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queenshelby · 1 year ago

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Our Little Secret (Part One)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Smut, Age-Gap, Daddy Issues

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

It was a Friday evening when you came home after a long day at school. At 19 years of age, you were in your final year with only six weeks to go until graduation and whilst you were one of the oldest students in your class after having spent a year in America with your father, you sure were not confident.

You struggled to settle in, especially after your mother Sarah remarried rather quickly, and whilst you liked your stepfather Frank a lot, you felt somewhat out of place at his house.

Frank had a big family, including three brothers and one sister. His oldest brother happened to be no other than Cillian Murphy, an actor you had admired since you turned sixteen.

Your mother told you about him before he showed up for dinner one night, cautioning you to be friendly, and ever since that evening, getting Cillian out of your head was impossible.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him walk through the door. He looked even more attractive than he did onscreen. His slightly grey hair, piercing blue eyes, and strong jawline sent shivers down your spine.

Cillian was in his forties, just like your stepfather Frank, but this did not really bother you, and as the evening wore on, you could not help but feel increasingly drawn to him. Thus, when you heard that he would come over again tonight, you were ecstatic.

As soon as he walked through the door, your heart raced faster than usual, making it hard to catch your breath.

"Hi," you managed to say, forcing yourself to stay calm despite how much you wanted to reach out and touch him.

"Hi Y/N, how have you been?" he replied, taking off his jacket and hanging it up and following you into the living room after your mother yelled out from the kitchen, telling him to take a seat as Frank would be home soon.

"I've been well. And you?" you asked, and he confirmed that he too kept well following which there was an awkward silence between you two for a few moments, both of you clearly feeling the magnetic pull toward each other. The chemistry was undeniable, making it difficult to focus on anything else but your growing desire for one another.

Finally, breaking the silence, Cillian spoke softly, saying, "So, what do you usually do on Fridays?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to think of something interesting to tell him.

"Fridays, I am at school," you chuckled, and Cillian felt silly for asking.

"Right, of course. Frank told me you spent a year in America hence, you have not finished year twelve yet. How was that like?" Cillian asked as he moved closer, his gaze burning into yours.

"It was good. I learned a lot about different cultures," you told Cillian, feeling your heart racing.

"That must have been quite an experience! So, what made you come back? Your dad lives over there, doesn't he?" Cillian asked, leaning back against the couch with a hint of flirtatiousness in his voice.

"Yes, he does. I missed Ireland, though, and I needed to finish school to start university," you explained. "My friends here in Dublin are great, though; they made the transition easier," you then informed Cillian, who nodded in understanding, continuing to study your face with those captivating eyes before, finally, his brother Frank arrived home.

Your heart sank, feeling the sudden interruption, although you could sense the anticipation and excitement between Cillian and you. However, you both knew that now was not the right time because Frank was present.

Frank and Cillian engaged in some small talk while you sat in and listened, which is when Cillian brought up his recent fight with Danielle.

Danielle was Cillian's wife, a beautiful actress, but you did not care for her. It seemed she always got under your skin. Even Frank admitted that Danielle could be somewhat high maintenance and, clearly, Cillian was over her constant antics.

It seemed to you like they fought a lot , and even though it wasn't your business, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, Danielle might be part of the reason why Cillian felt so drawn to you. There was a certain magnetism between you two, even if you had not explicitly acknowledged it yet. Cillian's wife had always irritated you somehow, and the thought of him potentially wanting to escape from her was tempting.

"Do you mind if I crash here tonight? I am not keen to go home," Cillian eventually asked his brother Frank as it was getting late, and, of course, he did not mind.

"Sure, you can have the guestroom upstairs, man," Frank suggested, knowing full well that his wife would not appreciate him sleeping elsewhere on such short notice. But he was his brother, after all, and thus, he did not care about the consequences.

With that, your mother handed Cillian a pillow and blanket, and your father poured him another glass of wine before they continued their conversations.

Just as they talked, you could not leave your eyes off him, imagining what it would be like to kiss him and what it would feel like to hold him close. You blushed just thinking about it and tried concentrating on the adult talk around you.

This continued for quite a while, but since both your parents had to work the following day, at around ten o'clock that night, they decided to retire to bed, leaving you and Cillian alone on the couch.

As they left, Frank gave Cillian a pat on the shoulder, wishing him a good night and then, after a little small talk between you and him, Cillian too made his way upstairs, leaving you all alone on the couch.

Your eyes locked onto Cillian as he walked away, and you could not help but stare at his rear end as he ascended the stairs. Your heart started racing again, your body craving to get closer to him.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back down and caught you looking at him.

As his eyes met yours, a shared understanding was passing between you. It was a silent agreement that neither of you could ignore. The electricity between you was palpable, and it was clear that something had to give.

Your eyes alone motivated Cillian to come back down, and as he slowly descended the stairs, he never once broke eye contact with you.

Silently, he then approached you on the couch, sitting beside you and placing his hand gently on your thigh.

"This has been a good evening," he whispered, causing your heart to race wildly.

"What do you mean?" you asked, feigning ignorance, but both of you knew exactly what was meant.

"Oh, nothing specific," he responded, his eyes searching yours, the desire between you two evident.

You could not control the heat radiating from your cheeks nor the swelling in your chest.

With his hand still on your thigh, you nervously cleared your throat.

"Why don't we watch a movie? You do not seem tired yet," you nervously suggested, desperately trying to change the mood.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, seemingly intrigued by your suggestion.

"Are you sure that watching a movie is what you want to do?" he asked, his voice deep and husky.

His fingers moved gently along your thigh, drawing circles, and sending shivers down your spine.

"No..., or maybe yes. I do not know," you stammered in response before inhaling sharply.

"Fuck, I am sorry, Cillian, I just find myself struggling to keep my eyes off you," you then blurted out, your heart pounding loudly in your ears, feeling like a fool.

He chuckled lightly, his warm breath caressing your cheek. "I have noticed, and, to tell you the truth, I can’t keep my eyes off you either," Cillian told you before he paused for a moment, his fingertips grazing the sensitive area behind your knee.

"So, instead of watching a movie, do you want to show me where you sleep?" Cillian asked teasingly and with quite some confidence, causing you to gasp.

A mix of excitement and fear coursed through your veins as you struggled to breathe properly. "You want me to take you to my room?" you murmured, allowing his hand to move higher up your thigh.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust.

“But, you are married,” you ought to point out, causing Cillian to chuckle again.

“Yes, I am, but I am sure you can keep a secret,” he told you, and you nodded shyly, cheeks blushing.

"You know, I haven't had sex in weeks," he confessed, his voice more profound than ever, causing you to swallow harshly. He certainly knew what he wanted, and he was rather direct and forward about it.

"Is that true?" you asked, your heart racing.

"Yes," he replied, running his finger along your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. "But I won't pressure you into anything," he reassured you.

You were taken aback by his candour but also found it oddly arousing. "I... I have not either, I mean never...I never had sex before," you admitted, biting your lip nervously.

Cillian smiled, reaching over to place his hand gently on your cheek. "Don't worry. If you're ready, I'll take it slow and ensure you feel comfortable." His tone was reassuring, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

Feeling emboldened, you stood up from the couch, brushing off any lingering embarrassment. "Alright," you whispered, moving closer to him, and as you reached out to touch his face, he took your hand, leading you towards your room.

The room was quiet, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. As you led Cillian to your bed, a sense of anticipation filled the air.

The silence between you was suddenly deafening, heightening the tension. Each step seemed to echo in your ears as if amplifying the magnitude of the moment. As you reached your bed, you turned to face him, your hearts pounding together.

His eyes bore into yours, conveying a mix of desire and tenderness. He slowly reached for your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"It will feel good Y/N, I promise," Cillian told you in a low, reassuring voice.

Your heart raced, and you felt a flush of nerves sweep through your body.

"Okay," you whispered, your lips trembling slightly, and as you let go of each other's hands, you couldn't help but glance down at his crotch, wondering what lay beneath those dark jeans.

You could see the longing in his eyes, mirroring your feelings. Without further ado, he took off his shirt, revealing his toned physique.

"May I kiss you?" Cillian then asked, seeing that you had not crossed this line just yet.

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. As you inched closer to him, you could feel your heart racing in your chest. The room was now bathed in moonlight, casting an ethereal glow upon the scene. You gazed into his eyes, lost in the depths of their intensity before, finally, his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss.

Cillian's hands roamed your clothed body as your tongue danced around his. His touch was tender as if he were taking great care not to scare you off. Slowly, he removed your shirt, exposing your delicate skin to the cool night air.

Your breasts quivered in the moonlight. Cillian's eyes widened, clearly appreciative of your natural beauty. He gently cupped one breast, causing you to shiver slightly.

"No bra, huh?" he teased, his voice rough with emotion. You blushed, feeling exposed but also exhilarated by his words.

"Uh-uh, I don’t like wearing a bra," you simply stammered in response as, quickly, he unbuttoned your jeans as well, and you nervously wiggled out of them.

"You are beautiful," Cillian told you, gazing over your naked figure, and you blushed in response.

"I-I didn't think you would find me attractive," you stammered, your voice cracking slightly.

Cillian smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't underestimate yourself, Y/N. Now, lie down and let me show you how good I can make you feel," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative.

Obediently, you lowered yourself onto the bed, your heart racing in anticipation.

Cillian soon he followed suit, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gently exploring your curves.

He trailed his fingers down your stomach, tickling your soft skin and making you giggle. His fingers traced the outline of your breasts, eliciting a shiver from you. Finally, his hand reached your hip, encouraging you to open your legs wider.

Slowly, he slid his fingers down the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of your clothed crotch. He gazed at you with hooded eyes, his expression intense. You found yourself holding your breath, anticipating his next move.

Cillian, sensing your growing impatience, decided to remove his pants, revealing his thick, hard cock straining against his briefs. Your eyes widened, unable to look away from the powerful erection before you.

As he leaned forward, he whispered in your ear, "Do you trust me, Y/N?" His voice was low and husky, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You nodded without hesitation, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes, I trust you," you answered, your voice wavering slightly.

"Good, then take off your panties for me," Cillian said, his voice low and seductive.

Your eyes widened, and you hesitated briefly before nodding. With trembling hands, you removed your last piece of clothing, leaving you completely vulnerable and exposed.

Cillian leaned forward, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, sending a surge of excitement through your body. His hands travelled down your smooth back, stopping just above your ass, before slowly sliding back up, teasingly tracing the curve of your lower back.

"Open your legs for me. Let me touch you," Cillian commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. You hesitantly complied, moving your legs apart so he could touch you.

"You look so fucking sexy like this," Cillian then whispered before proceeding to gently slide his index finger across your entrance, circling it teasingly.

Moaning involuntarily, you arched your back, seeking more contact. Cillian obliged and tentatively slid his finger into you, causing you to gasp. His eyes were locked onto yours, watching your reaction closely.

"So tight," he whispered, gently kissing your neck, and you took a deep breath, trying to relax and calm your nerves. It was strange being in this new territory, experiencing something so intimate with someone you barely knew.

"Have you ever touched a man before?" Cillian then asked before wiggling, with his free hand, pulling down his briefs.

"No," you stammered as you looked at him. He was even bigger than you thought and more imposing than you imagined.

"Give me your hand, Y/N," Cillian said gently before reaching for it and guiding it towards his cock.

"Touch me," he whispered, his voice a deep rumble. Nervously, you obeyed, feeling the heat radiating from his body as you tentatively wrapped your fingers around his thick shaft. Your heart raced, and you could feel the warmth of his flesh against your palm. Cillian closed his eyes, savouring the sensation as you began to stroke him gently.

At the same time, he circled his fingers over your clit, applying light pressure as he experimented with different rhythms. You groaned, feeling your body start to heat up.

As you continued to play with his shaft, Cillian increased the intensity of his movements, causing you to whimper in delight. The combination of your touches and his expertise sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

Cillian pulled you close, kissing you deeply, his hand now circling your clit firmly, drawing moans from your throat.

His mouth left yours to trail kisses down your jawline to your neck, causing your body to shudder with desire. His fingers moved faster, pressing harder, as your body quaked, losing control of the waves of pleasure washing over you.

"Oh god!" you cried out, gripping his shoulders tightly, your fingers digging into his skin as you drowned in the sensations cascading through your body. Your mind went blank; the only thing you were aware of was the overwhelming sensuality filling your world.

"Sssh, your parents are right next door," Cillian warned you. "You need to be quiet," he told you, but it was not just fear of discovery that made you quiet; it was the intensity of the moment.

Every muscle in your body tensed, waiting for the next wave of pleasure to crash over you. Cillian, with his experienced touch, knew precisely what you needed. Gently, he shifted your body, guiding you into a new position.

As he settled on top of you, right between your spread-out legs, you felt his hardness against your softness, the contrast making you feel even more desirable.

"Do you want me to wear a condom?" Cillian asked, hoping that the answer would be no.

"I am on the pill. What would you prefer?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Cillian smiled devilishly, knowing you were curious about what was to come.

"I would rather fuck you bare and cum inside you," Cillian said confidently, his tone filled with raw masculinity. His confidence seemed to be having a powerful effect on you, making you wetter than you realized.

"But I'll use a condom if you insist," he added, his voice softening.

"No, I trust you," you replied, finally embracing the adventurous side you had been hiding from everyone else.

Without further ado, Cillian kissed you deeply while supporting your weight with his strong arms. He teased your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, causing a pleasant tingle to shoot through your body. The sensation was both foreign and familiar, amplifying the connection between you two.

As his hands roamed your body, his fingers explored your secret places, triggering even more feelings you had never experienced before. Your arousal grew rapidly, and you found yourself yearning for more of his touch.

Cillian, sensing your growing eagerness, shifted your position again, spreading your legs wider apart and then positioning himself against your entrance again.

His length was already leaking precum into your slid and the feeling of it mixed with your own arousal created a sensation unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

"Is it going to hurt?" you asked nervously, breaking the intense connection you shared. Cillian smiled reassuringly, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you softly.

"Only at first," he assured you, his eyes brimming with tenderness. "I'll go slow, alright?" Cillian asked, his voice deep and commanding, causing you to nod.

“Okay,” you whispered as he began to press his tip against your entrance, slowly, gauging your readiness. Your body tensed and quivered in anticipation, each movement from Cillian causing you to writhe in excitement.

The head of his cock finally entered you, causing a sharp exhale from you as your body accommodated his size. Despite the painful sensation, there was also an indescribable pleasure in taking him deeper. Your breath caught in your throat, tears welling up in your eyes.

This was it, this was your first time, and you could not help but feel overwhelmed. You grasped Cillian's shoulders tightly, finding solace in his strength and experience.

"You're doing great," Cillian reassured you, his voice soft and tender. "Take deep breaths and the pain will fade," Cillian encouraged you as he pushed into you further.

"You are taking my cock so well. Such a good girl," he whispered, his voice laced with desire as you nodded, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

Cillian gently started moving his hips, slowly pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in, giving you a chance to adjust to his size. You winced in pain but also felt a strange sense of empowerment that this man's presence was enough to make you feel desirable despite the pain. Each thrust brought a mix of pleasure and discomfort, but as you got used to his size, you learned to focus on the sensations and not the initial pain.

The feeling of him filling you, his cock gliding effortlessly in and out, was beyond words. The erotic friction between your bodies heightened your arousal exponentially. You became addicted to the rhythm of his hips, the sound of his grunts, and the way his sweaty skin slapped against yours.

Cillian, reading your body language perfectly, sped up his pace, picking up the tempo and pushing deeper inside you. The pleasure became more intense, overpowering, and overwhelming.

The rhythm between you both picked up, a perfect symphony of moans and grunts echoing throughout the room. Your body bucked beneath him, craving the fullness of his cock, the sheer force of his passionate embrace, and the unyielding intensity of their connection. With each thrust, the walls seemed to disappear, leaving you suspended in a sensory-rich universe where nothing existed except for the primal, primordial need to mate.

You moaned louder, and Cillian placed a hand on your mouth.

"Shh, remember to be quiet," Cillian told you with urgency, and you nodded again, understanding the gravity of the situation and how it would affect your relationship with your family if discovered.

This newfound sexual awakening had brought forth a wildfire that burned brightly yet dangerously close to the flammable tinder that was your family's innocence.

His hands were rough from years of playing his craft, yet gentle when they caressed your body. Every touch left a burning trail across your skin, igniting passion within you.

You grabbed onto Cillian's shoulders with all your might, his muscles rippling under your palms. Your cries mingled with his growls, creating a symphony of animalistic fervour. Your entire being seemed to be alive with electricity as you moved together in perfect harmony.

Cillian's hand found its way to your breast, squeezing and pinching the sensitive nipple. You let out a soft moan, arching your back to push your chest closer to his hand.

Cillian responded by placing a warm, rough kiss on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart raced, fuelled by the intensity of the moment. His fingers trailed down to your lower stomach, brushing against your clit, making you squirm with desire. His touches were both rough and tender, combining elements of dominance and affection that sent your body spiralling into ecstasy.

His tongue danced along your earlobe, making you pant with anticipation.

"Let's change positions. I am not ready for you to cum just yet," he eventually told you as he could tell that you were close to orgasming again, following which you would probably be too sore to continue.

"I want to enjoy this for a little longer," Cillian teased, and your lips parted slightly, surprise written all over your face. It seemed impossible to deny yourself such a release after coming so far. But something about Cillian's words, his voice full of control and authority, made you trust him completely.

You reluctantly agreed, though deep down, you ached for the satisfaction of reaching climax. Instead, you focused on the sensations coursing through your body, each stroke of his hand drawing you closer to the edge without allowing you to fall over.

"How do you want me?" you asked, feeling daring in the darkness of the room. Cillian's eyes gleamed with desire as he contemplated your question.

"Turn around and present your ass to me," he ordered, his voice deep and authoritative. Your heart quickened with excitement at his dominance, obeying him instinctively. You turned around, presenting your bottom to him, feeling vulnerable yet excited by the thought of being taken from behind.

Cillian grabbed your hips firmly, pressing his hard cock against your wet entrance, eliciting a soft moan from you.

As he prepared to enter you from behind, he whispered in your ear, "Remember, it might hurt a bit more in this position, but I promise it won't last long."

You nodded, trying to brace yourself for the unexpected sensation. Feeling a surge of power and control, Cillian positioned himself firmly behind you, holding you tightly. As he took hold of your hips, you felt a sudden burst of pain, but your determination to please him kept you steadfast.

"Breathe, darling," Cillian whispered in your ear, his deep voice echoing through your body, bringing both comfort and arousal. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations as Cillian pushed forward, gradually filling you up. The stretching sensation combined with the lingering pain caused you to whimper softly, but Cillian continued to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, promising relief soon.

With every thrust, you grew accustomed to the pain as he hit your cervix, focusing instead on the pleasurable pressure building up inside you.

Cillian began to speak dirty, his words fuelling your arousal even more.

"That's it. Good girl. Take it all, feel how good it is," he commanded, guiding your body to accept his larger size. His tone, a mix of dominance and love, left you yearning for more.

The rhythm of your bodies became a symphony of groans and gasps, the energy between you two undeniably potent. Your moans echoed through the dark bedroom, a testament to the raw desire you both harboured.

Cillian gazed to where you were connected, and the evidence of your innocent lost spurred him on even more. There was a smudge of fresh blood on his cock, a mark of his conquest over your virginity. It filled him with pride, and he wanted to claim you entirely. He increased the pace of his thrusts, pounding into you with a savage intensity. He pulled your hair back, exposing your neck, then kissed it softly, his lips trailing down to your collarbone.

Your moans turned into a low wail, halfway between pain and pleasure. Cillian's touch became rougher, his movements more urgent, mirroring your own growing hunger as he covered your mouth with one of his hands.

"Don't scream, okay? We don't want anyone hearing us," he whispered; his breath hot against your ear. His other hand gripped your hip, steadying you as he thrust into you harder, faster. You cried out, the pain shooting through your body like an electrical current. Despite the pain, your body responded instinctively, meeting his thrusts with a rhythm of its own.

Cillian's lips moved closer to your ear, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur.

"I can feel you wanting to cum, aren't you, sweetheart?" He knew exactly what buttons to press to get you going. The simple mention of your desire was enough to make your knees go weak, and you could no longer bear the exquisite torture of his cock lodged deeply inside you.

Feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the sensations coursing through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets, seeking purchase amidst the swirling chaos of desire and confusion.

"Good girl. Keep taking me a little longer,” Cillian whispered in your ear, his deep voice causing your body to tremble. Your mind was reeling with the sensations coursing through your body, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. The only thing you could focus on was Cillian's cock, driving into you harder and faster. Each thrust elicited a sharp cry from you, but the pain only served to heighten your arousal.

He gripped your hair, pulling you backwards slightly and angling your head towards his shoulder.

"Keep breathing, baby," he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. Your heart raced with anticipation, your whole body pulsing with desire.

Despite the pain and the discomfort, you craved more. You knew there was something special about this man, something irresistible that drew you in. Your body ached for him, and your soul yearned for the connection he provided.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed into your ear, his rough voice making your stomach flutter.

"Almost there. Good girl. I am going to fill you with my cum soon," Cillian promised, his voice heavy with lust. Your breath caught in your throat at the mere idea of his cum filling you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his cock, begging for it to penetrate deeper.

With each thrust, Cillian's voice dropped lower, becoming rougher with desire.

"That's it, baby. Let go and take me all the way," Cillian urged, his voice hoarse with desire. Your muscles contracted rhythmically around his cock, milking him until he couldn't hold back any longer and you climaxed together, his hand covering your mouth as you did.

His voice rose with excitement, "Fuck, baby!" he growled into your ear, the sound resonating deep within you. With a final powerful thrust, Cillian erupted inside you, his entire body shaking violently. His arms held you tightly, burying his face in your neck as he came. Your body shook beneath him, wracked with aftershocks of pleasure, the room filled with the scent of sex and sweat.

"Hmm," Cillian groaned, still inside of you, releasing the last of his cum.

His chest heaved heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Your body was limp and heavy beneath him, spent from the intense sexual encounter until, eventually, he pulled out of you.

Cillian looked down at where you were joined, his eyes fierce with passion.

"Don't move," he said, keeping you on all fours as his hand reached underneath you, finding the wetness between your legs as you leaked his cum from your gaping hole, tinged with a tinge of blood.

Cillian's thumb rubbed the outside of your hole tenderly, spreading your combined juices over the entrance before slipping a finger into you slowly. You gasped, your body reacting to his touch despite your exhaustion.

"So full with my cum," he marvelled, admiring your resilience as his fingers circled and probed inside you.

"Is that blood?" you asked, looking back over your shoulder.

"Don't worry. That's normal," Cillian assured you gently, his thumb continuing to rub the entrance of your body, coaxing it to accept his finger again.

"This was our first time together, and it may take some getting used to," Cillian pointed out as if he wanted to do this again sometime.

