an almost gentle tone of voice.

Only now, [Hero] noticed what they just had said. Blood shot up their face.

"Say it again for me, come on. Or do you want one more round..?", [Villain] purred.

[Hero] sobbed.

No.

No more.

They couldn't take more.

Eventually, the need for survival pushed away the last bit of dignity inside of them, when they whispered:

"I-... P-please don't get it back... Please, [Villain]..."

The criminal pondered for a moment before shrugging their shoulders with a wide grin. "Hm. I guess you really are as useless as you claim. Still... Hearing you beg was worth the shot."

They stood up and gave [Hero] a last painful kick in their stomach.

"Tell me, does your team know what a sissy you are?"

[Hero] remained quiet.

The words hurt.

Hurt more than the kick, the broken rib or the arm.

Hurt, because they were true.

"If you were one of my henchmen, I would've killed you for being such a disgrace. You're lucky that your team is pitiful enough to keep you..."

[Villain] turned to leave, stepping out of the alley and whistling to get the dog. A last aspersion to put the boot in:

"Your weakness is really disgusting... You're pathetic, [Hero]."

[Villain] was long gone when [Hero] finally got up. Cold wind blew on their wet cheeks and their shaking body. Only too slowly, they managed to stop the wheezing. Took too long to get aware of their surroundings.

They were safe.

They were safe now.

With a pang, [Villains] voice echoed through their head:

You're pathetic, [Hero].

They let out a dry sob.

[Villain] was right.

It was true.

It was true and [Hero] knew it.

...They knew it wasn't rational.

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