"You will probably be sore for a few days," Cillian warned, pulling his finger out of you, and as he did, you felt the residual warmth of Cillian's seed inside you.

"Please...please let me clean myself." You whimpered, ashamed of the mess you had become.

"Not yet. Not until I take a picture of your pussy, leaking my cum," Cillian said before he reached for his phone, switching it on.

"Let me take a photo of you right now". With his index finger, he spread open your labia, showing off your hole, filled with his cum and blood. "There. This proves you are mine", he added, his voice low and dangerous.

You blushed, feeling embarrassed and exposed. "Can we please just clean up now?" you implored, wishing you could somehow disappear from the situation, which was both, arousing and embarrassing.

But Cillian was relentless, snapping photos of you and your exposed body. The sight of your defiled body filled him with a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness.

As he took photos, Cillian's dominant side intensified, his eyes darkening with lust. He spoke to you in a tone that brooked no argument, telling you to remain silent and still. The combination of his authoritative manner and your fear of his reaction, if you refused, made it impossible for you to object.

After taking multiple pictures, Cillian finally decided that you were sufficiently documented.

With a sense of triumph, he switched off his phone and returned it to his pocket.

He stood up, allowing you to pull yourself into a sitting position. You felt incredibly vulnerable, with your legs spread wide apart, leaving you exposed. You were completely at his mercy, and you knew it.

Cillian approached you, his steps deliberate and confident. As he knelt beside you, he ran his fingers gently along your inner thigh, leaving a trail of electricity in their wake.

Your skin prickled with awareness at his touch, and your breath caught in your throat. He traced circles around your entrance, teasing it with his touch. Your body responded involuntarily, pushing forward into his caresses.

"We should get a hotel room next time," Cillian suggested, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance, knowing fully how much he had affected you.

You nodded, trying to regain control of your racing thoughts. "Yes, that would probably be better," you agreed, not daring to look directly at him as, finally, he reached for the tissues on your bedside table.

Gently, he began to clean you up, carefully removing his seed from your body. You could not bring yourself to watch, instead looking away and focusing on his movements, which were slow and gentle, never rushing. When he finished, he offered you the tissues to clean yourself further. Grateful, you accepted them and proceeded to do so, feeling a mix of shame and relief wash over you.

"I should probably leave you now," Cillian said, standing up and putting on his clothes.

"No, wait." You insisted, suddenly needing to express your gratitude. "This was fun. Thank you," you said, and Cillian smirked.

"I will show you more fun after school next Tuesday if you are game," Cillian said, giving you a suggestive grin.

"Tuesday sounds good," you replied, trying to match his boldness, even though you were unsure if you were ready for more.

Cillian leaned in, placing a light kiss on your forehead. "Be good," he commanded, flashing you a devilish smile. Then, he left your room, leaving you alone to process everything that had just happened.

Your body trembled, still humming with the aftermath of their intimate encounter.

You couldn't believe what had just transpired between you two, but at the same time, you found yourself wanting more.

Your cheeks flushed as you recalled Cillian's commanding presence and the raw intensity of their connection.

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master-sass-blast · 7 months ago

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Resurgence.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

Summary: You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

AKA you and Lin meet up for an evening to blow off steam. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: M for sexual content, panic attacks, PTSD symptomatology, vomiting, and arguing.

Word count: 5.9k.

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

P.S. Shout out to the commenter who pointed out how guilty Lin must feel for not saying anything about the locks. I hadn't even thought of that.

Wake up. Stretch. Get ready for work. Catch the 8:30 morning tram.

Get to work. Clock in. Review client roster for the day. Confer with reception Start off with your first patient for the day.

Clock out for lunch. Eat lunch. Talk to coworkers. Take a short walk during break.

Clock back in for the afternoon. Work with more patients. Confer with an assistant on upcoming scheduled appointments. Take your afternoon break. Drink some tea.

Wrap up your last scheduled appointment. Update client progress charts. Tidy work space. Clock out.

Catch 5:45 evening tram. Stop by the market to pick up food for dinner. Go back home. Make dinner. Do chores and general “life maintenance.” Try to relax. Get ready for bed. Go to sleep.

And on, and on, and on, and on…

You like your job. You love the field of work you’ve picked. Carrying on your grandmother’s legacy –the tradition of the Northern Water Tribe’s healing work–gives you reason to hold your head high each morning.

You have purpose. Passion. You help people.

Maybe you’re a workaholic in denial. Or maybe it’s the fault of your mad idea to also work at Yue General as a trauma recovery specialist and on-call surgical assistant. Whatever the case, at least once a year, you hit a point where the daily grind of your life starts drilling through your head and draining your will to live.

In years past, you’d usually take a few days off, after about the fifth week of dragging yourself through the motions. You’d promise to “refresh” your life –clean up your apartment, take care of responsibilities left to the side in the wake of your waning motivation–then spend your time off eating your weight in take out and napping on your couch.

Well. It works. Each year, you’re able to return to work after a few days living as a shut-in hedonist with renewed joy and drive.

This year, however…

You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What,” you say, somewhat winded, as you slow to a stop in front of her. You wind your arms around her neck and curl your fingers into her curly, short hair. “You didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

…

The second the deadbolt slides into place, the weight of your daily grind melts away.

Technically, the second you got a phone call from your darling girlfriend, and thus received the invitation to come over for an evening, a lot of the drudgery bearing down on you had abated. But you’d still waited, balancing electric anticipation, looming over your head as you counted down the days, then the hours, then the minutes…

You moan into Lin’s mouth as she grabs your ass with both hands.

Bliss.

You’ve always hated waiting for what you want –for anything, really.

Lin shoves you against the nearest wall. She growls when you squeeze her ass harder than necessary, then grabs your hands. “Behave.”

“No.” You take the opportunity to nip at her lower lip –which makes her gasp gloriously–then utilize her shock to fight her grip. “I–”

Lin all but slams your hands against the wall, over your head. She brushes her lips along your jawline –which makes you tremble–then murmurs huskily in your ear. “Enough. Be patient.”

“Patient?” you sputter. “I’ve been patient the whole damn week–”

“I called you only three days ago.”

“It felt like a week!” You whimper when Lin nips at the side of your neck. Feigning submission, you tip your head back and melt against her –until she loosens her grip on your wrists.

“You little–” Lin catches your hand halfway on its journey up her shirt with one hand, then grabs your face with the other. She forces you to look her in the eye and glowers down at you. “What did I just tell you?”

“You called me three days ago.” A cheeky, self-satisfied grin stretches across your face when she growls at you. You smile up at her, the picture of innocence, then use her moment of distraction to jam your thigh between her legs.

Lin lets out a choked gasp of your name and stumbles against you.

“Aw, baby, did you miss me?” you purr. “You could’ve called me so –FUCK!”

In one fluid motion, Lin tosses you over her shoulder and marches down the hall, towards her bedroom.

A short grunt escapes you when she tosses you on her bed, and then you squeal when she yanks you over her lap. In short order, your pants are yanked down around your knees. You mock-glare at her over your shoulder when she pulls roughly on your underwear. “Don’t rip these! I like them!”

Lin grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your head back down against the bed. “Shut up.”

Blissful pain shoots across your scalp. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you moan into her bedspread.

(Regardless, she heeds your demand and doesn’t ruin your underwear.)

Your underwear follow the trajectory of your pants in short order. Anticipation and arousal pulse through your cunt, prompting you to squirm atop Lin’s lap.

She pins you down by barring one strong, unyielding arm across the small of your back. Her free hand gently smooths over the swell of your bare ass –almost worshipful, in contrast to her ire with your bratting. “Last chance. Behave.”

You can’t resist. “Or what?”

Her hand cracks down against your skin.

You yelp –then whimper when she kneads your asscheek, drawing out the underlying ache. “Lin–”

“Be. Good.” She leans over your back to growl in your ear. “Or I won’t let you cum tonight.”

…Come on. She practically set that up on a silver platter for you.

“What makes you think you can make me cum to begin with?”

SMACK!

A delighted sob rips out of your throat. You writhe –well, as much as you can, anyway, since Lin’s always bound to win any contest of strength between the two of you–then moan when she spanks you one, two, three more times. Stars burst behind your eyelids, dazzling and transcendent as all coherent thought leaks out your brain through your dripping cunt. “Fucking spirits–” You groan, low and ragged, when Lin’s hand cracks down against your ass for a fourth time. “Oh shit!”

She keeps spanking you in irregular intervals, until your ass feels hot and you’re a whimpering, slick mess. Lin brushes her fingers against your labia, then pulls away when your hips push against her fingertips. “What? Nothing smart to say now?”

And you don’t. The ability to speak has since left your brain, drowned out by arousal, and endorphins, and the feeling of your girlfriend’s hand against your throbbing skin. So, in lieu of saying what’s on your mind, you opt for a physical demonstration.

“You little fucking brat–”

Or, well, you try to.

You manage to twist your arm and get half a hand on Lin’s chest –her beautiful, soft chest that you would never take your hands off, if you had things your way–before the bottom drawer of her nightstand flies open and a familiar glint of silver whizzes past your head.

Your stomach lurches, akin to airsickness, when the first metal cuff closes around your wrist.

“You never listen, never learn–”

It’s like you’ve toppled into the Northern Ocean in the midst of winter. Every muscle in your body seizes, practically frozen solid. You’re sinking, slipping beneath the surface as La drags you into their depths, theirs forevermore.

“–okay? Talk to me–”

You can’t breathe right. There’s a burlap bag over your head. You’re tied to a chair in a dank basement, there’s a bag over your head, and you’re going to die–

“Breathe.” Lin undoes the cuffs with her metalbending, then tosses them aside. She lifts you into her arms, turning you so that you’re sitting in her lap. “What’s wrong? Did I–”

“Don’t leave me again!” A broken sob tears from your throat. You throw your arms around her, clutching her close as you bury your face into her neck. Shudders wrack your body as you cry louder. “Don’t –don’t leave me–”

“Okay! Okay.” Lin cups the back of your head with one hand. “I won’t leave you. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You’re trying. But it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. You can’t catch your breath, can’t get your diaphragm to open up properly.

“What does she taste like?”

The back of your throat burns. Your mouth tastes like acrid metal.

“I want you to tell me. What does she taste like when you use your tongue on her?”

Clammy sweat beads along your forehead.

“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

You shove yourself to your feet, then clap one hand over your mouth when you retch.

Lin’s reflexes succeed where yours fail. When you double over, she grabs you by the shoulders and rushes you to the bathroom.

The first heave makes your eyes water and burn. You cough, stomach roiling as your whole body rolls. Putrid bile spews into the toilet basin on the second heave, burning your throat on the way out. You sob when you can breathe again, falling to your knees on the hard, cold tiles of Lin’s bathroom floor.

Lin’s hand is strong, yet gentle on your hair. She quickly tucks a few stray strands away from your face. “Easy. Just let it happen.”

Like I have any control here. Panting, you clutch the rim of the toilet bowl. “I–” You retch, then curl over the toilet again.

…

Things go fuzzy. Once your stomach is empty, you collapse against the side of Lin’s bathtub. You’re gasping, clammy and trembling as you try to suck down enough air to stop the feeling of drowning.

A cool glass of water is pressed into your hands. You take a small sip, rinse your mouth, then spit into the toilet bowl before slumping down again.

At some point, you wind up in Lin’s bed, tucked carefully under the covers. Your knees and hips ache from the harsh, unforgiving tile floor. Still shaking, you wince as you curl up on your side. Short, shallow breaths puff past your lips. I’m okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re safe, Lin’s here–

Except she’s not.

You bolt upright, terror coursing through your veins. The bathroom’s empty, there’s no light peeking out beneath the door to her home office, and the kitchen is silent. Your stomach drops into your feet, and you lunge out of bed. “Lin?”

“What’s wrong?” Her feet hit the floor in her living room, and then she appears at the end of the hallway, expression pinched from concern. “Are you–” She stumbles back a few steps when you careen into her. “What the –hey!”

You lock your arms around her waist and bury your face in her neck. Your pulse pounds in your ears, racing and erratic. “You left me again!”

“I–” Lin’s hands grip your shoulders tightly. “I stayed with you while–”

“Not then! Earlier! You left me!”

Lin tightens her hold on your shoulders, then forces you back so she can see your face. “I don’t know what we’re talking about!”

You lock your jaw to keep yourself from rambling and gibbering like an unhinged loon. Throat tight with fear and anguish, you force yourself to breathe as deeply as you can. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Bile roils in your empty stomach; you swallow hard, then pull away from her. “You left me. After the warehouse. After Kim.”

Lin goes perfectly still. Her wide, green eyes lock onto your face, then quickly focus on the floor instead, before finally drifting to the empty kitchen. Her scarred cheek twitches minutely. “I don’t understand what that has to do with right now.”

“I’m trying,” you spit out between clenched teeth. Frustrated –with her, with the situation, with yourself–you close your eyes and scrub at your face with your hands. “I’m not –you aren’t –I don’t want to–”

“Breathe.”

You do as Lin says, relaxing minutely when her hand brushes against your upper arm. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Use the diaphragm and abdominal muscles to control things. Deep inhale, even slower exhale.

Once you’re visibly calmer, Lin speaks again. “Why did you panic when I cuffed you?”

“I…” You swallow hard, then shrug small and sad. “I flashed back to –to the warehouse fight.” A pang of anxiety makes your voice crack. “When Kim had me tied to a chair in the basement.”

“Shit.” Lin rakes one hand through her short, wavy gray hair. “I’m sorry, I should have thought–”

“Of nothing,” you cut her off, suddenly weary.

“I should have checked in before restraining you–”

“And I would have said ‘go for it.’” You level her with a firm stare. “I didn’t know it was going to happen, either. It just… came out of nowhere.” The anxiousness crests higher, and you compensate by stepping into Lin’s space and wrapping your arms around her waist. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. “Thanks for helping me when I freaked out.”

“Of course,” Lin says as she wraps both arms around your shoulders. “What, like I was going to leave you like that?”

“I know, I know,” you reply automatically.

She left you after the warehouse.

It’s a poisonous, traitorous thought. Cold, nauseating ire roils in your gut. It turns hot as it swirls up your spine, until it breaks over your head in a tidal wave of rage and indignance.

It’s not fair. You and Lin have talked about the whole Kim aftermath fiasco. It’s been put to bed.

Has it? You chew on your lower lip as your mind turns the issue over. If you’re still upset about it, has it really been laid to rest?

How many times have you lectured your patients, after all? Some small injuries or aches, if left unattended, can morph into much bigger problems.

The tell-tale sensation snaps back –almost like vertigo, your head spins as the room suddenly feels miniscule around you. You can feel the walls of Lin’s apartment closing in around you, feel your scalp pressing against the plastered ceiling, even though your girlfriend is still holding you and your head is still comfortably pillowed against her chest. The urge to curl in on yourself, to find somewhere dark and small to hide claws up your legs and back, snarling and demanding your immediate submission. Breathe. Your eyes slip shut, and you press your forehead against your girlfriend’s shoulder. I deserve to exist. My feelings deserve to exist. Teeth clenched against a fresh wave of nausea, you breathe through anger and frustration and pain. Ask, don’t accuse. You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Why –why did you leave me after I got kidnapped?”

Unsurprisingly, Lin freezes again.

You can hear her swallow nervously. When she doesn’t speak, you decide to keep talking. “I needed you. I–I was so fucking scared, and hurt–” Your voice cracks as hot, stinging tears well up behind your closed eyelids. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trembling all over as you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. Just –give me a second.”

Lin says nothing, simply waiting in patient silence.

Outside, down in the street below, a Satomobile door thumps shut. The engine revs, then settles into a steady purr before fading away. The familiar rattle of the city tram breaks through the autumnal winds that rip off the harbor. The sound of the tram’s bell soars higher, sailing into the night air like asclepias puffs in the wind.

You flex your feet against the hardwood floors of Lin’s apartment. Pretty grain pattern, part of your brain notes inanely. Must’ve been expensive to refine and install. “Why did you leave me?” you whisper hoarsely, once you finally manage to scrape yourself together. You swipe at your face with the cuff of your sleeve; you hadn’t even managed to get undressed before everything went to shit. You clear your throat. “I… I don’t understand.”

For several long, tense moments, you think she might not answer at all. Then, Lin sighs. “I… I panicked.”

You watch Lin sharply, trying to read her often inscrutable expression and posture.

She walks away from you, over to the window in the living area that overlooks Republic City. She stares out at the night skyline –despite the sun having already set, the city glows from all the electric lights. She braces her hands against the white windowsill; she almost looks like a pensive, noir-style detective from the murder mystery radio shows you like so much.

You tuck your tongue in your cheek to keep from giggling hysterically.

“It was my fault.” She doesn’t look at you. “The nature of my job creates enemies.” She steps back from the windowsill; her hands curl into fists at her sides. “I should’ve known better. I do know better. And despite that, I didn’t keep you safe.”

“It’s not–” With a long, heavy sigh, you shake your head. “You can’t possibly predict every–”

“I did.” When you sputter disbelievingly, she faces you –but her gaze doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The security on your building is shit. And you’d be a lot better off with platinum locks.”

After a moment of your best river carp impression, you manage to close your mouth and shake your head. “Lin…” You hold up one finger when she opens her mouth to argue. “That’s not the same thing as knowing that Kim was going to kidnap me.” When Lin’s unconvinced, pinched expression doesn’t lift, you sputter, flabbergasted. “Okay, look –Lin. Baby. If I don’t expect you to make sure every aspect of my life is safe, what good does it do to hold yourself to that kind of standard?”

“I still–”

“‘Still’ nothing, Lin! You’re not a fucking god! Okay, so you thought about my locks; that –that doesn’t obligate you to do anything,” you insist. Sweat beads along your back, soaking into your shirt. You sigh, then sweep your hair off the back of your neck to try and cool off. “As it so happens, I’m an adult; I’m ultimately responsible for myself, and that includes my own safety. Besides, it’s a nice enough neighborhood!”

Lin stares at you, flat and unimpressed. “Bad things happen anywhere.” Her jaw tightens. “You would know.”

You sputter, caught flat-footed by her audacity to use your own assault against you. “I –how fucking dare you!” You clench your hands into fists at your side, fingernails biting into the meat of your palm. “I am not –I cannot believe–” Sense takes hold before you cavalier too far down the road of rage and indignance; as angry as you are, you don’t want to spew vitriol all over Lin. Even if she’s kind of earned it. You glare at her, jaw locked tight. “Even if you have a logical point,” you spit out through clenched teeth, “the woman who skipped out on me after I was assaulted does not get to use that trauma against me in an argument!”

Lin’s lips press into a thin line. She looks at the floor, expression somewhat chastened. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“Yes, yes it was. And thank you.” In a testament to your self-control –which, normally, you’d pass off as lacking at best–you inhale deeply and try to yank your temper back into some semblance of calm. Your head is starting to throb dully. So much for a relaxing night off. You rub your temples as you struggle to process and respond to Lin’s adamant self-blame. “I don’t –I don’t walk around with this notion that being your girlfriend comes with some sort of pass to perfect protection! I don’t expect you to package me up all nice and safe so nothing bad ever happens to me!”

“I know–”

“Then what, in Yue’s name, is the fucking problem!” You fling your arms wide, voice rising as your frustration mounts again. “There are associated risks with living in the real fucking world, and I have never asked, or intoned, or suggested that you safeguard me from every bad thing that could ever happen! Why…” When your mind finally runs blank, anger petering out, you throw up your arms before letting them fall back to your sides. Your palms hit your thighs with a light slap. “What’s the point? What’s the point of putting yourself through all that, Lin?”

Lin scowls. She turns partly away and rakes one hand through her thick, curly hair. “It’s still my job.” She sighs harshly. “I know you don’t expect me to protect you.” She looks back over you, expression solemn. “I know. But it’s still my job. I don’t–” She presses her lips into a thin line, frustrated, then crosses her arms over her chest. “I believe in police work. I believe that doing my job keeps people safe. Even when I’m ‘off the clock,’ my duties to the people I care about don’t stop, and that includes keeping them safe.”

“Okay.” You nod along, choking back retort after retort through sheer force of will. It matters to her. It matters to her. It matters to her. “Okay.”

Lin fully turns away from you –but even without seeing her face, you can still tell she’s on edge. The line of her body is rigid as she stares out the window of her living room. She takes a deep, audible breath, shoulders rising and falling as she does. She clasps her hands behind her back and bows her head; for a moment, she looks exactly like the countless press release pictures of the indomitable Chief Beifong (which you may or may not have clipped out of the newspaper and tucked away for your own edification, you’ll claim the fifth if asked to testify, presumed innocent until proven guilty). “I didn’t know if we were going to be serious or not. It was more comfortable, for me, to keep you at arm’s length. And that included not making an issue of your building’s security problems.”

It stings, you can’t lie. Her confessed, deliberate indifference to your safety –when it’s apparently a big deal to her–hurts. You swallow hard, then tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep from firing back before she’s done talking.

“It was my fault,” Lin states, voice flat and final. “After Kim… I couldn’t deal with it.” Finally, she turns and looks you in the eye. Her expression flickers for a moment, nearly giving way to anguish, before locking down to something more neutral with what you know to be an insurmountable, bone-deep reserve of will. “I’m sorry.” She stiffens, then frowns slowly when you start shaking your head. “What? What is it?”

“I–” Hot, stinging tears trace down your cheeks. Your palms are clammy, and your back is drenched in sweat. “That –thank you. Thank you for being honest. But–” You draw in a shaky breath as you try to school your thoughts into something more coherent. “I don’t –the locks wouldn’t have changed anything, Lin. They –no.” You hold up one finger and glare harshly at her when she opens her mouth to argue. “No. We both know that Kim had a very particular goal in mind. Better locks wouldn’t have stopped him. He would’ve had his goons just, I don’t know, kick in my door, or some shit.” You shrug, defeated, then rub your hands over your face. “I –I don’t care about the stupid locks. I get that it’s important to you, and that’s fine, but the locks don’t make a difference to me.”

The locks wouldn’t have held your hand in the hospital, after all. The locks wouldn’t have talked to you on the phone after you woke up from yet another nightmare. The locks wouldn’t have rubbed salve into the rope burn on your wrists from where you’d chafed your skin trying to wriggle free. The locks–

Your face crumples, but you manage to keep going as you start crying. “I needed you.” Your whole body shudders as you draw in a shaky, broken breath. “I was so fucking scared, and hurt, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to me–”

Lin presses her lips together in a tight line, then holds her arms out to you.

You choke on a sob, then rush into her embrace. “I was so fucking scared!” You bury your face into her shirt, trembling as you weep. “I felt so lost, and small, and you just left me–”

Lin tucks your head beneath her chin. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was cruel,” you insist, voice pitiful to your own ears. “And selfish.”

Lin draws in a shaky breath. “It was,” she agrees, her own voice wavering. She hugs you close, as though she can squeeze the pain and suffering right out of you. “I was wrong –and cruel, and selfish. I’m so, so sorry.”

Something inside you releases, like a locked muscle finally relaxing after a good, thorough healing session. You melt against her, hurt yielding to assurance and peace. A shaky exhale floats past your lips. “Thank you.”

…

Once you stop crying and settle into the post-panic attack-argument-meltdown, Lin disentangles from you and sequesters herself in the bathroom.

You can hear the sink tap running; if you felt up to it, you could probably extend your bending and feel the water swirling down the drain.

Exhaustion has you feeling hollowed out. You peel your shirt away from your skin with a grimace. The stress of the evening made you sweat. You try to adjust your underwear under your skirt. All of your clothes, frankly, feel uncomfortably, grossly stuck to your skin. This is not how I wanted to get wet tonight.

You drop down onto Lin’s couch gracelessly. You slump into the dark green cushions and close your eyes.

Your whole body feels raw. Your skin almost feels like you’ve been scraped along the pavement outside. Throbbing and tender, you shift restlessly, trying to find some position that will agree with you.

Outside, a Satomobile honks loudly, which is quickly followed by the sound of tires screeching.

Flinching, you curl forward and comb your fingers through your hair. Fuck me. Quickly, you flip on Lin’s radio, then let out a sigh when instrumental music starts droning through the speakers. You turn up the volume dial, just until the crushing feeling of overstimulation starts to abate. That’s better.

Eventually, Lin emerges from the bathroom. (It’s probably not very long, but your poor, fatigued brain has settled into the muddy state where time starts moving like molasses.) She heads straight for the kitchen and starts quietly puttering about; a few cabinet doors open and close, the tap for the sink runs briefly, and the range hisses as Lin lights it with match.

You borderline drowse as you half-watch her work, half-melt away into the syrupy ooze of reality.

Hours, maybe minutes later, Lin joins you at the couch. She sets down a tray with a fresh pot of tea and two cups onto the coffee table, then reaches over and turns the radio down. “Here.”

You force yourself into a more upright position and accept the cup of steaming, fragrant tea she holds out to you. “Thanks.”

Lin sets down next to you, and makes no protest when you immediately invade her space and curl up against her. She wraps one arm around your shoulders, then picks up her cup of tea with her free hand.

The tea is nice –no doubt some very expensive, well grown blend. You wish you could do more than sip tiredly at it, but your head feels heavy (probably from the swelling in your sinuses, on account of all the crying).

Distantly, the healer part of your brain starts noting all the facets of recovery after crying. Parasympathetic nervous system takes over. Brain releases endorphins. Muscles release tension from build up of stress. Autonomic nervous system reins in heart rate, respiration rate, and blood pressure.

“You alright?” Lin murmurs when you let out a shaky breath..

Nodding, you hum, then tip your head back and kiss her softly. Even though you’re tired, your head feels clearer. The consuming static of terror and rage have finally been swept out, leaving subdued peace and clarity.

Speaking of…

“Hey.” You crane your head back so you can see her face better. “If… if something happens to me again–” You pause when Lin grimaces and looks away. After waiting a moment, you press your fingers against her jaw and gently guide her head until she’s looking at you again. “If something happens to me again,” you repeat, “don’t… don’t push me away.” A lump rises in your throat, but you push past it. “I won’t ever be angry at you if something bad happens to me, okay? And it’s –it’s so much worse–” Your voice breaks; you have to take a moment to pull yourself together before you try speaking again. “It’s so much worse with you not around.”

Blinking rapidly, Lin nods. “Alright.” She looks away for a bit, gaze distant. She swallows hard, jaw rolling as she lets out a sigh, then asks, “Would you consider getting platinum locks?”

“They’re expensive.”

“Victim’s Assistance fund should pay for them, considering your apartment was broken into during the course of an abduction,” Lin fires back, almost like she’s reading the fine print straight from the page. “All you’d have to do is submit a request form and a copy of the police report to their office. And if they don’t pay for platinum locks, I will.”

Part of you wants to protest the notion of her paying for any of it. It’s your apartment and your responsibility. Feasibly, you could scope out some options, compare prices, and then allot the necessary savings into your monthly budget.

A quiet, wiser voice in your head whispers, ��It’s okay to let her help you.’ “Would you feel better if I had platinum locks?”

Lin’s reply comes without hesitation. “Yes.”

You sweep your tongue along the back of your teeth; part of you chafes at the thought of acquiescing. You can take care of yourself, after all. You moved here on your own, put yourself through university and therapeutic certifications, built yourself up as a reputable and capable physical therapist and surgical assistant. While Lin’s compensated you for ruined clothes and the odd day when she’s worked you over enough that you needed to take a day or two off work, you’ve never needed –or expected–her to bankroll your life.

If the Victim’s Assistance Fund comes through, she won’t have to pay, you remind yourself. And it’s just one set of locks, and she’ll feel better knowing you’re safer.

That’s the clincher, in the end. Stubborn pride isn’t worth your girlfriend’s peace of mind –especially over something as non-invasive as a good set of locks.

You nestle back against the warmth and comfort of Lin’s embrace. “Alright. I’ll start figuring out the Victim’s Assistance fund stuff tomorrow.”

“I can give you the number for one of the department heads.”

“Okay,” you murmur, cheek squished against her shoulder. Part of you thinks it’s a little ridiculous –there’s no reason you can’t go through the same process as everyone else–but you’re too tired to argue (and, honestly, bypassing some of the formalities and traditional run-around will be nice). You sigh, then nuzzle against her and close your eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I know –I know you were just taking a moment to breathe, and you weren’t actually leaving me; I just –I was still so out of my head from the cuffs, and the panic attack, and I–”

“It’s okay.” Lin wraps one strong arm around your shoulders. “You were scared; it’s okay.” She kisses the top of your head, then squeezes you a little closer. “Stay here tonight. I’d rather you go home once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

You sniff, then nod. “Okay.” Melting into her embrace, you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The radio croons on; the singer –a woman with a smooth, low voice–drawls on about the ocean and the land meeting as lovers. Down the hall, the gentle, intermittent rumble of the elevator interjects between the radio and the sounds of the city at no particular rhythm. Outside, the distant, waning sounds of Republic City’s nightlife echo into the air.

The two of you lapse back into comforting silence.

…

Once the two of you finish your tea, Lin tidies up before shepherding you to bed.

You rinse off in the shower first. You worry about washing your hair, or anything too involved, but getting the sweat off your skin is essential if you don’t want to wake up irritable and itchy.

Your stomach still feels shaky –no doubt from all the mucus and drainage from crying. You turn down the water to a comfortably cool temperature (helps with the inflammation), then mechanically work through the steps of washing up as quickly as you can.

You borrow Lin’s toothbrush (and, fine, it’s really not the grossest thing, especially since you’ve made a point of burying your face between her legs whenever she lets you), and she lends you another baggy, Republic City Police Academy shirt to sleep in.

The gray shirt feels exquisitely soft between your fingertips, against your skin. You tuck away the notion of “borrowing” it for future you to ponder.

It’s nice, slipping beneath the covers on Lin’s bed. Her sheets are luxuriously soft –no doubt a vastly higher thread count than what you can afford.

You stretch your legs like a polar bear pup. Something pops in your lower back, and you groan. “Ugh, finally.”

“You okay?”

“Cracked my back.” You wait for her to turn off the lamp, then cross the space between you and curl up against her side.

Lin obliges you by slipping her arm beneath your neck and winding it around your shoulders. Her fingertips slip beneath the collar of your shirt and stroke along the base of your neck.

The familiar sounds of the city dwindle as the night drags on. The surrounding apartments are equally still. Here, in Lin’s bed, in her arms, you’re enveloped by safety. By warmth. Every breath you take is filled with the familiar scent of Lin –traces of the cologne she favors, the fresh mint of her toothpaste, even the fragrant tea you both had earlier. The blankets are cozy, exquisitely soft, and the perfect weight to help lull your frazzled mind and body into slumber.

Just for a moment, right before you drop off into sleep, your body relaxes into a state of perfect contentment. It’s almost like you’re floating, perfectly supported and enveloped, much like floating in a pool for a moment of rest before swimming again. Tranquility seeps through your veins, washing away any remaining tension and panic from earlier in the evening.

You fall asleep to the gentle thumping of Lin’s heart and her steady, deep breathing.

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #legend of korra #hands that heal #hurt/comfort #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd #tw: vomit #heavy on the emotional hurt in this one

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a-killer-obsession · 6 months ago

Text

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 3 - Shopping Date

Killer learns something surprising, and you get some much needed shopping done.

WC: ~8k

Heat made quick work of the tour, it wasn't like there was that much to see on a ship, even one as large as the Victoria Punk, and he really did have shit to do. Everyone had tasks they were assigned to, everyone pulled their weight on the ship, even if it seemed like it was the cabin boys and henchman doing most of the work. Well, I mean, it kinda was, it's not like you’d ever catch the commanders swabbing the deck, but they had important jobs none-the-less. With a resupply island so close, Heat's work was piling up and he would be no doubt busy for the rest of the day.

During the tour he also explained to you the dynamics of the crew. It was split into three main categories: the top dogs, the henchmen, and the cabin boys.

The job of the cabin boys was clear - they cleaned, they ran errands, and they trained - hoping to one day be considered strong enough to join the henchmen or top dogs. They were all young, ranging from fourteen to nineteen years old. Most were orphans, kids they'd picked up after raids who had a little fight in them and showed promise, most taken against their will (since the Kid pirates were usually the reason why they were orphans) but it worked out. Kid and Killer knew well how hard it is to be an orphan, Heat explained, so they took these boys to save them from starvation and hardship. Even if they fought it now, one day they’d come to see it as a blessing. A few more fiery cabin boys were volunteers, boys who were already street urchins looking for an out, or just boys with straight up anger issues whose parents couldn't handle them. All of the cabin boys slept in one long room on hammocks, each with a small wooden trunk provided to them where they kept their few possessions. They didn't get a share of the loot, so they couldn't afford to buy new things at will, and had to put in a request if they needed anything. Right now there were eight cabin boys on the Victoria Punk, but the room could accommodate ten. Cabin boys didn’t usually join fights, but every now and then one would inevitably be lost during fights at sea, when there was nowhere to run.

The henchmen were next up on the food chain, making the bulk of the crew. They cooked on a rotation, and helped with the harder cleaning jobs like swabbing the deck - which had to be done every single day to keep the wood impregnated with sea water, which kept it from rotting - as well as taking care of supply runs, training the cabin boys, and being expected to have the top dog's backs during fights. They also took care of the ship's maintenance and repairs, as well as hoisting sails and dealing with the anchor and helm, being that most were men who had experience as sailors, often being ex-marines or leftovers from defeated pirate crews. Kid sometimes used his fruit to reel in the anchor, but only if they were in a rush. Henchmen had an unfortunately high turnover rate, as they were usually the first to die in battle, and those that did last were usually promoted to the top dogs. Currently there were sixteen henchmen, split between three rooms that could hold six men a piece, a few beds currently being empty after the fight at the marine base. Their numbers would no doubt be replenished at the next few islands, Kid liked to have a full force of henchmen to keep up his crew’s strength.

Next were the Top Dogs. These included the commanders - Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, and two others that you hadn't formally met yet - Mohawk and Double. One had been on nightwatch, and thus asleep when you were freed from the mast, and the other on the current watch, which is why neither had been at lunch. You had seen them around the deck though, and picked up their names when they were addressed by henchmen. Heat told you they hadn't known Kid and Killer as long as Wire and himself had, but were still close, trusted advisors and fierce warriors.

Mohawk was a small man compared to the other commanders, who, as the name would suggest, sported a large, vibrantly orange mohawk, the rest of his head being decorated with zigzags neatly shaved into short, unnaturally yellow hair. Despite his height, being only barely taller than you, and a thin build, he was still one hundred percent muscle, with speed and a short blade known as a falcata being his weapons of choice. He seemed to have a short temper, and usually wore a setup of head to toe leather decorated with metal spikes, even in hot weather.

Double was his near opposite, being just as tall and broad as Kid, but he lacked visible muscle, instead it was hidden under a thick layer of fat - hence the less than kind nickname that he had come to embrace. He was a sniper, very rarely ever caught in the heat of battle. He usually stayed far from the field, or up in the crow's nest, covering the other commanders’ backs with a sharp eye and a deadly precision that could rival Yasopp of the Red Haired pirates. He had a vibrant head of green hair, almost neon, which he kept tied in a tight man bun. Like Kid, he always had a set of goggles on him, presumably to protect his vision so as not to be caught weakened by the environment during battle, though he preferred to let them hang around his neck most of the time. Like the majority of the Kid pirates his closet seemed to consist of mostly blacks, as well as some dark forest greens, and his outfit was usually made up of some sort of cropped shirt and baggy pants, tucked into tall heeled boots. Despite the nickname, it was clear he felt no shame about his size, and was just as strong as the other commanders when it came down to it.

The rest of the top dogs were made up of promoted henchmen who had proven themselves to be strong fighters and had made their way up the ranks through hard work. They were known as the officers, and were in charge of the day-to-day running of the ship, keeping the henchmen and cabin boys in line so the commanders could focus on the more important shit. When battles happened they were usually on the front line, right behind the commanders, and were all dangerous men with a heavy bloodlust.

Currently, including the four commanders and you - who was classified as a commander, as per your demands - there were eleven top dogs. Kid and Killer had their own rooms, as you had seen on the tour, with their own private bathrooms you were told. The other four commanders were split between two shared rooms with a shared bathroom between the four of them. The remaining four, sans you, shared one room, and shared a communal bathroom with the henchmen and cabin boys. Then there was yourself, who currently resided in what was formerly a storage room where Heat had ended the tour, and would be sharing a bathroom with the other commanders. It still meant sharing a bathroom with four men, but it was better than sharing with the henchmen.

Everyone on the ship pulled their weight, even if it didn't seem like it outside of battle. Obviously the henchmen and cabin boys were always hard at work, but the top dogs also held their own. The officers took care of the day-to-day work, but the commanders also had important jobs to do. The first job, shared among all of the top dogs, was the watch. There was always a man in the crow's nest, regardless of the weather, whether it be out at sea or docked. The watch was rotated three times a day, in eight hour shifts, swapping at six in the morning, two o'clock, and ten o'clock. The importance of the watch couldn't be understated, being the first line of defense against rival crews, marines and seakings, so it was only entrusted to the top dogs. As annoying as it was, they didn’t trust the henchmen to not fall asleep on the job.

Each of the commanders had specific roles on the ship as well. Heat was the commander in charge of most consumable supplies. It was his job to make sure the infirmary was well stocked, the shipwright team had everything they needed, even the toilet paper was under his domain. If a cabin boy needed something, it was him they pleaded their case to. Which was probably in their best interest - Heat was a bit of a softy and hardly ever denied a request. His job consisted mostly of running between the various teams of henchmen and officers to make lists, and making sure someone was assigned to procure all of the necessary items.

He worked closely with Wire, who was in charge of the money. He made sure everything was budgeted for and let the captain know when a raid was needed to keep up with costs. Heat and Wire spent a lot of time negotiating supplies, if a request was denied it was usually because of Wire. He also took care of the ship's records, keeping track of all supplies, loot, and money that moved on and off the ship. He was often found in the navigation room where he kept a desk and several filing cabinets full of well organized records. You’d barely seen him over the last week, but you realised after Heat’s explanation that it was probably because the crew had taken in a great deal of loot from the marine base, so he’d likely been taking all his time taking inventory of it.

Killer was in charge of food. Heat told you, much to your surprise, that Killer actually really enjoyed cooking, and often cooked for the commanders, it was somewhat of a hobby for him. Since he spent more time in the kitchen than any other commander, and had far more knowledge about cooking, he was more than happy to work out the food roster with the officer in charge of the kitchen, since he could work in his own preferences. Food was planned months in advance, since there was never a promise of when the next resupply would be. Even if the map claimed to have a town on an upcoming island, they could never be sure that it hadn't been raided or destroyed before their arrival, so it was important to be prepared, lest they starve at sea. Water was taken care of by a filtration system, stolen from the marines, and one of the other officers was in charge of its upkeep as part of his managing the maintenance of the ship.

Mohawk, despite his short temper, was actually the ship's doctor. He didn't actually have a medical degree, but he had been saved from a life as a street urchin in his youth by a kind doctor, and trained under him. He would have gone to medical school, but he unfortunately suffered from dyslexia and was unable to pass the entry exam because of it. He wanted so badly to be a doctor though, and without a medical degree even the marines also wouldn't accept him. So when the opportunity to join an upstart pirate crew as the ship doctor arose, he quickly accepted, as a means to fulfill his dreams. As the ship's doctor he was in charge of the infirmary as well, and made sure it was well stocked, being that the Kid pirates were always running face first into fights.

Double was the navigator, and thus could usually be found pouring over maps in the navigation room. When he wasn't there, he was at the helm, preferring to steer the ship himself lest some idiot henchman put them off course. He'd spent most of his teen years sailing on his own on a small boat in the South Blue, so even though helmsman was his preferred job, navigation skills had been a must have. It was for these skills that Kid had let him live when he'd found himself on the gang-ridden island where the other commanders resided, the last piece of the puzzle the Kid pirates had needed to go out to sea.

Lastly, there was Kid, who at first glance seemed like he did shit all, but it was his job to make sure everyone else was doing their jobs. He worked closely with all of the top dogs, keeping everyone on the same page and making the big decisions about where they were headed. He was also in charge of weapons, and could usually be found tinkering with new ideas for them in his workshop. His workshop was completely off limits to everyone except Killer, unless specifically invited in. And of course, it was his dream to become King of the Pirates that kept the whole crew moving forward, giving them all a common goal.

As soon as the tour was over, you had laid down for a nap, your sore body begging for the chance to lay flat after a week strapped to the mast. The crew hadn't expected to be converting a storage room for you when they landed at the marine base, so the room right now only consisted of an extra bed, hastily stolen from the marines before they left the island, and a small wooden box to act as a side table. It was more than enough for you though, after spending years in cells that had little more than a thin, dirty, sorry excuse for a mattress on the floor, if you were lucky, and a bucket or hole in the floor to piss in. Hell, this room even had a small porthole, what a luxury. A pillow and blanket had also been thrown on the bed, clearly stolen as well given the small repeating pattern of marine logos on them, but it was better than nothing.

You kicked off your shoes and flopped onto the bed, quickly getting comfortable on your back - not by choice but because of your mask limiting your ability to lay on your side or front. It’d been a long time since you had to sleep in it, you’d have to get used to it again. You wondered if Killer had the same issues. Without the mask, the overwhelming sounds around you would be too much to fall asleep. You made a mental note to find a piece of seastone to hold so you could sleep without it. Regardless, you had the best sleep she'd had in years. Heat tried to wake you for dinner, but you really did sleep like the dead, and unlike Killer he wasn't about to kick to rouse you, so he let you be.

You woke up the next morning in what was probably the best mood you had ever been in. For the first time since eating your devil fruit, you had woken up feeling truly free. You could leave whenever you wanted, but it was your choice to stay, and today, for the first time in your life, you would be allowed to choose your own clothes - the thought made you giggle to yourself with excitement. Your clothes had always either been picked out by your mother or the marines, with the exception of the jacket Atlas had given you. Your mind was racing with the possibilities and you thought about every fashionable woman you'd ever seen, though the last time you were able to walk the streets of any town was many years ago, fashion had no doubt changed since then. You would have Heat with your though, and he seemed like a fashionable guy, right? With his cool corset thingy and his tattoos. Yeah, Heat could help, definitely.

You slid out of bed and stretched, cringing as your knees audibly popped, years of cold cells and a week on the mast hadn't been kind to your joints. You straightened your mask and pulled down your borrowed shirt. The sky was green through the porthole, sunrise. Ah, your marine-built body clock was back in action apparently. You weren't at all surprised you'd slept through dinner, your body no doubt needed the reset. With your heart fluttering with excitement you left the room, making your way first to the commander's bathroom to pee and straighten your hair as best you could without a brush, then out to the deck. To be fair, you'd been using the ol’ finger comb for years, so it's not like your hair was ever that tidy to begin with.

You made your way to the front of the ship, where a large dinosaur skull was mounted. You'd seen several of the commanders sitting on it over the last week, but never anyone of a lower rank. You were, however, also technically a commander now, so you decided to climb on top to sit cross legged on the top of the skull, spotting the tiny dot on the horizon straight ahead that you assumed must be the island they were coming up on. You tuned your visor to see under the water, scanning quickly for seakings and thankfully finding none, though a large manta ray was dancing not far off the ship, and you watched its graceful movements under the water for a short while before setting your mask back to the default settings.

You turned your attention to the ship itself, stretching and exercising your devil fruit to scan it. You'd been bound in seastone for many years, you needed to practice as much as you could now that you knew you would have regular food to keep up your energy, so you could get back into your best fighting shape. Your job on this ship was as a human weapon, and you took that role seriously. You'd pull your weight, just like everyone else did, and prove you belonged here. You would protect this ship, and its crew. And kill lots of marines, of course. You made a mental note to ask someone to spar with you so you could get back in shape soon, though after the fight at the marine base you knew you were at least less rusty than you thought.

You closed your eyes, building a picture in your mind of the ship and its inhabitants, like a three dimensional schematic, sensing the different levels of vibrations from the molecules of all the things that made the Victoria Punk. It was something you found easier to do in your mind, rather than simply with your eyes and the right visor setting. It was easier to focus on the details like this, instead of just one singular view. You could see the cabin boys in their hammocks, a few were already quietly waking and sliding out of them. You could see the henchmen, all deep asleep save for one. Judging by the vibrations, you guessed a few were snoring. One was definitely jacking off in the bathroom, you watched out of curiosity for a moment but he didn't last much longer. ‘Boo, waste of a show’ you thought. The commanders and officers were all asleep as well, except for Wire, who seemed to be reading in bed.

You moved your mental image along to the front end of the ship, where Kid and Killer's rooms were, as well as the navigation room. Most of the other rooms were held towards the back of the ship, like the galley and officer's rooms, or under deck, which is where the henchmen and cabin boys slept, as well as most of the storage. Kid was sleeping soundly in his bed, notably without his metal arm, which appeared to be propped up against the bedside table. Killer's bed was empty, ‘how curious’.

Come to think of it, the officers and commanders were all in their beds, which meant Killer must be on watch. You scanned the crows nest - ‘ah, there he is’. The telltale change in vibrations that indicated his mask made it easy to identify him. He was definitely watching you, so you turned your head, looking over your shoulder up at him. You stared at each other for a moment, before he cracked at the strangely intimate staredown and looked away. He couldn't see your eyes, and you couldn't see his, but there was a weird mutual understanding in the glance. Respect, maybe? You couldn't name the feeling, and neither could he. Whatever it was, being caught staring at you made his heart beat funny, and he was deeply uncomfortable.

You let out a heavy exhale, releasing the visualization to come back to reality. You would need to practice more, definitely. It was a skill that would no doubt be useful to sharpen, but it was taking far more energy right now than it should. For now, you returned your attention to the horizon, focusing on the way the island, still just a speck on the horizon, slowly got bigger as you approached.

You stayed on the figurehead til the morning watch came to free Killer, and he found himself approaching you before he realized what his feet were doing. He leaned against the railing beside the skull and looked out to the sea where you were looking. It'd been about an hour since you woke up. He was an early riser regardless of the night watch, but he was surprised to see you up so early. A lot of the ex-marine crewmates woke early, but it'd been a long time since you were in service, he thought you would've grown out of the routine by now. Maybe it wasn't too surprising though, given you'd apparently slept for near fifteen hours. It was about fucking time you woke up, Killer didn't like people skipping meals so he wasn't at all impressed when you slept through dinner. Especially considering how emaciated you were, you needed every meal you could get if you were gonna get back in a good condition.

“Morin’ Killy,” you said, leaning back on your palms and turning your head to smile at him. His steps were near silent, but you'd felt the change in the air as he approached.

“Don't call me that,” he replied in his usual flat baritone.

“Grump,” you mumbled.

“You're up early,” he said, it was basically a question.

“I usually wake this early,” you replied, “I like sunrise. It's pretty, don't you think?”

The sun was just over the horizon now, almost directly in front of the ship, the sky now a dull orange that turned to a pale blue, the clouds painted ochre with heavy shadows. It reflected beautifully on the slightly choppy seas of the autumn island you were approaching, the air brisk and making the skin on your bare legs prickle with goosebumps. You didn't shiver though, your jacket keeping your upper half warm and the occasional use of your powers keeping your legs from freezing off.

Killer looked out at the sunrise. It was beautiful, to be frank, but he wasn't one to admit to thinking something was pretty. He just replied with a gruff grunt, before turning to leave for the galley.

“I'm gonna get started with breakfast,” he explained, then paused before speaking on a whim, “did you want to come help me?”

Your agreement with Kid was that you wouldn't be subjected to chores, but if Killer was cooking that meant he was doing it by choice, and only for the commanders. So really it wasn't a chore, it was helping with a hobby. You felt warmed to be invited to join him, and you quickly made up your mind to accept, hoping it would help you make friends here.

“Yeah okay,” you replied cheerfully, shimmying off the skull, “I don't know how to cook though”

“Really? You've never cooked? Or just shit at it?” He asked curiously as you walked towards the galley - not really together, it was more him walking at his own quick pace, and you almost jogging behind to keep up.

“You already know my past, when would I have ever learned?” you replied, a touch annoyed.

“Ah, right,” he said, feeling a little guilty, “sorry. I can teach you, if you'd like”

“Yeah, I think that'd be nice,” you replied. In truth, it was best you learned, in case you ever decided to leave the Kid pirates. It was also a good excuse to spend time with Killer. It seemed like he respected you, and was expected to show a certain level of civility considering your commander status, but that didn't mean he trusted you, or that you trusted him. But trust was important on a crew, you needed to know he'd have your back, and he needed to know you'd have his, so spending time together would help build that trust.

You followed him quietly into the galley, through to a back room past the serving counters that held the kitchen. A few henchmen and the officer in charge of the kitchen were already working on breakfast in the industrial setup, but there was a corner that was untouched. It seemed more homely, the equipment there all on a smaller, less commercial scale, more like what you'd find in a regular, domestic kitchen. It seemed to be Killer's domain, as he made a beeline for it, pulling out pans and ingredients from a fridge.

He pulled out a cookbook from a cabinet and handed it to you before returning to his rummaging. “Find me the recipe for breakfast muffins, and then get out all the ingredients it lists”

He didn't notice the way you stared blankly at the book before opening it, carefully observing the pictures on each page. He was halfway through frying his first batch of bacon before he realised you hadn't moved. “Just find it in the contents page at the front and flick to that page,” he explained. He was trying very hard to be patient.

His patience wore thin when several minutes later you still hadn't pulled out any ingredients, and he turned to yell at you, a deep pre-scorn breath already taken, before noticing the sour expression on your face and putting two-and-two together with a stark realization, the breath he'd taken let out with a heavy exhale.

“You can't read,” he stated.

“Sorry…” you whispered. You felt utterly stupid, and put the book down on the counter in defeat, trying your best not to look at him. He thought hard about what you'd said earlier - when had you had the opportunity to learn to cook? Similarly, when had you had the opportunity to learn to read? He felt wracked with guilt now, it wasn't your fault nobody had taught you to read, and you were clearly embarrassed about it. One conversation and he'd already managed to accidentally hit a sore spot with you, he felt awful about it. He wondered how many other basic skills you'd never been taught.

“It's okay,” he said, softer than he expected it to come out. He put a hand to your waist and gently pulled you in front of the hob, handing your the tongs he'd been prodding the bacon with, “Here, why don't you come cook the bacon instead, just keep shifting it and flipping them every now and then so it doesn't stick, till it looks like the ones I already cooked”

You graciously accepted the change in task while he turned his attention to the book, quickly flicking to the page he needed and scanning the ingredients, before starting to retrieve them from the fridge and cabinets. You were quiet, far quieter than he expected, it made him uneasy.

“You shouldn't feel ashamed of it,” he said as he measured out several cups of flour into a sieve, “those marine pigs should have taught you. Selfish pricks. It's not too late to learn though. We can teach you”

“You don't have to do that,” you replied, a sadness in your voice that made your sound like a kicked puppy, “that sounds like a lot of extra work for all of you, I don't need to be able to read to kill”

He paused. It dawned on him that your whole life you'd been treated like nothing but an object - whether that be as a weapon, or a warm body to fuck. Had anyone ever treated you with any ounce of kindness since being separated from your mother? Those marine cunts really did a number on you, you were somehow even worse off than he'd initially thought. He knew your life had been fucked, but it seemed like every conversation with you revealed another awful part of your backstory, and he wondered how deep the hole went.

“You're more than just a weapon,” he said, collecting some of the bacon he'd cooked earlier to dice up for the muffins, “you're a human. You're allowed to have your own wants and needs. Do you want to learn to read?”

You paused your prodding and looked at him. He returned your glance, your mouth making a tight line as you visibly tried not to cry. “Yes…” you said quietly.

“Then I'll teach you,” he said, returning to the bacon, “it's not a big deal, you'll be more useful to us anyway if you can read”

There was a long, pregnant pause while you tried to avoid the whole topic of your lack of basic skills, and while Killer swam around in his guilt. Not to mention, he had no idea how the fuck to teach someone to read. Maybe he would ask Wire, he taught Killer and Kid to read after all.

“... I think this bacon is done,” you said anxiously, trying to change the subject. He slid a little closer to look at the pan, his arm brushing against yours in the process. You flinched a little at the unexpected contact.

“Yeah, it looks good,” he said, quickly moving away before the accidental touching could register properly in his brain. You were quiet again while you removed the bacon from the pan, holding each piece over the pan for a few moments the way you'd seen him do earlier, so the excess oil could drip off.

“Hey Killer?” you almost whispered, staring at the plate of bacon, not quite sure what to do with yourself now.

“Mm?”

“Could I maybe borrow some more clothes?” you asked nervously, “just till I have a chance to buy my own today. I was hoping to have a shower before I disembark”

“Yeah that's fine,” he replied, pouring the finished muffin batter in to a greased muffin tray, “I'll grab you something after breakfast”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, before excusing yourself to go sit at the commander's table, not really in the mood to talk or help cook anymore.

Your mood picked back up once Heat woke up and joined you at the commander's table, just as excited as you about your shopping trip. The rest of the commanders joined not long after, with Kid arriving just in time for Killer to finish cooking. It was almost like Killer knew exactly when to expect him and had timed his cooking accordingly.

Kid slammed down a dagger and thigh holster on the table in front of you as he sat down, digging straight into the freshly baked breakfast muffins, scrambled eggs and bacon Killer put in front of him.

“Oh, my knife!” you exclaimed, immediately working on attaching the purple leather holster to your thigh. You picked up the dagger and inspected it, it was cleaner and sharper than it had been in years, the delicate floral engravings on the handle now completely free of tarnish. “You cleaned it for me? It looks brand new!”

“It's a well made blade,” Kid said with a mouth full of food, “real fucking shame those marine cunts didn't keep it maintained”

“Well, thank you,” you said with a genuine smile, “I appreciate it, truly”

“Consider it a welcome gift,” he said, brushing it off. He turned to Heat, who had not long finished his breakfast. “Make sure you get her a second weapon today, you know how I don't like not having back-ups. And make sure you gets some warm shit, there's some winter islands coming up, lanky bitch will freeze to death without a proper coat”

“Oi, what's wrong with my jacket?” you pouted, “I'll have you know this is Vegapunk tech, it's more insulating than anything you own. I could do with some pants though, I don't know how much longer I can survive in Killer's shirts and skivvies”

Kid spit out his food in surprise, looking with amused astonishment between you and Killer, “You're wearing Killer's underwear? That's fucking hilarious”

“You thought I was just freeballing it under here?” you laughed.

“A man can dream,” he grinned, “but Killer's undies is definitely ruining the fantasy”

“Damn, what a shame,” you smirked, “well, there goes my chances to be queen of the pirates. Killer, you need a duchess? I mean I'm assuming you'll make him a duke, right? I better invest early”

“I have a position open for you,” Heat toyed.

You and Kid only had to glance at each other before you both erupted in a fit of laughter and in perfect unison yelled “I'M SURE YOU WANT PLENTY OF POSITIONS”

Heat slammed his head on the table with a long groan while you and the captain almost died of laughter, Kid very nearly choking on a muffin. “I walked into that one,” Heat mumbled into the table. Double and Mohawk didn't quite understand the inside joke, but were losing their minds nonetheless. Wire had a shit eating grin on his face at Heat's expense and Killer's shoulders were shimmying in silent laughter.

“Fuck you're a laugh,” Kid laughed, finally catching his breath and smacking you on the shoulder playfully, that was definitely going to bruise, “spend whatever you want today, the log pose will reset tomorrow morning so make sure you get everything you need. I'll hand Heat the money before we dock”

Killer started to stand, as entertaining as this was, he needed to get some sleep before they docked, “I'll leave clothes for you in your room” he told you as he started to leave.

“Thanks Killy!” you shouted after him.

“Don't call me that,” he grumbled as he left.

The ship came into port not long after breakfast, well ahead of schedule thanks to the strong winds around the autumn island. The ship was moored at a small secluded bay, about a fifteen minute walk from the main town, where a small dock had been built on a pleasant stretch of sandy beach. It was far too cold for swimming, but the weather was set to be fine for a bonfire, and there were plenty of trees near the beach to build one. Usually they would have no problem with dropping anchor at the main dock of a small island like this, but given the plans for partying later, they wanted a more private spot.

Heat could barely keep up with you, excitedly skipping along the small worn down path that led to the town ahead of the rest of the group, which was made up of mostly those who had supplies to buy, including most of the commanders. Double wasn't keen on the fifteen minute walk each way, so he'd volunteered to stay with the ship. As soon as the town came into view you were grabbing Heat's hand and dragging him along, anxious to get started.

The first shop you went to was for furniture. Kid expected his commanders to be kept to a certain level of comfort above the other crewmates, to give the henchmen and cabin boys something to work towards, so a small stolen bed and a wooden crate wasn't going to do. They'd come to this store first so henchmen could collect the furniture once they'd rented a cart, so they could bring it all back to the ship and set it up while you were still out.

It was tricky, you'd never even considered buying furniture before and had no idea what you even liked. There weren't any options at these stores along the lines of ‘gross, moldy, incredibly thin mattress with questionable stains’. Thankfully the room was small, all you needed to choose was a bed and mattress, a bedding set, a side table, a chest of drawers, and perhaps some curtains and a few decorations. The decorations for the most part could wait though, they'd probably come more naturally as things caught your eye during the day.

The easiest thing to start with was the mattress. you took your time laying on each of the display options, ultimately picking the hardest one you could find. After years of sleeping on a thin foam pad you simply couldn't get comfortable on a soft bed, though even the hardest option was far softer than what you were used to and softer even than the worn down, stolen mattress you'd slept on last night.

Next came the furniture. If you picked a set it would save you making three individual choices for the bed, side table and dresser. The island was well known for its wood production, so the store featured many finely crafted sets of different wood types to choose from. A purpleheart set caught your eye, with floral carvings embellishing the drawer fronts and headboard. It was probably garish by normal standards and made for a little girl, but you'd never really had a chance at a childhood so who could fault you for wanting it. Heat seemed to approve of the set, saying it suited you, and you picked out a set of yellow floral bedding with a soft, downy comforter to match it.

The only thing left now were the decorations. You wandered around the entire store, followed closely by a sales associate who was noting down everything you were ordering, almost salivating at the commission fee he was going to get from this massive order. You had no idea you’d picked out some of the most expensive items, given you couldn't read, but the Kid pirates had money to spare looting the base they found you on, so Heat hadn't stopped you. With his help and suggestions you picked out a decently sized round mirror with a purple heart frame to match the other furniture, a small brass lamp that was shaped like a droopy flower, some plain cream coloured curtains on a brass rod, and a small, round, lilac rug with a faint floral pattern in slightly darker purple.

Happy with your choices, the sales associate totaled up the amount and Heat handed over a thick stack of money, the sales associate thanking him profusely and quickly setting off to yell at some other employees about getting the order ready for collection. A successful first stop all in all.

Next, Heat took you to a home goods store. You mostly just wandered around, picking up little trinkets here and there to decorate your room, but Heat made sure you picked out several spare sets of sheets, towels, hand cloths and a practical looking duffel bag for occasions when the commanders stayed at inns. He also made sure you got a laundry basket and a lockable box for valuables, in case a sticky fingered cabin boy happened to be cleaning your room.

The next store you went to was for weapons. Being trained by the marines for so long meant you were proficient with many weapons, but you preferred knives and swords since you could use your devil fruit to heat or cool the blade. The old man who worked at the store helped you pick out a katana with a beautiful wavy hamon and a handle wrapped in dark purple cord. You were disappointed that they didn't have anything in the way of fun coloured holsters, so you selected a basic tan coloured belt, which as an added bonus helped cinch Killer's baggy shirt you were wearing, and after Heat haggled for a good price you slipped the new sword in to your belt. You doubted it'd get much use but Kid was right, it was good to have a backup, and a dagger was easy to lose in the chaos of battle. You hoped to eventually find a cross body holster in a colour to match your thigh holster, but that could wait for now.

Before leaving the store a thought occurred to you, and you asked the old man if they sold any seastone. He hummed to himself in thought before disappearing into a back storage room, reappearing shortly after with a small, worn down cardboard box and placing it on the counter. Inside was a variety of seastone pieces, all raw, ranging in size and shape.

“I was going to make weapons from these, but my arthritis got the better of me,” he explained, “take whatever you want, they're not of much use to me now anyway”

You rummaged through the box and selected a small piece of seastone, chucking it in the pocket of your jacket, before thanking the man and leaving. It was small enough to hold in a closed palm, with edges that had been smoothed by time, perfect for your needs. Heat didn't know what you wanted with a piece of seastone, he didn't know a single devil fruit user who wanted seastone, but he handed the man a tip anyway to thank him for his kindness before following after you.

Heat had wisely planned to get all the most important shopping out of the way before you started on clothes, which would no doubt take the entire afternoon, so he dragged you away from a small boutique to go to a basic grocery store. There he made sure you picked out all your basics, like hygiene products. You spent a fair while standing in front of the shampoos and body washes, sniffing each of them before deciding on a matching set of mango and coconut milk scented washes, and a fluffy purple loofah puff. You also spent a fair while standing in front of the hair removal products, wondering whether that was something you should do. This whole time your legs had been out and fully forested - not that your thin, pale, lavender hairs were much of an eyesore. You'd never considered it a choice before, you’d often been forced to wax by perverted commanders but it'd never been your choice. Ultimately you grabbed a bright pink razor, deciding that maybe you enjoyed smooth, shaved skin, as well as grabbing a pack of pads. You only ever needed one or two each cycle given the way you used your devil fruit, and it'd probably be months before it was back, but it didn't hurt to have them on hand.

After begging and pleading, Heat also allowed you to also buy a serious amount of candy and chocolates. You were going to get fucked up on sugar and artifical colours tonight and nobody was going to stop you. You also picked up a hairbrush and a significant amount of hair ties and bobby pins. You had a specific way you liked to do your hair, back before your imprisonment, but you were always losing your accessories.

By now several hours had passed, and both of you were exhausted from shopping, with the hardest part still to come, so you set out to find lunch. You'd both just grabbed several takeaway containers of food from a street vendor and were looking for somewhere to sit when a snotty looking blonde girl bumped into Heat, very purposely making him drop his food.

“Oops, sorry freak!” she laughed, her boyfriend and the other couple they were with snickering behind her, “it's fine though right? I don't see any brains in the mess, so you probably weren't going to eat it anyway right?” she looked at you with a snarky smirk, “or maybe it was for your skinny little whore?”

You were about to rip her head clean off her body when Heat grabbed your arm to calm you. “It's not worth it,” he whispered, his eyes somehow looking even sadder than usual, “we've still got plenty, let's go sit and eat before my feet fall off.”

He completely ignored the group's continued slew of snide remarks as you walked away, dragging you, almost feral, behind him to a quiet bench that looked out over the water. He basically had to force you to sit, still entirely intent on going back and beating the shit out of her.

“What are we doing? We should just kill that bitch,” you growled. He opened the food container in your hand and shoved a fork in it.

“Eat,” he said plainly.

“Heaaaaaat let me go kill her! It'll be so quick I promise!” He couldn't help but think it was cute that you were begging to kill someone the same way you'd begged for candy only half an hour ago. It was sweet, in a fucked up, Kid Pirates kind of way.

“If you kill her it'll make a scene and then it'll be a whole thing and we won't get to shop anymore,” he explained, grabbing one of the unspoilt containers you'd been carrying, “it's fine, I'll just kill her tomorrow if I see her around”

“Fineee,” you pouted, shoving a forkful of fried noodles in your mouth, “but take me with you, I wanna see her bald after I fry her hair follicles. What the fuck did she mean about brains?”

“She was implying I look like a zombie,” he explained, eating his own food, entirety unbothered. You paused and took a long, hard look at him.

“I don't get it,” you said blankly, “I thought zombies were supposed to be like… all gory and ugly and shit. You're too cute to be a zombie”

“That's sweet of you to say, but I get the zombie comment a lot,” he smiled. He was more than used to it by now, but he liked the way he looked and that was all that mattered, the rude comments didn't really bother him anymore.

“Well, they're blind idiots then,” you said plainly, “and I'll fry ALL of their hair follicles”

“Can you actually do that?” he asked curiously, pointing a fork at you, “why did you buy a razor then?”

“Cos it hurts like a bitch, duh,” you laughed, “I did it once to my cooter cos I got sick of sticking my leg in the air to wax it and I swear I still feel it sometimes”

Heat laughed and tried not to think too hard about your apparently bare pussy. ‘Killer's skivvies, Killer's skivvies, Killer's skivvies’ he repeated to himself to keep his dick calm. Unfortunately he immediately remembered your comments from dinner yesterday about picking out panties, and had to basically stab himself in his leg with the fork he was holding.

“You good Heatie Baby?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yup,” he wheezed, “perfectly fine, eat your food so we can get moving”

Clothes shopping with a woman who had no idea what she liked ended up being a whole situation, who would have thought. The sales clerks clocked you the second you walked in, and you immediately fell victim to them, ending up with several expensive perfumes, a couple of lipsticks that “made your visor pop”, and a handful of nail polishes in your basket before you'd even reached the clothing section.

Picking out clothes was chaotic, and you had no idea what size you were so you had to pick out several of every item and try on everything before making choices. At Heat's suggestion though, you bought everything in a size too big, knowing that hopefully soon, with proper nutrition, you'd be able to put some weight back on. At some point a sales associate noticed Heat's massive handful of options he was carrying for you, as well as his many other shopping bags, and immediately offered to help (which was definitely absolutely nothing to do with getting a commission bonus, definitely). She ended up being extremely helpful in the end though, procuring a cart and helping you select fashionable items that suited you and worked well with your prized jacket, in your selected size so you didn't have to try on several of each item. She even helped you select several sets of shoes to match, as well as some other smaller accessories like hair barrettes and ribbons, and a few necklaces and bracelets. After spotting your marine tattoo you even helped you find a nicer belt for your weapon, in a purple leather that matched your thigh holster. Still not crossbody like you'd like, but better than the previous tan one. ‘Funny how much sway a tattoo she was forced to get has’ Heat thought to himself.

Heat was especially thankful for the woman's help when they reached the underwear section. She showed Heat the ‘boyfriend seat’ before whisking you away to find your bra size and help you pick out a good amount of sets, as well as several sports bras and some more practical panties. The last thing you needed were some pajamas, and you opted for some dainty negligees and a couple of sets of warmer pajamas for cold nights.

By the time you were done it was late afternoon, and you left the store with a truly ridiculous amount of shopping bags - most of them carried by Heat of course, ever the gentleman that he was. All round though it had been a good day, and Heat had enjoyed spending it with you, even if it meant he was too tired to go chasing whores now. He'd have to wait till the next island to get his dick wet.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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sapphireginger · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter #2

Summary:

The boy nods and shyly smiles. “C-Can my daddy go with me?”

Stiles nods immediately. “Absolutely, Cub. This course is designed for our cubs and their parents. Don’t worry. It’s okay to be a little nervous but I know your daddy will be right up there with you and I’ll be right down here.”

The boy nods and watches as the instructor harnesses his dad. “S’cuse me Mr. Stiles?”

Stiles kneels down again. “What’s wrong, Cub?”

The boy’s voice gets super soft. “My daddy gets a little scared up high too. Can he be a cub too so he’s safe a-and if either of us gets scared you’ll come help?”

Stiles melts and smiles softly. “I promise.

Stiles Stilinski is an instructor at a zip line adventure park called Howlin' Heights, located in Shenandoah National Park in Virginia. He’s in his sixth season as an instructor. He graduated high school at the age of sixteen and started college right after. He graduated from Seline Elite University eight years ago and then began to build his company. He has a degree in Business Administration and a degree in nursing. He spent a couple years in college as an EMT. Then two years after graduating, at the age of twenty-two he opened Howlin' Heights.

Erica was his first hire, and with her came Boyd who is their maintenance guy. Next came Jackson, Theo and Isaac who all were friends of his from college whom Stiles kept in contact with. Lastly came Allison and Kira to round out their little group. Now at twenty-eight years old he has six years of success under his belt and a family he gets to see every day, that he calls Pack.

The crew gathers in the cabin as the guests arrive and Erica gets them checked in. Stiles heads over to the whiteboard. “Okay pack listen up please?”

They all gather around and nod their acknowledgement.

“Okay today we have Kira starting on the Howling Course. She’ll take the first shift down there. Jackson you’re starting down the hill on courses five and six. Theo? You’re on Lunar Landing. Are you ready for that?” he asks.

Theo nods with a smirk. “Absolutely, Alpha. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Stiles nods and turns to Allison and Isaac. “Ally, you'll take the safety brief for the second group today and then we’ll rotate with Allison bumping Kira, Kira heading down to relieve Jackson and Jackson heading inside. Isaac, you have the safety brief for the third group today and then we'll have the rotation again with Isaac bumping Allison, Allison heading down to relieve Kira and Kira heading inside.”

“What about you, Alpha?” Allison asks, her hip cocked to the side.

Stiles huffs. “I was getting there.” He hangs up the schedule and the rotation. “I will be doing the safety brief for the first group today. I think Erica said we have a couple for the Cub Course in that group. So, I’ll do the briefs for both. I can always pull one of you over to the Cub Course if we get anymore for that one.”

He looks at the crew who all are vibrating with excitement. This is one of the reasons why he loves his job. Seeing everyone excited to do their job warms his heart. “All right pack. Let’s have a howling good time!”

They all break and Stiles heads into the office connected to the cabin. “Hey, Catwoman. How’s it going so far?”

Erica grins as she attaches bracelets to their first group. “All good so far Alpha. I have two more I’m waiting on for your group. If you want to head out and start harnessing, I’ll send the last two down when they’re ready.”

“Sounds good.” He slips on his gloves, clips his water bottle onto his harness and heads out with ten adult harnesses. He takes his place at the start, waits while people start to gather around, and offers them a smile.

“Welcome to Howlin’ Heights. My name is Stiles, and I will be your instructor today. Now, how many of you have howled with us before?” He watches as a few people raise their hands. “All right. Well, welcome back.”

The group of returnees claps excitedly and Stiles chuckles in response. “For those of you who are new, we also welcome you. It is our goal to make sure that you all have the best time possible while you’re here. Before we head down, we need to get you all harnessed up.”

He holds up one of the harnesses, the other nine resting on his shoulder before hanging them on the hooks.

Everyone in the group has their eyes on him as he continues. “So, the most important thing is that you never adjust your harnesses yourself. If at any point your harness feels loose, you need to let an instructor know and we will help you with it. I’m going to go around and get you each harnessed.” He begins harnessing all the guests.

As he finishes with the last one, he takes a step back. “All right. Now your harness should be secure. Did everyone get their harness adjusted by me?” Everyone nods and Stiles grins. “Perfect. Now on your waist you will find a red pouch that has a whistle in it. This is only for emergencies. There will be instructors on the ground that you can call out to if you need something but if it’s serious, if it's an emergency, then use the whistle. Everyone, make sure you have a whistle for me please?” He waits while they check and then nods. “Good. I see everyone has wristbands and you all have gloves?”

Everyone in the group raises up their gloved hands.

“Wonderful! Now that we have that out of the way we’re going to head to our practice course. If you’ll follow me, we’ll make our way down now.”

Stiles leads the group down and pulls out his radio. “Stiles to Cabin.”

“Go for Cabin.”

“I have finished harnessing and am heading down to the practice course.”

“Heard, Alpha. Your last two should be there with you now.”

Stiles glances at his group and notices a man with a boy on his shoulders. “I have eyes on them. Thanks, Catwoman.”

“My pleasure Batman. Have fun.”

🐾╰☆╮🍃╰☆╮🍃╰☆╮🐾

They all reach the practice course and Stiles gestures for them to spread out so they can all see him clearly. Once they do, he begins. “So, like I said earlier, my name is Stiles and I’ll be your instructor today. In order to make sure we all have the most amount of fun possible, we need to go over some rules. So, turn up your ears, give me your eyes and silence those voices. We’ll leave the howling for when you get to the ziplines. Here we go!”

Stiles starts off by explaining their equipment. He demonstrates the trolley that an instructor will put on the cables for the various courses as well as the carabiner that they will be responsible for making sure to attach. “It is important for your safety that you always make sure you have two points of attachment at all times. When you do have to unclip your carabiner, do so but then clip it back on before taking a step.”

“Excuse me?”

Stiles glances over and smiles. “What’s up?”

“Where does the carabiner clip to?” the teenager asks.

“Good question! You see this heavy duty silver cable here?”

The girl nods.

“Good. That’s where you will clip it. It is the main line and the cable you must always reattach to.” Once she nods her understanding he continues. “Now an instructor has to attach you to the course. You cannot under any circumstances attach yourself to the course. This is to ensure that you get attached correctly. Now that you know how to get attached to the system, here’s how we do the zipline.”

As Stiles is giving the safety speech for the zipline, he notices the man who has moved the small boy from his shoulders to his hip. Their wristbands indicate the Cub Course, while the rest of their group have wristbands indicating the adult course also known as the Howling Course.

“All right. Let’s see if you were paying attention. Show me by demonstrating what you just learned here on our practice course. If I can see you've understood the information, I'll send you to the first course.”

One by one the people in the group get on the practice course and only two of them have to go again before Stiles deems them ready and sends them down to course one. “Stiles to Cabin.”

“Go for Cabin.”

“I’ve got my first group heading down to course one. The practice course is raked and I’m taking two guests to our Cub Course.”

“Heard Alpha,” Erica says back.

“I’m here to let them in Alpha,” Kira replies over the radio.

“Sounds good, Kit.”

He turns to face the man and his son. “Hey guys! If you follow me, we will head to the course.”

With a nod from the man and a wiggle of excitement from the boy, they make their way down the hill towards the station with the cub harnesses and trolleys.

“So, as you both heard I’m Stiles and I’ll be your instructor. I’m going to tell you some very important things.” He kneels down to help the child into a harness. He smiles at him encouragingly. “Never hesitate to ask me any questions. Okay, Cub?”

The boy nods and shyly smiles. “C-Can my daddy go with me?”

The boy nods and watches as the instructor harnesses his dad. “S’cuse me Mr. Stiles?”

Stiles kneels down again. “What’s wrong, Cub?”

The boy’s voice gets super soft. “My daddy gets a little scared up high too. Can he be a cub too so he’s safe a-and if either of us gets scared you’ll come help?”

Stiles melts and smiles softly. “I promise. Are you ready to give it a go?”

The boy smiles excitedly and grabs his daddy’s hand. “My name is Ezekiel, but I go by EZ or Zeke and this is my daddy! His name is Derek.”

Stiles smiles and offers his hand to the dad. “Derek? Nice to meet you. I hear you’re going to be a cub today too?”

Derek’s cheeks heat up, but he nods despite holding his son’s hand tighter. “Yes?”

It’s obvious to Stiles that this wonderful—this beautiful—man is going through this despite his fear because his son wants to.

“Okay. So, your course is a little different. You only have to worry about your trolley. Just like the big course, only an instructor can connect you to the course.” He steps up to the small practice course and attaches his trolley. “So, when you’re on the course you can hold onto the rope of the cable but don’t hold onto the trolley. We don’t want any pinched fingers,” he explains wiggling his own fingers, oblivious to the way Derek’s eyes darken at the sight.

“What about the zipline, Mr. Stiles?”

“Good question, Cub. When you go down the zip line the only thing you can hold onto is the rope.” He then attaches his trolley back onto his harness. “Are we ready?”

Derek and Zeke nod, though one looks slightly pale while the other is eager to get on the course.

Stiles has them complete the practice course first and smiles at how thorough the kid is, making sure to do everything exactly right.

As he walks them to the gate, out of the corner of his eye, he notices Derek staring at his arms and has to laugh a bit to himself. Erica always teases him about people drooling over his hands.

🐾╰☆╮🍃╰☆╮🍃╰☆╮🐾

Once Stiles gets them up safely on the course for loop one, or Lupine One, he radios in. “Stiles to Cabin.”

Erica replies back. “Go for Cabin.”

Stiles smiles. “Hey, Catwoman. Any chance someone loves me enough to keep me at the Cub Course by taking my rotation in the Howling Course?” He glances up watching the son instructing his dad and he can’t help but melt at it.

“Daddy it’s okay. See? I put my foot right there in the middle and it didn’t shake at all. You can do it!”

“Okay, I can do this.”

“Yeah, you can, Daddy!” Zeke cheers.

They both get to the platform and Derek lets out a heavy sigh of relief. “Wow.”

“Come on, Daddy. This is just the first obstacle and Mr. Stiles says no howling until the zipline.”

Derek looks down to where Stiles is, his cheeks pinking when he realizes Stiles is watching them. He quickly looks back at his son. “Well, we definitely have to howl. So, we better get to the zipline quickly then.”

“I wish we had a moon out, Daddy. Then it would be perfect,” Zeke says as he starts on the next obstacle. “Cause wolves howl at the moon.”

After a couple more deep breaths, Derek starts on the next obstacle, glad he didn’t try to eat before this, well at least not a full meal.

“Do you think they have a glow in the dark night?” his son asks as he reaches the other platform and looks back.

“I don’t think so kiddo. That wouldn’t be safe. We just have to pretend we have a moon. You can be a wolf without the moon.”

“You can?! I wanna be a wolf. Come on, Daddy! Only four more obstacles and then we can howl!” he says grinning ear to ear.

Derek swallows. “Yeah. Only four more.”

#sterek #chapter 2 #high on zipping into love #zipline park owner stiles stilinski #single parent stiles stilinski #single parent derek hale #adorable child character #zeke hale (oc)#derek hale #stiles stilinski #erica reyes #allison argent #theo raeken #kira yukimura #fluff #nervous derek hale

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swaps55 · 4 years ago

Text

Arx

Someone left me a comment on a chapter of Exordium (!!!!), and revisiting it was a lot of fun, so I’m sharing some of it.

From here.

Zero gravity firefights on the Citadel were not something Garrus had even really fantasized about when working for C-Sec. Yet it was now something he could officially check off his list.

Though, ‘on’ the Citadel was now a mere technicality.

The disorienting part was not so much the distorted sense of space, the abrupt rearrangement of his internal gyroscope, but the soundless recoil of his rifle. The silent sparks erupting from a geth carapace when a slug punched through its shields and scored a critical hit. The open-mouthed roar of a charging krogan that fell upon deaf ears. Visual stimuli painted the inverted battlefield with enough visceral noise to give him a headache, but the muted calm between his ears took some getting used to. Like every turian the military had been part of his life since he turned sixteen, but small arms combat had comprised a rather small part of their all their zero G drills.

The topography of the tower’s outer hide helped a little. Rather than traveling a smooth, unbroken radius all the way to the top, they found themselves confronted by a complicated maze of control junctions, hydraulics, reams of exposed cabling and even keeper access maintenance corridors.

Garrus flashed a somewhat guilty look back at one of the squat green insectoids still tumbling out into the celestial waters behind them.

Up ahead of them, a geth dreadnaught trapped inside the station’s arms prepared to offload troops. Just to make things more fun.

Shepard honed in on a few automated defense turrets that Tali had identified along the Tower’s spine, leading them away from the elevator shaft and deeper into the maze, where they at least had some usable cover. Garrus vaguely remembered some lecture from his C-Sec training about those turrets, but he couldn’t recall a single instance in which they’d ever even been fired. And according to Tali they weren’t firing now. Someone had deactivated them.

Well, not for long. That drop ship wasn’t going anywhere unless they did something about it.

Another round of bullets refracted off his shields, its silent arrival taking nothing away from the teeth-rattling force of impact. Garrus absorbed it with a grunt, praying it wasn’t too much for the emitters to bleed off, and fired off another round of his rifle. Avoiding enemy fire was a lot harder when one wrong step would send you spinning off into space. As the keeper could attest.

At least they were better at keeping their feet on the ground than krogan, who apparently hadn’t all been nuked on Virmire. The only one happy about that development was Wrex, who ignored every single geth trying to shoot a rocket at him in favor of the tank-bred bulldozers racing along the Tower’s exterior.

Turns out that when indoctrinated krogan try to charge a Battlemaster in zero G, the Battlemaster wins. Every time.

The latest one sailed past Garrus’ head, one giant hand flailing in an effort to grab onto the part of Garrus’ helmet that covered his crest. ‘Cresting’ was a traditional krogan method of brutality, an instinct apparently so ingrained by their creator that these half-witted clones didn’t even care there was a helmet in the way. Or that they were currently floating off structure with no hope of recovery.

“Liara!” Alenko called out. “Trooper on your left!”

“I see it,” she called back, and the game the lieutenant and doctor had started playing – levitate the geth high enough for Alenko to kick it out into space – continued. They were getting really good at it.

The terrain around the defense towers consisted of raised bulkheads and sunken trenches to allow safer passage to and from. Shepard laid down cover fire on the latest round of geth while Tali and Alenko ascended the closest one, searching for a control box. The geth drop ship continued to unload some artillery of its own, which only complicated things further.

But that wasn’t what had Garrus’ attention.

The moment they had reached the defense towers, a strange silhouette crested the horizon. Its thick, massive synthetic limbs occasionally rose and fell, their impact against the structure strong enough that Garrus could feel it under his feet even if he couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t just here. It had anchored itself to the tower itself – its giant maw clamped down on the tower’s peak while the legs maneuvered for purchase.

Spirits. It was huge.

A rocket from one of the destroyers detonated on the other side of the bulkhead Garrus and Shepard now crouched behind. Wrex bellowed – that sound at least traveled over the comm – and charged after it, wrangling the rocket launcher off its back and then firing it point blank into the geth’s chest, which erupted in a hailstorm of silent shrapnel.

“Tali, how’re those turrets coming?” Shepard barked.

“It’s a little hard to concentrate when you’re being fired on by a dropship!”

“We could try launching the angry krogan at it,” Garrus suggested.

“Don’t tempt me.” Shepard rose out of cover to fire his assault rifle. The muzzle blazed with light, the accompanying blare of sound lost out in the vacuum.

Garrus fired his sniper rifle at a destroyer, a maddening lick off the mark. Apparently he relied on the sound of its familiar crack more than he thought to find his rhythm. Here he had to adapt and find it solely through the weapon’s kick. Same beat, different lyrics.

As he reloaded the rifle the destroyer locked its aim on Tali. Garrus’ heart dropped to his feet. He swung the barrel of the gun to keep up, damn those things were fast when they charged, targeting software straining to find a new lock. “Tali, on your three!”

Shepard launched out of cover, rifle firing, pausing only long enough to lob a grenade. It detonated in a shower of sparks. The destroyer turned just as Garrus fired, shot once again glancing off its shields emitters.

“Shepard!”

The destroyer charged, barreling right into Shepard with bone shattering force. The commander spun, his grunt of pain sharp even over the comm, boots losing their grip on the tower.

Garrus fired, this time hitting his mark, slug finding its home right in the orb of the AI’s glowing face. He didn’t take time to gloat, leaping off his perch and flinging a hand out to grab Shepard’s boot.

“Fuck,” Shepard said. The moment his left foot touched down he grimaced and hopped, hissing through his teeth. “That was close.”

“You all right?”

Shepard glanced down at his hardsuit, eyes flicking back and forth as data scrolled across his HUD.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, tone clipped. He tested his weight again, one hand braced against his left hip, and grimaced. Behind them Wrex bellowed and barreled into two troopers trying to flank.

“Shepard?”

“It’s fine.” He swiveled his gaze back toward the turrets. “Got to get those things online and get rid of this dreadnaught.”

As if the turrets listened, they began powering on. Out of the corner of his eyes a bright orange flash accompanied the sudden shudder that swept under his feet. The shields of the dreadnaught glowed bright under the unexpected salvo.

One by one the other turrets came online, four in all, each one painting the geth ship’s hull. Alenko shouted something victorious over the comm. Minutes later Tali dropped in beside Garrus, shotgun back in hand.

“Nice work,” Shepard told her.

The geth ship shuddered, thrusters flashing as it tried to back away from the unexpected threat, then a blaze of light seared Garrus’ retinas as the drive core exploded, raining molten shrapnel down on their heads. Liara threw out her hands, dark energy uncoiling with an electric shimmer, creating a shield around them that deflected the debris. Garrus winced as one flaming piece of metal headed straight for his crest bounced harmlessly off the churning barrier.

“You’re a goddess, Liara,” he called out.

Shepard pushed to his feet and moved out the moment it was clear. His gait stuttered at first, but quickly became fluid and sure. “We need to find a hatch that’ll get us back into the shaft.”

“Preferably in a location that doesn’t involve playing talon touch with the giant reaper,” Garrus replied.

Wrex’s armored head appeared from behind a bulkhead a little farther up, covered in the silken slime of geth conductive fluid. Garrus expected an insult but instead the krogan roared, thundering towards him. Too late Garrus felt a violent strike against his back, followed by the sickening sensation of his feet losing their grip on the ground.

Oh no.

A hand snagged his leg spar, yanking him back down. His boots clamped back down on the deck with a thud. He gasped, then found himself face to face with Wrex’s helmet.

“You missed one,” the krogan growled, gesturing to a downed destroyer now sparking at Wrex’s feet.

“Thanks,” Garrus managed.

“Shepard!” Alenko hollered. “I think I have a way in!”

The commander paused just long enough to catch Garrus’ eye through his faceplate, nodding in satisfaction. “Stick around, Garrus. Things are about to get interesting.”

Garrus risked one last glance up into the incandescent light of the Ward arms, resolutely blocking out the cold curtain of space that lurked outside. A breathtaking view he never wanted to see again.

Yeah. Things were about to get interesting.

#mass effect #garrus vakarian #urdnot wrex #my fic #me legendary countdown #best of swaps mass effect style

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paperbodiesamongthestars · 4 years ago

Text

Witchcraft does not reward shitty intentions

Hello, I am a day late with my mythological creatures AU, oh noooooo. Also, I had this filed in my brain as a love potion story and it took me way longer than it should have to realize that there isn’t actually a love potion in it.

Read it on AO3!

Steve handed him his movies and opened his mouth like he was going to say something. Then he closed it again.

"Spit it out, Bambi," Billy said. Steve stared at him for a minute, glancing around to make sure Billy was the only customer at Family Video.

"I just wanted you to know that it's not your fault," he finally said tentatively. Billy thought about all the things Steve could be referring to and decided he needed more specifics.

"What are you talking about?"

"The...thing. The attraction thing." Steve gestured between them. "It's not your fault." Steve sighed as Billy's eyes narrowed. "I'm not trying to make this weird. I just...I've seen how you look at me sometimes, and I wanted you to know that it's not you. It's me." Billy decided to ignore the fear in the pit of his stomach at the idea that Steve had apparently caught him looking. Neil was gone, he reminded himself. Sure, his first impulse was to shove Steve against a wall until he promised never to say shit like that again, but he suppressed it. He wanted to know what the fuck Steve was talking about.

"Still not following, princess."

"I was cursed. By a witch. So people are, you know, attracted to me." Billy stared at him.

"And that's a curse because..." he prompted.

"Oh, the curse is that everyone is attracted to me, but no one can truly love me until the curse is broken." Steve seemed remarkably cavalier about it. Billy just stared at him again.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, still lost. This was not a conversation he had been expecting to have--ever, really--so it was taking him a minute to catch up. Steve sighed again.

"I was kind of a shallow dick at the beginning of high school. Someone in our graduating class didn't like it, so she cursed me to experience the shallowest possible expression of love until someone comes along who feels strongly enough about me to break the curse."

"What does that even mean? And how will you know that the curse is broken?"

"Great questions," Steve said. "Unfortunately, the witch in question is still a little vague on the details." He raised his voice throughout the sentence until he was practically yelling the last part. Robin came of the back room and Steve played up glaring at her.

"Wait, Robin is the one who cursed you?" Billy asked. That seemed harsh, even for Robin, who could be absolutely savage sometimes. Also, she was Steve's best friend. Robin grimaced and threw up her hands, already defensive.

"Ugh, we're talking about this? Again? First of all, part of Steve's whole attraction deal is definitely the Fae thing, so you can't put all of that on me. Furthermore, I was sixteen and the girl I liked wouldn't stop looking at him, and we weren't friends yet, and I thought he was just a stupid dickhead jock!" Her gaze went to Steve and her tone was a little gentler, though still exasperated. "How many times do I have to say that I'm sorry?" Steve just shrugged. Billy looked from Robin to Steve and back.

"Okay, first of all, I have never heard about any of this so, yeah, we are definitely talking about it," Billy said. "And secondly, you made it so that Harrington can't experience love, Buckley. That's a lot of apologizing."

"Oh, that is rich coming from the dude who almost beat Steve to death approximately five minutes after arriving in Hawkins," Robin shot back. It wasn't exactly an unfair point, but Billy wasn't going to say that. He stared her down instead.

"Billy already apologized for that. And it was a long time ago," Steve said generously. Steve also generously did not mention that Billy had gotten so choked up he could barely finish the apology, and that he had spent the entire second semester of that year helping Steve with his homework without Steve asking him to. Billy also still sometimes shoveled the walk in front of Steve's apartment in the winter, and he showed up periodically to do maintenance on Steve's car. He was reminded of his guilt every time he saw the scar at Steve's hairline, was all. He definitely wasn't just looking for excuses to spend time with, or in the general vicinity of, Steve. Also, none of that was the point right now because it turned out that Robin had also fucked Steve over. And furthermore, what the fuck was the Fae thing?

"He can't. Experience. Love," Billy repeated. Jesus, Steve deserved better friends. "And also, what the fuck is the Fae thing?"

"Steve's mom is Fae," Robin said. "And you're always so fucking dramatic. He can experience love," she insisted, but she sounded a little uncertain. "He falls in love all the fucking time."

"Yeah, but no one's ever going to love me back until the curse is over," Steve sighed. He leaned on the counter, looking a little forlorn.

"Every curse can be broken," Robin said stubbornly. "I just wasn't very detailed about the wording of this one."

"And that's important because..." Billy prompted. He let the Fae thing slide for now. That revelation felt like it warranted an entirely separate conversation. Robin sighed.

"Like I said, every curse can be broken. Typically, an experienced witch will build the conditions for breaking the curse into the spell itself. Said witch will be as specific as possible, to ensure that the conditions are actually met before the curse is broken. If, hypothetically speaking, you have an inexperienced witch who used the wording from a spell template she found on the internet, you get stuck with something vague like 'the curse will be broken when the power of love outweighs the power of the curse.'"

"Ok, so someone just has to love Steve more than you were mad at him when you cursed him. And, one more time, how will you know when the curse is broken?" Robin winced a little.

"There's usually some kind of indication?" It was much more a question than it was a statement.

"I take it that's another thing that is usually covered in the initial spell."

"Yep," Robin said, staring intently at the floor. There was a long silence, and she finally looked up at Steve. "If it helps, I think that curse is probably the reason my love life is a complete disaster. Witchcraft does not reward shitty intentions, even if you're cursing a stupid jock with dumb hair who, at one time, almost definitely deserved it." Steve stared at her, visibly suppressing a smile.

"That's a really touching apology, Robin."

"Shut up, dingus." She nudged him with her elbow and he nudged her back. Now they were both suppressing little grins.

"I can't believe you're both just fine with this," Billy said, staring at them. He knew he was irrationally angry, but he had a nagging feeling that he had been personally wronged by this entire situation. He chose not to think too hard about why that was. Robin narrowed her eyes at him.

"I tried to lift the curse a bunch of times," she said. "I can't do it. Probably because it was such a shitty spell to start with." She sighed. "At this point I'm worried that if I keep trying, I'll just make it worse." Steve shrugged.

"It's okay. It's not like it changed my life all that much in the first place." Billy's eyes narrowed at the hint of bitterness in Steve's tone. "Besides, it's not like I can do much about it now. Except wait and see if someone ever falls in love with me hard enough to break it." Steve's tone had turned wistful, and he had a faraway look in his eyes.

"Someone will," Robin said quietly. She bumped her shoulder against Steve's and smiled at him. "I know they will, dingus." Steve appeared to come back to himself a little bit. He stood straighter at the counter.

"Anyway," he said to Billy, "I just wanted you to know that it's not you, it's me. And it will fade with time. It always does." He gave Billy a reassuring smile, seemingly unaware of how fucking sad that sounded. Billy stared at him for a long moment, thinking hard. Then he smiled back, a little wolfish.

"Thanks, Harrington. That is good to know." He gave the two of them a little salute and then took his movies and walked out of Family Video.

Billy got in his car, but he didn't start it immediately. Instead he sat there, staring into space. Steve was wrong, obviously; that wasn't even a question. If the only thing Billy felt for Steve Harrington was attraction, his life would be significantly easier. He knew what to do about that. Hell, he probably would have already done it, and he thought Steve probably would have been into it; Billy hadn't been the only one looking for a while now. The problem was that he wanted to hold Steve's hand and gaze into his stupid doe eyes almost as much as he wanted to lick him all over, and Billy didn't have the first fucking clue what to do about that.

It was three weeks later when Robin cornered Billy at the auto shop. His behavior toward Steve hadn’t changed, and sometimes he thought he saw a hint of wistfulness in Steve’s expression when Billy flirted with him. Like maybe he was a little hopeful. Mostly, though, he seemed resigned. A little sad. Robin watched their interactions with sharp, knowing eyes, and Billy wasn’t exactly surprised to find her waiting for him after a long shift on a windy, overcast Wednesday.

Robin’s eyes stayed on him as he approached, and then she glanced down at his pendant.

“You never take that off?” she asked. He was caught a little off guard. He hadn’t expected her to open with that. Or to ask about it at all.

“No," he said, suspicious. "My mom told me to always leave it on,” he added, not sure why he was volunteering information except that Robin occasionally reminded him a little bit of his mom. Something in her affect, maybe. Robin nodded, like his mom's insistence on it made sense to her for some reason. She pushed off the side of his car and waited for him to unlock it.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Go where?” he asked warily.

“My parents' house.”

“Why would I do that?” They weren’t exactly friends, despite all the time Billy spent at Family Video. Robin’s grin was sharp.

“Because I have a theory,” she said.

“Still not hearing anything about why I would want to do this.” Her grin widened.

“Do you want a shot at Steve Harrington or not?” she asked. Billy stared at her for just a second too long without responding, and her eyes sparkled, and then it was too late to do anything but get in the car and let her in the passenger side.

“Steve is cursed, remember?” His tone was acidic as he tried to regain the upper hand.

“He is,” she agreed, “but that might be less of a problem than we thought.” He glanced over at her and then back at the road. It came to him all at once, and suddenly he felt a lot less off-balance.

“You think I'm going to fix this for you,” he said quietly. Robin’s smile vanished and there was a long silence.

“Maybe. Kind of,” she admitted. “But not in the way that you’re thinking.” He glanced over again and cocked an eyebrow.

“Spit it out, Buckley,” he prompted when she didn’t elaborate. She shook her head.

“I’d rather show you when we get there,” she said. “You’ll never believe me otherwise.” He frowned at her, but didn’t argue. He could indulge her for a little while.

When they pulled up in front of her parents' house, Robin didn’t get out of the car right away. She stared up at the gabled roof of the house instead.

“I don’t take it lightly, you know,” she finally said. She was still staring out the window. She didn’t look at Billy. “I was young and stupid and scared and it wasn’t Steve’s fault I felt that way, but it felt like it was. I did something terrible and I haven’t been able to fix it and it kills me how nice he is about it.” She turned to look at Billy and her eyes were dry, but he could see the emotion there. "I imagine you can relate," she said drily. Then she narrowed her eyes at him, calculating. “I really expected you to be a dick about it. I thought you’d find it so funny that King Steve was totally fucked when it came to love, but you didn’t look amused at all.” Robin’s eyes were intent on Billy. “You looked surprised and then angry, which was interesting. So I started paying more attention to you.” Billy stared at her, torn between anger and fear. Someone paying close attention to his life had not, historically, ended well for him. She must have seen it on his face. “Easy, big guy,” she said. “I’m not threatening you. In fact, I think I can help you.” Yeah. He’d heard that before. But Robin thought he could help Steve, maybe, and that was worth something. He sighed.

“So this theory.” Her smile was bright.

“Follow me.”

They ended up in an attic room at the very top of the house. The floor was bare wood with intricate designs painted on it. Billy thought they were chalk at first, but they didn’t smudge when Robin walked over them. Billy felt a tingle at the back of his neck when Robin closed the door, and then his ears popped. He looked sharply at Robin, who nodded to herself.

“Ok, so I need you to take off your necklace.”

“We literally just covered this; I don't take it off.” She was nodding.

"I know. But we're in a magically sealed room with very solid wards, so whatever your mom was protecting you from can't get to you here." She leaned closer, eyes on his pendant. She held a hand over it, not quite touching, but close enough to make him a little wary. "No, not protecting," she murmured, largely to herself. Her eyes went a little wide and came up to Billy's. "This isn't a protection spell. It's a concealment spell. A major one." Billy felt an echo of something familiar in her words, and it was deeply unsettling. He tried to keep the waver out of his voice when he spoke.

"What are you talking about, Buckley?" She straightened up and sighed.

"Again, it would be easier to show you." He just stared at her, stubborn. She rolled her eyes.

"Ok, fine. Your pendant is absolutely saturated with power. Fortunately for you, the only people you hang out with who are likely to notice are me, because witch, and Steve, because Fae senses. When you said you never took it off, I assumed it was a protection spell, but, well, you used to walk around with an awful lot of injuries for someone wearing a protective charm. That hasn't been true for a while, though." And there it was--the reason close scrutiny was never very good for Billy. Because he had a lot of secrets, and he still didn't like people knowing about them. His face must have betrayed him again because Robin's voice was gentle when she continued.

"Again, I'm not going to harm you. I can swear to it, if it would make you feel better."

"That's not super reassuring coming from someone who inadvertently permanently cursed her best friend," Billy muttered. Robin stared at him for a beat and then nodded.

"I'm going to let that one go because you're so obviously uncomfortable. But maybe be a little nicer to the person who is currently trying to help you."

"Don't need help," Billy said stubbornly. Robin just grinned at him.

"I think you just might. Now off." She gestured at the necklace. "Come on, you can put it right back on, and I promise this is a secure room. It's magically sealed up nice and tight." Billy stared at her for a long moment and then decided to humor her. He wasn't sure why. He lifted the necklace over his head and dropped it into the small silver bowl she held out to him.

"Cleansed and warded," she said, as though he had any idea what that meant. But she handled the bowl with respect as she set it gently on a table behind her. Then she turned and stared expectantly at Billy.

He felt the same as he always did, although he was just now noticing that the room was warmer than it had been before. He glanced at Robin and followed her wide-eyed gaze to his hands. His own eyes went wide as he stared down at them. His fingertips were glowing gold. The sight should have been shocking, but instead it was...familiar. It tugged at something in his mind--

And then he wasn't aware of much at all as a flood of memories swept over him. Sights, sounds, smells, the feel of power in his fingertips. His mother, talking him through the process as she prepared salves and potions and tinctures. The smell of fresh herbs and the mustiness of her drying room. Watching as she worked on his necklace every night for months. Her big eyes, sad on his as she explained. It's not safe, baby. I'm so sorry you have to hide, but I can't be there to protect you. It's not forever, I promise. My sisters will find you and they'll help you. The memories just kept coming. He was drowning in sensation and he couldn't get his bearings...

"--lly. Billy! Are you ok?" Robin's voice finally penetrated the haze of memories. Billy shook his head, trying to clear away the lingering headache caused by the flood. He gradually became aware that he was kneeling on the wooden floor of the room, hunched over, hands on the sides of his head. Tentatively, he lowered his hands and looked up. "Fuck," Robin breathed out. "You scared the shit out of me." She slumped down next to him. His fingertips were still glowing, but at least now he knew why. They sat in silence for a while. Billy eventually shifted until he was sitting cross-legged and closed his eyes, just breathing. The chaos in his head was settling, the memories slotting into place among the ones he already had. He took his time, wrapping his head around the way his entire world had just shifted on its axis. Robin seemed content to breathe next to him for as long as it took. It was a small kindness, but Billy wasn't used to kindness at all.

"So you thought I was a witch," Billy finally said slowly.

"Suspected," Robin corrected. "And I was right." She clearly had any number of questions, but didn't ask any of them. She just looked at him, eyes careful on his face.

"My mom was a witch," he said, trying out the words. They felt comfortable on his tongue. "I'm a witch," he tried next. It felt good. Right. He felt whole for the first time in a long time.

"I picked that one up from context, actually," Robin teased. He glared at her, but she just smiled.

"The necklace hid my power." He sighed. "She was trying to keep me safe." Robin was nodding. She carefully did not ask from what, and Billy appreciated that kindness too.

"Your mom must have been really good," Robin said. "That's major magic." Billy nodded a little. Now that he remembered his training, he knew just how much had gone into the spell. No wonder Robin had noticed it.

Billy flinched at a sudden knock at the door, and Robin's head snapped around.

"Robin? Honey? What exactly are you doing in my workroom?" Robin grimaced. She looked at the necklace on the table. Billy stood and reached for it, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"What if you lose your memories again?" she asked. Billy hesitated. The knocking came again and Robin seemed to make a decision. She tightened her hand around Billy's wrist. "My mom is...a lot, ok, but she's also very good. She might be able to help." Billy considered it. He wasn't ready to lose all those memories again. He let the pendant slide back into the bowl, hoping he was making the right choice.

Robin crossed the room and opened the door. Her mother stepped in, and Billy felt her presence immediately. It was clear why Robin had described her as 'a lot.' She wasn't particularly tall, but the room felt smaller as soon as she entered it. Her eyes swept over the two of them, just as sharp as her daughter's. Billy kept his back straight as she studied him. She closed the door behind her, and Billy felt that tingle at the back of his neck again. This time, though, he knew it was the wards kicking in, and he remembered the sensation from his mother's workroom at home. Robin's mom turned her attention to Robin, and Billy saw her swallow once. He tensed a little, but Mrs. Buckley just shook her head, a little fondly.

"Why exactly you thought I wasn't going to notice power of this magnitude in my own workroom escapes me," she said drily.

"I didn't know what was going to happen," Robin said. Her mother sighed, exasperated.

"That's not really better, love," she said, but there was affection in it. She turned her attention to Billy, eyeing him speculatively as she moved closer and held out a hand.

"Elle Buckley. Robin's mother and local High Priestess."

"Billy Hargrove," Billy said. He wasn't sure how to explain the rest. Fortunately, Robin's mom didn't seem to need much of an explanation. She crossed to the table and passed a hand over the bowl holding his necklace, though she didn't touch it. One of her eyebrows went up and she looked back at Billy.

"That must have been a confusing few minutes," she said. "You won't lose your memories if you put it back on. It will conceal your power from others, but not from you anymore."

"You're sure?" Billy asked.

"I am," she said with confidence. "It was elegant spellwork." She stared at him for a long moment. "Your mother, I assume?" Billy nodded. "She trained you?" He nodded again. Mrs. Buckley nodded to herself and turned back to Robin.

"That was reckless," she said. "What exactly were you thinking?" Robin flushed under her mother's scrutiny.

"He should know what he is," Robin said. Her mother just cocked an eyebrow and held her gaze, waiting. Robin sighed. "And I thought maybe he could help with Steve's curse," she admitted, mainly to the floor. Mrs. Buckley's expression went a little hard around the edges.

"We've been over this, Robin. The Harrington boy can get help from his family if he needs it." Billy looked at Robin, who was still looking at the floor. The Harrington boy? Not Steve, not your best friend. There was a story there. "Besides, Billy needs our help at the moment," she continued. She turned back to Billy.

"You've missed a lot of time as an apprentice," she said. "How old were you when your mother gave you the pendant?"

"Thirteen," Billy said. He wouldn't forget that age anytime soon; it had been a bad year. Mrs. Buckley nodded.

"We'll have to get you set up with someone in town," she mused.

"Not right away, though," Robin interjected. Her mother looked at her, surprised. "He literally just found out. He can take a little while to get used to it, Mom. He's got the basics, right?" Robin glanced at him and he nodded. His mom had taught him enough to keep himself and others safe. Robin's mom looked between them for a long moment, and then sighed.

"All right. Come see me when you're ready to get started. And keep that pendant on, for now, if you're not in a sealed workroom," she said to Billy. He nodded again. He had planned to do that anyway. Mrs. Buckley looked at Robin. "Next time, maybe give me a heads-up before you want to use my workroom? I can only help if I'm actually present when something happens." Robin also nodded, and Mrs. Buckley swept out of the room, pointedly waiting to open the door until Billy had his necklace on. He felt better with it back in place.

Robin led Billy out of the workroom and back through the house, and then followed him out to his car. She stood at the passenger door expectantly. He sighed and unlocked it. They sat there in silence while he lit a cigarette. She shook her head when he offered her the pack.

"What are we doing?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"I have two pieces of good news for you," she said. He gestured at her to continue. "You're a witch," she started.

"Wait, what?" he said, acting surprised. The smile vanished off of her face for just a second until she realized he was kidding. She shoved at his arm.

"You dick. I thought you had lost your memories again." She glared at him while he laughed. "What I was trying to say was that there are a couple of implications of your new status that you might find interesting."

"Oh?" he asked, drawing out the word, tone as obnoxious as possible.

"First of all," she said, smile going a little sharp, "curses don't work on other witches. So whatever you feel for Steve is all you, friend." She smirked when Billy looked over at her, and then she kept talking. "That was why I wanted to test my theory so badly." Billy thought about it.

"You know this doesn't actually fix anything, right? He's still cursed."

"Sure," Robin said, "but we found a nice little loophole, and now we can just exploit the shit out of it."

"So what, Steve just has to spend the rest of his life cursed? Come on, Buckley." Robin looked at him and then smiled.

"Hey, maybe the curse will be broken as soon as you kiss him. I suggest you try it. But please do me a huge favor and tell Steve the news when I'm there? I really want to see his face."

"Yeah, no, I'm definitely not doing that." Robin stared at him, amused.

"You don't seem quite as happy as I thought you'd be," she said, and then her eyes widened. "You don't know how to tell him that you like him," she breathed.

"What? I don't...I mean, I do..." She let him flounder, smile growing wider by the second. He finally trailed off.

"Good luck with all of that," she said, gesturing in his general direction. "The good news is that you're a witch and Steve is half-Fae, so you've got a long-ass time to get your shit together. I have a feeling you're going to need it." She opened the car door and got out.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, and then he felt bad. She had, after all, given him back a part of himself that he hadn't even known was missing. "Thanks," he said again, more sincerely this time. She held his gaze and nodded, giving him a small, genuine smile. Then she closed the car door and turned to head back into her house.

Billy sat there for a while, Robin's words from before ringing in his ears. Do you want a shot at Steve Harrington or not? He did, obviously, and now he had one. What he still didn't have was any fucking idea what to do about it.

#harringrove #my writing #harringroveweekoflove #a lil late #mythological creatures au

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!

Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.

“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar.

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”

Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.

It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground.

A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping.

Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.

The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.

“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him.

It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too.

It does not, however, explain why he has a tail.

“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”

“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away.

“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”

“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”

“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself.

“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”

“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.”

“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”

“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.

“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay.

“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”

“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.

“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.

Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”

“Yes.”

He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.

“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door.

Crunch

“...The container is edible!!”

He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”

“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.”

There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.

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

“That’s a sandwich, correct?”

“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion.

“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock.

“Found some lunch?”

“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”

“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”

“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”

Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck.

Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Duck.”

Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.

“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”

“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.

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

“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet.

“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.

He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so.

“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks.

“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”

Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”

“And you will be happy there?”

“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”

“Oh. Good.”

Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam.

“What’s up?

“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”

“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”

“Not even when I was stealing trash?”

“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes.

Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”

“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”

The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”

“That fuckin sucks.”

“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”

“Like what?”

Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.

Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”

“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”

Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”

Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses.

“You like that treatment better?”

“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.

“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”

Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills

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nkatr84 · 4 years ago

Text

Obi Wan/female reader one shot : Waiting part 1/2

When the reader is sixteen, she starts working as a waitress at Dex’s Diner. On her first day, she meets the love of her life. There’s just one problem. He’s a Jedi...

It had been a hectic first day. But you wouldn’t complain. Dex liked that about you. You just did what you were told. Buckled down, smiled at customers and only messed up one order so far. You just prayed to the Force that your natural clumsiness wouldn’t flare up.

The Force had a sense of humor.

One minute Dex had left the kitchens to chat with an old friend. Ordering a round of milkshakes. After setting the third milkshake on the tray, you carefully brought it out of the kitchen. But no sooner had you stepped out into the main dining room, the door of the kitchen swung forward knocking into your feet.

Your feet tripped over themselves and as your body twisted you gasped, seeing the tray flying, the milkshakes up in the air. But as you braced yourself for impact, you felt a pair of strong arms catch you.

You peeked open one eye. Then both eyes opened as you took in the sparkling blue eyes looking down at you in concern. It was a boy about your age. And he was gorgeous. Chiseled jaw just losing its baby fat. A perfect nose. You noticed two moles. One on his cheek and one on his forehead. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Are you alright?” He gently asked, his voice a smooth, refined accent of the upper levels of Coruscant.

“Never better...” you gasped catching your breath. But then you noticed his haircut. Auburn hair buzzcut short, except for one single small braid hanging over his shoulder. Brow furrowed, you realized you hadn’t heard the milkshakes crash to the floor. You glanced around to confirm your suspicions. The milkshakes and tray were floating in midair.

And despite the romance the imagery of being dipped over his knee conjured, reality finally crashed in to ruin the moment. Your savior was a Jedi padawan.

“Hey hey! Looks like your Padawan has good reflexes Qui Gon!” Chuckled Dex from the booth.

Across from him, a tall Jedi with long graying brown hair nodded in amusement,

“One should hope so. Alright Obi Wan I think the poor girl can stand on her own feet again.”

The padawan Obi Wan blushed and righted you on your feet,

“Yes Master.”

“And you can stop showing off. It’s an inappropriate use of the Force.” Qui Gon added, a small wink towards Dex who chuckled, his four arms crossed over his shaking belly.

“Sorry Master.” Obi Wan flushed again, waving his hand. The milkshakes righted themselves and floated over to the table. Obi Wan plucked the tray from midair and handed it to you.

“Thank you.” You said, voice shy and small, eyes cast to your feet.

“You’re welcome.” Obi Wan nodded before sliding into the booth next to his Master. You nodded, returning to your other customers. But not without one last glance over your shoulder at the handsome padawan. It just wasn’t fair.

You tried to forget about the Jedi. But blue eyes haunted your dreams at night. Your mind reasonsed with yourself that the Jedi had a code that forbid attachments. But that didn’t stop your foolish heart from pounding in your chest every time Qui Gon and Obi Wan stopped by the diner for lunch.

It was no use. Having a stupid crush on a Jedi was just part of your reality now. Dex noticed of course. He thought it was hilarious. He made you wait on them every time. You were beginning to suspect he made your schedule out to guarantee you would be working when they came in. You didn’t know how. Especially when they started to go away on more missions and wouldn’t be back for weeks at a time. Once for a whole year. Not that you were counting the days or worrying or anything...

The only way you could cope with the crush was self deprecation. Telling yourself that even if he wasn’t a Jedi, Obi Wan wouldn’t give you a second glance. Oh he was polite and asked how you were, making conversation. But everyone else pretty much ignored you. You even had a customer point out one day that you just had one of those faces that just blended in.

You didn’t think you were ugly. But being a little short and your figure being a bit on the plump side you also weren’t kidding yourself. You guessed that was why you longed for Obi Wan like you did. You couldn’t have him anyway, so you might as well dream of the impossible.

But you also wished someone would want you like you wanted Obi Wan.

In a blink of an eye three years had past. And one day Obi Wan came in by himself. That was new.

“Hey! Obi Wan! Where’s Qui Gon?” Dex wiped his hands on his apron. Your heart twisted at the pained look on his face. Noting how red his eyes were.

“Obi Wan?” Dex pressed, suspicion growing with dread.

“He...fell in battle.” Obi Wan swallowed.

Dex shut his yellow eyes.

“Close the door Kid. We’re closing early today.” The grayish tan alien told you, pain evident.

“Sure Dex.” You nodded crossing over to flip the sign. You were the only waitress working today. Even your droid waitress FLO was out for maintenance. You hadn’t even had a customer all day until Obi Wan came in. The sky rumbled with thunder, the rain matching the mood.

“I’ll take my leave then.” Obi Wan nodded.

“No you sit. We’re going to honor my friend.” Dex let out a shuddering breath, entering the kitchen.

“Will he be alright?” Obi Wan asked you. You jumped hearing a roar of rage and pots crash to the floor.

“He will be. Just give him a minute.” You told him.

Obi Wan nodded then took a seat in his usual booth. Keeping to the edge as if Qui Gon was still beside him.

“Are you alright?” You asked, sliding into the booth across from him.

Obi Wan gave a stiff nod,

“Of course. A Jedi must accept death as a part of life. Less he fall to the Dark side.”

You lifted your brows. That sounded rehearsed. As if he were clinging to that mantra like a life preserver.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.” You pointed out.

“No it doesn’t.” He conceded. You then noticed his padawan braid was gone.

“Were you knighted?” You asked.

He scoffed,

“Yeah. The council felt that anybody that can kill a Sith Lord after a thousand years needs to be a Knight.”

“A Sith Lord?” You asked. Obi Wan began to tell you the story. Of the Trade Federation setting up a blockade on Naboo and how they had tried to kill Qui Gon and Obi Wan when they came to negotiate for the Republic. Saving the Naboo Queen and the detour to Tatooine. The discovery of a boy named Anakin with a high M count, strong in the Force. Wicked political plots and the wicked Sith Darth Maul dueling both Qui Gon and Obi Wan. Qui Gon’s death and Obi Wan killing the Sith. Of Qui Gon making Obi Wan promise to train Anakin.

“So I was knighted and now Anakin is my padawan. I don’t know if I’m ready.” He confesses to you.

“Qui Gon believed you were.” You point out.

“Qui Gon also believed Anakin is the Chosen One.” Obi Wan sighed.

“Chosen One?”

“The one meant to bring balance to the Force. Don’t get me wrong. Qui Gon was an excellent teacher. I’m confident that he’s taught me well. But how can the kid that was once destined for the Argricore teach the Chosen One?” He asked.

Your heart swelled. So your Jedi Knight doubted himself too. Why was that so endearing? Maybe because it made your stubborn heart believed you were connected.

But Obi Wan needed a friend. So a friend you would be. You squeezed his hand on the table.

“With patience. Kindness. Devotion. All the qualities that Qui Gon saw in you.” You said.

He gave a small smile, eyes still sad,

“Thank you.”

Dex interrupted you, already swaying on his feet from the Spotcha he had stored in his office. The Besalisk poured a round of shots and you all toasted to Qui Gon. That night Obi Wan helped you get Dex home, who was in no condition to drive. Then he walked you home after the rain let up.

The next ten years you’d think of that night whenever you had a bad date or another Life Day went by alone. Oh you tried to date. But no one made you feel the way Obi Wan did.

You had one steady boyfriend once. A good man. A mechanic. But then you had blown it when he tried to kiss you. You had sighed Obi Wan’s name. He was kind enough to forgive you. Until he surprised you at the diner one day. He had been patiently waiting for your shift to end. When Obi Wan and Anakin walked in.

“There she is Obi Wan!” The thirteen year old pointed you out. Obi Wan gave a friendly smile. You had waved, biting your lips as you saw how the beard Obi Wan was growing out suited him.

But then you had caught your boyfriend’s eye. He gave you a sad smile. He knew. And the pity in his eyes told you he understood your dilemma. You were in love with a man forbidden to love. And while he had been free to love you, he just couldn’t compete. He had left and you never saw him again. You had heard he married a few years later, and you were glad. Meanwhile you would stop trying to date after that.

Funny enough that same day, after your boyfriend had left, you had approached Obi Wan and Anakin to take their order.

“Was that your boyfriend?” Anakin had asked.

“Anakin...”

“Yes he was.” You nodded, setting out their utensils, not adding that you were no longer an item as of five minutes ago.

“Does he think you’re pretty like Obi Wan does?” Anakin had asked.

You looked at the boy stunned as his Master admonished,

“Anakin!”

You glanced at Obi Wan out of the corner of your eye. He was shielding his eyes with his hand, neck and face flushed red. You couldn’t help but be amused. Anakin was more like a annoying kid brother to Obi Wan than student and teacher. You liked the kid enough, but sometimes his confidence struck you as arrogance. He was improving that attitude under Obi Wan though.

“I suppose he did.” You answered, giving them menus.

“Did?” Anakin caught.

“That’s none of our business Padawan.” Obi Wan softly scolded.

“I’ll give you a minute to decide.” You told them.

But you heard over your shoulder,

“Don’t you think she’s pretty Master?”

“Shut up Anakin...”

That stupid flare of hope ignited in you once again.

As years past and Anakin grew, the conflict between the Republic and the Trade Federation Separtists grew into a full blown war. Anakin was soon knighted and given his own padawan along with a command over a clone trooper squad. Obi wan was made a general with his own squadron. The Jedi visits to the diner were rare.

The war and Obi Wan wasn’t the only thing you had to worry about. You had to take several moonlighting jobs during the war. Once you were hired as a server at a fancy gala for Republic senators.

You rarely visited the Upper levels outside Coco Town. The opulence of the ballroom had left you speechless. Still you did your job. When you heard a familiar voice call your name.

You were sure you were gawking as Obi Wan approached you. He looked so dashing in his armor.

“Obi Wan!”

It wasn’t you that called his name. A tall, beautiful woman with blonde hair and rich robes caught his attention.

“Duchess.” He said. You heard the warmth in his tone. The one that matched his eyes. You turned and disappeared into the background, not seeing Obi Wan try to introduce you only to find you gone.

You didn’t really have time to process how Obi Wan had looked at the Duchess over the next few months. You had to earn a living. You started taking waitressing jobs in Coruscant nightclubs. Which required a lot of skimpy short dresses. No one noticed you anyway. So they never bothered you too much.

Until a familiar voice said over the chatter of crowds and booming music,

“No one told me the view here was so lovely.”

With a blush you turned to see Obi Wan once again in his armor approach you.

“Hello Obi Wan.” You nodded.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Well between the taxes the Chancellor imposed on businesses considered non essential to the war, and the taxes that made my rent go up, a girl has to eat. Even Dex has a second job now.” You shrugged.

“Which explains why I saw you at the gala. I’m sorry I didn’t know you were working. I thought you might have been there as someone’s date.” He said.

You scoffed,

“Yeah right. Who would take a girl from Coco town to one of those Upper level parties?”

“I would be proud to have you on my arm.” He said. You looked up at him at that.

“That’s sweet. But I don’t have time for parties these days.” You told him, trying to excuse yourself.

“Maybe...when the war is over?”

You stopped and looked at him in shock. Did he just? No he thought of you as a friend.

“Well you’ll have to win the war first.” You recovered.

“All the more reason to do so then My Dear. And quickly.” He said, lips tugged up. Ugh. When did he get so charming?

“Obi Wan!” Ashoka waved him over next to Anakin, Senator Amidala and a few troopers.

“I should get back to work.” You said.

“If you get off soon or have a break you’re free to join us.” He said kindly.

“Thanks. But as soon as I get off I have to head home to get a few hours sleep. I have to open Dex’s in the morning.” You told him.

“Then I’ll walk you home.” He nodded.

“You don’t have to.” You shook your head.

“I insist. And don’t you dare try to sneak out on me this time.” He told you.

You gave him a mock salute,

“Yes Sir.”

He chuckled and returned to his friends, as you took a steadying breath. But you couldn’t help but hear the Senator ask,

“Will your friend join us Obi Wan?”

“You mean his girlfriend?” Ahsoka teased.

“Snips!”

Obi Wan sighed,

“Anakin do control your padawan.”

It turned out that it wasn’t just Obi Wan to walk you home. You were also escorted by a few of his men. Men that had chuckled when Obi Wan had kissed your cheek goodnight. Until a bark from their general made them snap to attention.

You watched him leave that night, savoring the kiss lingering on your cheek. A memory you would cling to when a month later you got the awful news. Obi Wan had been murdered.

You had wanted to curl up and cry for days after receiving the news from Ahsoka. Anakin was understandably too upset to even speak since it happened. But Dex had gotten himself kriffing drunk when he heard. Someone had to keep the diner going.

The diner was closed the day of the funeral. You had to go solo. Dex couldn’t bring himself to go to it. You had never been to the Jedi temple before. It was massive and almost otherworldly. You were escorted to a lift. Where the Duchess from the ball joined you. She too had tears in her eyes.

You were left alone in the lift together. When she asked,

“How did you know Obi Wan?”

“I work at the diner he liked to go for lunch. He’s been coming ever since he was a padawan. The owner Dex is...was...a good friend. He couldn’t come today.” You explained.

“Sounds like Obi Wan.” She nodded fondly. “He protected me during the Mandalore Civil War. Him and Qui Gon. Then just Obi Wan for nearly a year. We grew so close...”

She sniffed delicately into a hanky, not noticing how you turned green. Of course a beautiful Duchess would turn his head. You were just a plain waitress from the lower levels. A friend. Every moment you thought had been proof of hidden affection for you was just a product of your imagination. You had tried to push away a good friend because of some stupid crush. A stupid crush that he wouldn’t return because of the woman next to you and the Jedi code. And now he was gone.

The lift opened and you exited into a large open air chamber. Your breath catching seeing the body lying in state under a sheet. You only noticed Anakin seething in rage in front of the body. The look on his face gave you chills. The rest of the service you kept your gaze on Obi Wan’s body until the last moment he was lowered into his tomb that slid closed. The emblem of the Jedi craved into his marker.

Unlike other funerals you had attended, once the service was over the Jedi left. Regular mourners like you, the Duchess and Senator Amidala lingered to give final respects. When it was your turn, you whispered,

“I’ll never stop loving you Obi Wan Kenobi. Even if you never loved me.”

You returned home and back to life. A few days later, it was almost closing when a man entered. He was bald headed, and rough looking. A scar and tattoo on his face. Bounty hunter written all over him.

“Hi. Welcome to Dex’s. The kitchen just closed but if you want caff or pie we have plenty.” You greeted with a courteous smile.

He stood there staring at you. He made you nervous. But not afraid. Odd.

“Sir?”

He shook himself,

“Just caff.”

“Coming up.” You nodded turning to grab the pot. You startled when you found him sitting in Obi Wan’s booth. Sure others had sat there, but the way he sat now, it was just too similar. Too eerie.

Something wrong?” He asked, voice gruff but gentle. There was something familiar about it.

“Nothing. It’s just...have we met?” You asked.

“No. I’d remember a pretty girl like you.” He said hiding his smile behind his cup. He wasn’t that attractive, but you blushed nevertheless.

“Not many people would call me pretty.” You said.

“They’re idiots.”

“Well thanks.” You laughed, ready to leave him alone.

“Why are you sad?” He stopped you.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you lose someone?” He pressed.

You gave a short laugh,

“That obvious huh?”

“Who did you lose?” He asked.

“A friend.”

“Just a friend?”

You furrowed your brow,

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. He was just my friend.”

“I meant no offense.” He said as if remembering himself.

“Right...” you nodded wanting to excuse yourself.

“It’s just...I can’t believe a man would just be content to be your friend. I’d imagine...he’d wish things were different. More than once.” He said.

“Maybe. But not with me.” You said.

“Why not?”

“Well at first I thought he was devoted to his calling. A calling I was told didn’t allow for attachments. So I didn’t want to take that away from him. Only later I discovered he had feelings for someone else.” You confessed. Why you were sharing this with a stranger you didn’t know. But it felt good to confess it.

“Maybe he was confused himself. Torn between his calling and his feelings for two different women.” He offered.

“You haven’t seen the other woman.” You scoffed putting down the pot and leaning against the booth.

“Let me guess? Tall? Blonde? Regal?” He prompted.

“Uncanny. You sure we haven’t met?” You asked.

“I’d never forget meeting you.” He said.

It was the twinkle in his eye that had you shaking your head.

“Well. If you had seen them together, there would be no doubt on who he would choose if he wanted to give up his calling. They looked made for each other.” You told him.

“Maybe. But I can see why he’d be drawn to you.”

At your skeptical brow raise he continued, “Your kindness. Your selflessness. Your work ethic.”

“This sounds like a job interview.” You quipped.

“Your eyes. How they light up when you look at him. Your smile would haunt his dreams. Your laugh ringing in his ears. How you treat him like a normal man. Put his happiness ahead of your own. The other woman may have a strength, intelligence and beauty that’s draws him as well, and he does care for her. Deeply. But he can’t imagine a normal life with her. He can with you. It’s tempted him far more than she ever did. All he needed was a word from you.” The stranger went on.

“Who are you?” You asked. He suddenly stood, looking out the window. He exited the booth looking down at you.

“A coward. For not doing this sooner.” He replied. Then he kissed you. Your eyes widened in surprise. Then you melted in his embrace.

Before losing yourself completely, he suddenly bolted into the kitchen. Confused beyond belief, you tried to figure out what just happened. When Anakin stormed in, lightsaber ignited.

“Where is he?” He barked.

“Who?” You asked.

“Rako Hardeen!” He hissed.

“Who?!”

He growled stomping into the kitchen. Ahsoka burst in, out of breath, troopers on her heel.

“What’s going on? Who was that man?” You demanded.

“That’s the man that killed Obi Wan!” She huffed. You collapsed into the booth, feeling sick.

Hours past and you were kept there for questioning. Master Windu had come to question you. If you knew anything about Hardeen. What you talked about. You got the impression that he was trying to see if you were an accomplice. That angered you. It was Master Yoda that stopped him. The wise green Jedi master sensed the truth in you he had said.

“Forgive Master Windu and Young Skywalker you must. Seeking justice they are.” He told you as the Jedi left, a few Clones assigned to take you home.

“It’s not like I asked for a murderer to seek me out. Master Yoda? Why would he kiss me?” You asked, embarrassed. But you had to know.

“Hmm. To get in heads of targets, snipers learn everything about them they do. Saw your friendship with Obi Wan he did. Snipers known to fall for those their target cared about. Happens more than you think.” Yoda assured you.

It made sense. Especially given your odd conversation. Obviously just the man’s misconceptions.

“Hmm. Curious though. Why call himself a coward he did?” He asked. A secret dancing on his little smile as he left you.

To top off the strange day, after the troopers had cleared your apartment, posting a guard outside just in case, you dreamed of the kiss. Only when Hardeen broke the kiss, he had turned into Obi Wan.

You tried to get on with life. Work at the diner during the days, the clubs at night and on your days off. Hardeen was caught and sent to prison. You still dreamed of that kiss.

Months went by. Anakin started to come for lunch. His way of remembering Obi Wan you supposed. Only he only brought Ahsoka half the time. Senator Amidala was often his company. Padme as she insisted you call her. And judging by the looks they gave each other, they weren’t just friends. Which didn’t surprise you. Anakin had always been more willing to break the rules than Obi Wan had.

As much as you enjoyed getting to know them better, you still felt like a third wheel. When Ahsoka and the Clones joined him, you were more inclined to hang out. But seeing them flirting when they thought no one was looking you had to roll your eyes. Did they know how obvious they were?

But one day, you woke up with the realization that you hadn’t dreamt of the kiss. Maybe you were finally moving on. You fixed yourself a full breakfast. Then walked to Dex’s for the afternoon shift. Settling into the routine of taking and filling orders. You were mixing a milkshake when a voice you never thought you’d hear again spoke up.

“Hello there.”

You gasped, dropping the glass. Only it didn’t shatter. You looked and saw it was floating in midair.

“We really must stop meeting like this.” That voice said. You turned. Praying this wasn’t a cruel dream. For there was Obi Wan. His hair was buzzcut short again, his shaven beard growing back in. Smiling gently at you.

“That’s an inappropriate use of the Force.” You reminded him.

“Just say the word and I’ll give it up.” He said.

You blanched,

“What?”

He was interrupted by Dex running from the kitchen,

“Obi Wan! Knew you weren’t dead!”

“Hello Dex.” Obi Wab greeted before being pulled into a tight four armed hug.

The greeting soon turned into a celebration when Anakin, Ahsoka, Padme and the Clones showed up. You were soon given an explanation. Obi Wan had faked his death to go undercover to save the Chancellor from an assassination plot. Taking the identity of Rako Hardeen and even changing his face. Doing the timeline in your head, you realized something.

“That was you that night wasn’t it?” You asked him quietly.

“I’m sorry for deceiving you.” He apologized.

“But why?” You asked.

“I needed to make sure my voice modulator was working correctly. That if a friend who knew me for years couldn’t tell, then I could fool everyone else.” He replied.

Friend. Of course.

“And the kiss? All the things you said?” You asked.

“Well I like to be though.” He quipped, taking a bite of cake.

“I see.”

“You’re angry with me.” He stated.

“Maybe I am. After all Master Kenobi you did manipulate my feelings just to test your dumb disguise.” You clarified.

“Manipulate? I didn’t mean...”

“Next time try Satine. I’m sure she won’t be so easily fooled.” You told him yanking off your apron and stomping out, ignoring Obi Wan calling after you.

It would be almost a year before you saw him again. Anakin said he was focused on ending the war. Not that you asked about him. More than...six times. This time you suspected Dex had changed your schedule so you could avoid the Jedi. Until one night when you showed up for the late shift. Dex was sick again. So you would have to close up. Luckily you didn’t have to work the clubs tonight.

Only when you got there, you saw Obi Wan in his usual booth.

“He’s been sitting there all day. Won’t let me or FLO get him anything.” the other waitress Hermoine told you. You sighed tying on your apron. You still had a job to do.

“What can I get you General?” You had asked.

“That depends.” He replied.

“On?”

“If you’re still mad at me?” He asked.

You laughed softly, folding your arms,

“Believe it or not Obi Wan, regular people don’t hold on to past grievances. We’ve got lives to live.”

“I know. It’s one of the things I admire about you.” He said.

“I’m sorry about Satine.” You offered. You had heard it from the news. The Duchess assassinated. Mandalore under the control of a mysterious crime boss. The fate of the war up in the air.

“Thank you.” He said softly. Eyes sad.

“You were there weren’t you?” You guessed taking a seat.

“I tried to rescue her. I can’t say much, but the man who killed her is an old enemy of mine. He wanted me to suffer. I barely escaped.” Obi Wan told you.

“I’m sure she knew you did your best.” You assured him.

“She told me she loved me. That she always would.” He confessed.

Your heart skipped a beat,

“And what did you tell her?”

“That had she said the word, I’d have left the order.” He said.

“You did love her.” You said. But not me, you thought.

“Remember that year Qui Gon and I went to help during the Mandalore Civil War?” He asked.

“Yes. Satine told me. At your funeral. You spent a year together.” You recalled.

“We did grow close. And if she had asked I would have left the order. If I hadn’t mucked up our one and only kiss.” He explained.

“Mucked up how?”

“I called her by your name.” He confessed.

“What?” You blinked.

“She was furious. I tried to explain but I didn’t know how. I still don’t to be honest.” He said.

Your brain stopped working. You tried to process his words.

“I devoted myself to the Order because it was easier to ignore the fact that I cared for not just one woman but two. So I wouldn’t have to choose. That cost one of you your life. And it’s not fair. To either of you.

I only thank the Maker that no one knows about you. None of my enemies anyway. To be on the safe side a trooper will be working undercover here to protect you. You might have to pretend to be dating him.”

Obi Wan had grumbled this last part.

“Jealous?” You teased him.

“Very. But I promise you once this blasted war is over, I’m not going to keep you waiting anymore. I’ll leave the Order and we’ll figure out what we have. Together.” He stated.

“Are you just saying this because I’m your only choice now?” You asked.

He looked confused,

“What? No...I...”

You stopped him by taking his hand,

“Obi Wan. The Force chose you to have these marvelous gifts. To be used for good. Even before I knew about Satine I never wanted you to give that side of yourself up for me. I love you for who you are. As you are. I’ve dreamed of you wanting me as I’ve wanted you. But because you can’t live without me. Not because you’re scared to lose me. Correct me if I’m wrong but that’s the path to the Dark Side right?”

“Right as always my Darling.” He conceded.

#obi wan fluff #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #star wars #prequels fanfic

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yelena-bellova · 4 years ago

Text

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: Team Effort

Series Masterlist

Plot: Finn and Rose lay out their plan for Poe and Y/n.

Warnings: one or two curse words, semi-graphic description of violence and injuries, angst with Poe fluff interspersed

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: How I managed to write a 4.2k chapter based on a five minute scene, I have no idea lol. This one was really fun to write though. Enjoy!

—————

“Okay, just give it to me one more time, simpler.”

Finn and Rose, a maintenance worker I’d seen around base, had just laid out an extremely complicated plan of how we could escape the First Order. Poe sat in the center of the room while I stayed seated at my mother’s side. Parts of it made sense and others were harder to understand. Tech was neither of our specialties, I could make things float and Poe blew stuff up.

“So the First Order’s only tracking us from one Destroyer, the lead one,” Finn began explaining once again.

“So we blow that one up?” Poe inquired, his eyes lighting up as he looked between Finn and I. Case in point, tech wasn’t his forte.

“I like where your head’s at, but no,” Finn replied.

I chimed in, “You’ve blown enough up for one day.”

Finn continued, “They’d only start tracking us from another Destroyer.”  “But if we can-“ Rose spoke up, only for Finn to talk over her.

Finn stepped closer to Poe, motioning with his hands, “If we sneak on board the lead Destroyer and disable the tracker without them realizing, then we can-“

“They won’t realize it’s off for one system cycle,” Rose stepped forward, “About six minutes.”  “Sneak on board,” Finn said as Rose pulled up a holographic schematic of the Destroyer, “Disable the tracker. Our fleet escapes before they realize.”

I had my chin propped against my fist as I watched a hunched over Poe absorb the information. It wasn’t the craziest plan I’d heard all day and with Finn and Rose knowing their stuff, we could trust them to have thought each step through. Poe hummed as he contemplated while Finn stared hopefully at us.

“It actually makes sense,” I commented neutrally, there were still a lot to think over if we went through with this. The fact that we’d be going behind Holdo’s back being a prime example.

Poe rose and took a few steps in my direction before turning around and waving his finger between Rose and Finn, “How’d you two meet?”

The two of them looked at each other and judging by their faces, there was definitely a story to their meeting they were dancing around,   “Just luck,” Rose answered innocently.

“Yeah? Good luck?” Poe asked, coming closer towards me.

“Not sure yet.”

“Poe, Y/n, we gotta do this,” Finn implored, “It’ll save the fleet and it’ll save Rey.”  Poe came and joined me next to Mom, looking between the two of us. He carefully slipped his hand over hers, the gesture warmed my heart. Poe had lost his mom at such a young age, I knew he had always seen Leia as that type of figure in his life. The possibility of losing her was a difficult weight for him to bear.

Loss. A concept I’d become overly familiar with over the past couple of days. Four days ago my mother was well, my father alive, our fleet secure and Poe never having left my side. Adding in the fact that Rey, Chewie and R2 were off who knows where and could be walking back into this mess, my anxiety had quickly blown through the roof. I needed to do everything I could to ensure my loved one’s and the Resistance’s safety, whatever that entailed. I inhaled to address Poe, but a different voice came out,

“If I may be the sole voice of reason,” 3PO interrupted, “Admiral Holdo will never agree to this plan.”  I looked back over to Poe and gave a half shrug, “We’re not going to come up with anything better.”  “Yeah,” he sighed and nodded, “You’re right, 3PO. It’s a need to know plan,” he turned around, “And she doesn’t.”  The protocol droid stammered, “That wasn’t exactly my-“  I stood up and went over to him, placing a hand on his metal arm, “3PO, I need you to go against every instinct you have right now. If you don’t trust them, trust me at least.”  “All right,” Poe agreed, strutting towards the table with the Destroyer holo projected above it, “You guys shut down that tracker, we’ll be here to jump you to lightspeed.”

“The question is,” I came to stand next to Finn, “How do we sneak the two of you onto Snoke’s Destroyer?”

“We steal clearance codes,” Rose suggested.

Finn shook his head, “No, they’re bio-hexacrypt and descrambled every hour. We can’t get through their shields undetected, nobody can.”

I chewed on a nail as I wracked my brain for anyone who could help us.

I snapped my fingers once it hit me, it seemed like Poe had just come to the same conclusion I had.

“Maz,” I declared, jogging over to the other side of the room and switching on the holoprojector. I punched in a few numbers and said a silent prayer that she picked up. The others crowded around me as we waited for her to answer,  “Do we know if she’s still on Takodana?” Finn inquired from my left side.

“No idea,” I replied, “It’s a long shot but if anyone could do it, it’s her.”

Just as I’d finished my sentence, Maz appeared in front of us,

“Baby Solo!” she greeted loudly, “I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”  “You too, Maz,” I smiled, “I wish I was calling under better circumstances but-“ 

“Poe Dameron! Alive and in love I’m assuming?”  I snuck a glance at Poe, catching the small grin he gave me, “Incredibly so.”

 Finn awkwardly cleared his throat, snapping us back into reality, “Maz, we need your help.”

“Back in trouble again? So soon?” she replied.

Finn laid out our plan for her in detail, explaining her part in sneaking him and Rose onto the Destroyer.

“Could I do it? Of course I could do it,” she exclaimed as she adjusted a gun in her hands, “But I can’t do it. I’m a little tied down right now!”

Blaster fire echoed around her and caused us to jolt backwards, 3PO and BB-8 letting out exclaims.

“Maz? What is happening?” Finn asked.

“Union despite,” Maz ceased her fighting momentarily, “You do not want to hear about it. But, lucky for you, there’s exactly one guy I trust who can crack that kind of security!” Max rolled and dodged a few shots, “He’s a master codebreaker,” she loaded her gun again, “An ace pilot, a poet with a blaster,” she fired a few blasts confidently.

“Oh my,” 3PO said, “It sounds like this codebreaker fellow can do everything.”  “Oh yes,” Maz replied, a distant look in her eyes and her voice low, “He can.”  The four of us awkwardly looked at each other before she began speaking again,

“You’ll find him with a red plom bloom on his lapel, rolling at a high stakes table in the casino on Canto Bight.”

“Canto Bight?” Poe repeated, looking to me and Finn defeatedly, “No, no, that’s…Maz, is there any way that we can take care of this ourselves?”  Maz adjusted her goggles and began adjusting a device on her wrist, “Sorry, kiddo. This is rarified cracking. You wanna get on that Destroyer, I only know one option. Find the Master Codebreaker. And Baby Solo?”

I looked up to Maz as she sighed, “I’m so sorry about Han.”  I exhaled slowly and gave a hint of a nod, “Thanks, Maz.”

We parted with a goodbye greeting in an alien language and Maz flew off on a jetpack, the holo cut out then.

Poe looked distressed at the thought of sending Finn and Rose to Canto Bight, not that I wasn’t. But I’d seen Finn in action, he was undoubtably smart enough to navigate the situation just as he had on Starkiller.

Finn held out a hand towards Poe and I, a cloaked binary beacon resting in it. I was about to ask why he had one, when I remembered earlier in the day my mother had mentioned how she’d given Rey an identical one. It was how she would find her way back to the fleet. Once again, Finn’s personal stake in this was to protect Rey. That was his driving force. His eyes pleaded with Poe, who took it after only a few seconds of deliberation.

“Okay, we need to get you guys on an escape pod,” Poe said, “The problem is that you’ll show up on our radars.”   “So we need to have someone on our side on the bridge who will cover for us,” I finished his thought.

Poe ran through a list of names in his head, “Connix is our best bet. If you can make sure they get to the pod unnoticed, I can talk to her.”  I turned to Finn and Rose, “You two should probably take BB-8 with you as well, if Poe’s alright with it.”

This was probably going to be the most difficult part of the plan; getting Poe to temporarily part with his beloved droid. He looked down at Bee and let out a grunt of acceptance, “Yeah, he’ll be able to help you guys.”  “We’ll take care of him, I promise,” Finn assured Poe, he’d looked out for Bee once already and could do it again.

Whoa, do I get a say in this at all?  “Would you rather sit here with Poe and I and wait for the Destroyers to blow up the ship or take a trip to Canto Bight and help save the fleet?” I asked as I rested my hands on my hips

…I say I go with Finn.

“Good choice,” I replied before looking back to Finn and Rose, “Let’s get you guys in a pod.”

They nodded and the five of us, made our way out of the room.  “I’ll comm you when I get a hold of Connix,” Poe said quietly to me before we parted down different hallways. I gripped my communicator tight in my fist.

Once it was just us, I turned my attention to Finn and Rose, “Okay, how’d you two really meet?”

“I was going to take a pod to get the beacon as far away as I could. To protect Rey,” he answered.  I chuckled quietly as we turned a corner, “You’ll go to the ends of the galaxy for her, won’t you?”

Finn didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes focused on our path ahead. But I had no doubt that his cheeks had heated up at my comment.

“Rose, how do you play into this story?”

“I stunned him once I figured out he was trying to escape, I was planning to…” she trailed off, scared to finish her sentence.

“I don’t bite, I promise,” I said as we made our way through a quieter hall, nearing the escape pod bay.

“I was going to turn him in for desertion,” she replied meekly, probably worried I’d dislike her for the fact that she’d wrongly accused my friend.

“Attagirl,” I patted her shoulder and she cracked a smile, I already liked her.

The escape pod bay was never guarded and didn’t have anyone but maintenance workers in it typically. That’s why I was so surprised to see someone outside the entryway.

“I’ll handle this,” I whispered before taking the lead and strolling casually towards him.  “Commander Solo,” the young man addressed me confusedly, “What are you doing here?”  “I’m giving our latest recruit a tour of the ship,” I answered easily while gesturing to Finn, “Everyone is required to know where the escape pods are so if you wouldn’t mind letting us through?”  The man looked me over, disbelief written over his face, “On whose authority? Shouldn’t you be on the bridge?”  I raised an eyebrow, I was no stranger to dealing with young cocky recruits, “My own authority. Last time I checked, I outranked you. Now step aside.”  As I attempted to move around him, he stepped in front of me, “I think I’m going to have to call someone down to fact check your story.”  “To fact check my…?” I scoffed and pinched the bridge of my nose, how the hell was I supposed to get this guy to leave? An idea formed quickly, though I wasn’t thrilled about attempting it but there weren’t any other options.

I sighed defeatedly and slowly waved my hand in front of his face, “You will step aside and let us through.”  He tilted his head and chucked heartily, “What the hell was that?”  I shook it off and concentrated harder, repeating my movements, “You will step aside and let us through.”

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Finn whispered from behind me, I waved him off with my free hand.   “Alright, I don’t know what weird shit you’re trying to pull, but it’s not working.” 

Ignoring his comment, I silenced all other thoughts in my mind and focused entirely on what I wanted him to do,

“You will step aside and let us through.”  Like clockwork, the asshole straightened up and said, “I will step aside and let you through.”  I waved my hand again, this time more confidant it would work, “You will return to your quarters and…take a nap.”  “I will return to my quarters and take a nap,” he repeated, promptly leaving us and heading to his given destination.

My lips quirked up at what I’d accomplished, I’d never tried to use a mind trick on anyone. I’d heard about them over the years and my uncle had mentioned them in stories he told me as a child. As weird as I felt, invading someone’s mind and bending it to my will, it would come in handy in situations such as these. I’d have to add it to my arsenal. Shaking my head to clear it, I led Finn and Rose into the bay.

“So, are you going to tell us what that was?” Finn asked slowly.

“Jedi mind trick,” I answered, searching for the pods, “I’d never tried it until now.”

“Wait,” Rose gasped, “Are you a Jedi?”

“Not a Jedi,” I answered just as quick as when Poe had brought up the subject, “But I have a lightsaber, it’s complicated.”

“Whoa…” she said under her breath as we approached a pod, I entered a code in the keypad to authorize their departure.

“Solo,” Poe’s voice came through my comm, “You there?”  “What’s the word, Dameron?”  “We’re clear.”  “Copy that.” I replied.

The pod doors opened as I pressed a button, Rose was the first to climb in but stopped in the doorway,  “Thank you for helping us,” she said, “Not a lot of commanders listen to maintenance workers.”  “Don’t mention it, it’s people like you keep this whole operation going,” I replied with a smile, “You probably do more work than I do.”  With that, she grinned and entered the pod leaving me and Finn alone. We both let out a heavy sigh, neither one of us were fond of the idea of being split up. Especially with Rey already on the other side of the galaxy somewhere.

I embraced him bittersweetly, “You better come back in one piece.” 

“I will,” he promised as he tightened his arms around my back. 

Finn had quickly wormed his way into my heart, into Poe’s too. He fit perfectly in the Resistance and among us, there was no question as to whether or not he belonged here. The thought of him not making it back caused tears to spring to my eyes. It was crazy to think I’d only known him a few days when it felt like saying goodbye to a lifelong friend.

“Listen,” I pulled back to see his face, “I haven’t thanked you for what you did on Ilum. You saved my life and I…”  “Y/n, you don’t need to thank me for-“  “Yes, I do,” I interrupted, “I will forever be in your debt for what you did. You allowed me to come back to my mom, to Poe, to this fight. So yes, I do need to thank you, Finn.” 

He looked so awkward accepting my gratitude, like it was one of his first times doing so. Then I remembered that the compliments Poe, Mom and I had paid him were probably some of the only ones he’d ever received. My heart hurt for him all over again.

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a sheepish smile before giving me another quick hug, “If you want to pay off that debt, just protect that beacon.” 

“You know I will.”  We parted and the only thing left for me to do was kneel down and hug Bee, “Stay safe, it takes two of us to manage Poe.”  Keep him safe while I’m gone.

“Easier said than done, but I’ll try,” I laughed.

If Rey gets back before we do, will you tell us?  “Of course, buddy.” I said running a hand over his head, “If we made it through the past few days, we can make it through this.”  With that, Bee rolled away into the pod behind Finn. I gave them and Rose a salute just before they closed the door, sealing themselves off from me. Yeah, if we made it through Jakku, Rathtars, Takodana and Starkiller, surely we could make it through this…

I hoped.

——————

Poe and I met back up in my mother’s med bay room, he had returned before I did. 3PO was still standing faithfully at the computers, monitoring Mom’s vitals.

“Any change?” I asked as I came to stand next him to read the levels myself.

“Unfortunately, there has been no change in the Princess, Mistress Y/n,” the droid responded.

That was as close to an inside joke as 3PO was capable of. Long ago when the Resistance had been formed and Mom took on the new title of General, 3PO had a hard time stopping referring to her as Princess. He still did it on accident sometimes. I’d told him that if we were talking just him and I, he could call her Princess. I’d always loved the thought of my mother being royalty as a kid and the title was still comforting to hear.

“Okay, thanks anyway,” I sighed, walking away to pull my chair next to Poe’s. He was still positioned at her legs, watching her intently, waiting for any sign that she was awake. I sat down beside him and laid my head on his shoulder, looping my arms through one of his.

“Finn and Rose get away okay?”  I nodded gently, my eyes never leaving Mom’s face as I silently pleaded with her to wake up.

“Don’t you have things to be doing?” I inquired softly, “I’m the one that Holdo grounded, not you.”  He chortled quietly before sobering back up, “Not really, I’ll go check in with a few people in a bit. Other than that, this is where I’m supposed to be.”  I snuggled a little closer to him, as much as the chairs would allow. His devotion to me and Mom was nothing short of heartwarming, I appreciated him more than I’d ever be able to sum up in words.

Without realizing, my eyes had begun to droop shut and I let out a small yawn. The exhaustion of the past few days hadn’t worn off yet.

Poe kissed the top of my head softly, “Get some rest, I’ll wake you up if anything changes with her.”  I sleepily nodded and allowed myself to drift off, my last thought was an image of Finn, Rey, Poe and I sitting around a cantina table laughing about our separate and shared adventures. 

———————

I found myself among the familiar flames once again.

The bodies were still strewn around me.

The thick smoke filled the air.

My lightsaber was clipped at my waist now.

A new single scream erupted this time.

I spun around and watched my younger self run to two bodies lying face down. She fell to her knees and wept over them,

“Mama! Papa! Wake up! Wake up!”  My heart broke at the gut-wrenching memory that was resurfacing, consciously and unconsciously. My parents death had faded over time till I couldn’t remember anything other than the tears I’d shed in the alleyway on Naboo. I hadn’t remembered finding their bodies or screaming their names. Not until now.

“Wake up, Mama! Wake up, Papa! Wake up!”  I cried forcefully as I watched the younger me lose her entire world. I began to stumble towards her just as a hand stopped me, pulling me back by my shoulder.

 “Y/n,” the calm voice said, undoubtably the unidentifiable figure in brown, “Don’t be afraid.”  My sobs wracked my body as I continued to listen to the younger me wail, “I thought I wasn’t afraid anymore.”  “Don’t be afraid,” the voice repeated, I could hear it clearer than I’d ever been able to. I could have sworn that I’d heard it before in my life...

Just as the hand let go of me, a piercing red blade shot through my abdomen. The air in my lung drained instantly, the pain searing hot as the hole burned through me. As it was violently ripped out of me, I was turned around to face a maskless Ren. Just as I’d left him, blood trickled down the side of his face where Rey had cut him,

“Don’t be afraid,” he gritted out, “Of what you could be.”  I attempted to scream, but nothing came out. The only noise was the younger me crying out, “Wake up! Wake up!”

—————

“Y/n, wake up!”

I awoke gasping for air, Poe was knelt in front of me with his hands gripping my arms. After I’d blinked a few times, I could see there was concern etched deeply in his face. I was still panting relentlessly, trying to slow my breaths but failing miserably. I looked around frantically at my surroundings, we were still in Mom’s med bay room. Turning to her, she was in the same position she’d been in when I’d fallen asleep. Safe to assume there were no changes while I’d been out.

“You’re okay, I promise.” Poe whispered as I continued to try and catch my breath, “It was a dream, you’re okay.”  I ran my hands through my hair and placed my elbows on my knees, Poe’s hands slid down to hold my calves. He allowed me all the time I needed to calm down, but I couldn’t do so hunched over in a chair. I needed to move. I rose from my seat and walked quickly over to the window, trying to focus on the stars we were passing. 

“Mistress Y/n, are you quite alright?” 3PO asked with concern.

“3PO, shh,” Poe reprimanded through his teeth.

I shook my head and waved Poe off, “It’s alright, I’m okay, just…a little shaken.”  “Can I be of service in any way?”

“No, but thank you, 3PO.” I replied, looking over my shoulder at the droid. He nodded and returned to his task at hand.

Poe hesitantly made his way towards me, I chuckled breathily at his caution and motioned him over. As I turned back to gaze at the stars, his arms wrapped around my waist and his chest pressed against my back. I leaned back into him, enjoying the warmth that seeped through the layers of clothing and how his comforting scent surrounded me. I laid my arms across his, my hands coming to rest on top of his. In the moments where I felt like I was free falling, Poe was the soft patch of earth for me to land on. I knew he’d catch me every single time.

“Do you remember your mother?” I asked out of nowhere, my breathing finally having calmed down.

“Yeah, not as much as I wish I did,” he answered wistfully, “My dad has holos of her back home, those help keep the memories alive.”  I hummed as I continued staring out the window, scouring every corner of my brain for a better memory of my family than the one I’d just been gifted. Nothing. I couldn’t remember my father’s smile, I couldn’t remember my mother’s melodious laugh. Not a thing. Just the blood seeping from their chests and my piercing screams.

“Why are you asking?”

 “I don’t remember anything about my birth parents except their death,” I answered calmly, “I wish I could remember who they were.”  “Is that what your dream was about?” Poe craned his neck over my shoulder so he could look at me.

I nodded but was still too shaken to turn away from the stars, staring at them seemed to be keeping my panic at bay.

“I think…I think they may have been Force users,” I said.

Poe was silent for a few seconds, simply intertwining our fingers and rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. He was probably searching for the right thing to say in a situation that was so new to him,

“How can you know that?” he finally asked, “Can you know that?”  I shook my head, “I don’t know, it’s just a…feeling. It was just a theory I had but for some reason after that dream, it feels very real.”

Poe dropped his chin to my shoulder and I rested my head against his. I had a sneaking suspicion that this might be our last moment of peace for a while. I tried to drink it in, savor it, because waiting outside this bubble we’d created for ourselves was chaos.  

“This plan has to work,” I breathed, “I couldn’t save my parents, I couldn’t save Dad, but I’ll be damned if I can’t save the Resistance.”

----------

A/N: And the plot thickens...I promise not to string you guys along for too much longer as to who the parents are but ugh, I love a good slow build. I’ve also figured out a schedule for chapters, tentatively there will be a new chapter every Friday. It could change and I could drop two chapters in one week sometimes but for now, every Friday.

Taglist: @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @springfox04 @constantdisgrace @holybatflapexpert @seninjakitey @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet @leilei-draws @eternal-fandoms @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @imaginecrushes @eternallyvenus @thescarletknight2014 @simplybarnes @captain-america5 @breyasficletblog @caseymcflurry @stumbleonmywords @april-14-blog @i-ievu @ultrunning @desperatelytryingtosavemyself @caswinchester2000 @meraki-loki @lovinnholland @wishing4wishes @fruitloopzzz

Star Wars Permanent Taglist: @paintballkid711 @katrynec @caswinchester2000 @theliterarymess

#poe dameron x solo!reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron series #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #finn x reader #rose tico x reader

146 notes · View notes

concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Eighteen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy holidays, everyone! A little something to occupy your time this fine evening. Tagging @anonymouscosmos, @culturalrebel, @mercy-and-malice, @deepkittycollecto, @nelba, @mechanicalism and @commandershepardshtole. Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

Part Seventeen: Preparations

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of violence, emotional distress and child endangerment. Stay safe!]

The map on the table was worn and tattered, held in place by a few books and one large glass disc commonly used for magnifying purposes. Backhand paced to and fro, mentally going over her list of resources. Flanking her were Danse and Preston, the latter having graciously accepted an in-person invitation to their final strategy meeting. Her lieutenant's ability to remain levelheaded was, as ever, a relief to Vega. Not that Danse wasn't levelheaded, but she felt guilty about how much she had grown to expect of him. It would be much simpler to divide their workload if the three of them worked together.

Further over to the right stood Sturges, the man sandwiched in between Ingram and Li while he fidgeted with his goggles. This was no small task they were attempting and everyone was at least slightly nervous.

Elder Brandis cleared his throat pointedly. "Alright General, let's hear it."

Vega straightened up, coming to rest her palms on the ragged edge of the map on the desk in front of her. "We will be performing this op primarily with Minuteman troops. Brotherhood are enforcers and medical operations. We only engage hostiles as a last resort. We are sticking to the plan." She announced firmly. "Preston, Sturges and Nick will take Charlie squadron and work to recalibrate the mainframe. Delta squadron is with Danse, they'll secure the exit tunnel." Backhand gestured at the large paladin, who nodded. "Once Alpha squadron breaches their defenses, Delta squadron will be in charge of locating Liam and his group. He's promised to have the willing synths in a secured location, and he'll be awaiting further orders."

"Those are Delta squadron's official orders, General?" Danse asked, seeming to desire some sort of final confirmation. Deep down, Backhand hoped they weren't all making a terrible mistake sending him into the Institute.

"You're our main line of defense when it comes to that tunnel. I want you on high alert, but only engage if there is no recourse."

"Understood, General." Danse saluted her.

"Elder Brandis, you will be down at the staging area beneath the Prydwen with Pride squadron and Liberty Prime. You will be overseeing our operations on that end since I will be in the field with Alpha squadron." Backhand continued, chuckling when Brandis huffed.

"Oh certainly, stuff me into the supervisory role." The former paladin complained good-naturedly, already well-aware that his place was with the Prydwen.

"Beta will be staying over here by the teleporter platform," Backhand used her sheathed knife to indicate the area on their gridded map, just beneath the Prydwen. "We'll have the triage station there. This includes Curie, Scribe Haylen, Scribe Neriah and Knight Rhys for support." She then clicked her radio handset twice. "Echo, that is, MacCready, John D. and Lancer-Captain Kells, you're on long range and aerial securing Bunker Hill. I'm sure that if the Institute does decide to muster any sort of counter-attack, that and the Prydwen will be their main targets."

" Man oh man, this is pretty legit ," Deacon's voice crackled over her radio. " Never thought we'd be takin' the fight to these bastards. Nobody pinch me. "

"The Atom Cats crew will be at the Castle with Cait and a small cadre of Minutemen dubbed Foxtrot squadron, holding their position and shoring up any weaker areas. I'm counting on that being the Institute's third target. That's our radio tower and hub of operations. So Zeke , I'm depending on you to work together with the troops there. Keep my people safe." Vega said firmly into her handset.

" Hey alley cat, your people are my people, and Zeke always takes care of his people ." The greaser stated, his words drawling lazily through the speaker. " You just take care of my man Sturges, you feel me? He's a vital part of the Atom Cats. If I hear that he died because of some Institute square , my jimmies will be severely rustled ."

Sturges rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine , Zeke. Just keep up your end of the bargain."

" Roger that, cool cat ."

"Goodneighbor is still on standby for aid, and they will be observing Diamond City for any disturbances." Vega had barely gotten the chance to mention them before Hancock's rough voice was piping up out of the speaker.

" No way the Institute would be dumb enough to fuck with Diamond City ," he growled, " and if they are...well, there's plenty of us in Goodneighbor that got a bone to pick, ya' feel me? The boys of Golf squadron are prepped for a brawl ."

"There will be at least one of John's operatives staged with every squadron aside from Delta. Listen to them . I don't want any unnecessary loss of life here." The General of the Minutemen ordered. "Generation threes are indistinguishable from humans. Do not engage them unless there is no other choice. These are not soldiers. These are scientists and scared maintenance workers. With that being said, if you encounter coursers sing out with your position. I want to try and maintain eyes on them whenever we can."

"They are extremely effective and deadly combatants. You'll know them by their black gear. General Vega is the only one thus far who has survived any sort of tussle with them." Preston supplied, his words no-nonsense. "We do not want to engage them head on, but we only have a limited number of EMP grenades. So we gotta' be careful."

"That's why I'm countin' on you an' the detective to watch my back, boss." Sturges grinned at Preston. "It'll be a hell of a struggle hackin' into their mainframe an' such if they're tryin' to slice and dice us."

"Nick and I will do our best, but I believe it would be a smart choice for you to act real fast." Garvey said pragmatically. "After all, the Institute will have the advantage of numbers on their side."

"You'll all be under a time crunch once that reactor begins to melt down. Emergency relays will fire off shortly after that, so that's when everyone will have to be on their toes." Doctor Li mused. "Hopefully they don't think we would be dumb enough to actually go through with this plan and we'll get the drop on them."

"Fingers crossed, at any rate." Ingram chimed in, cracking her knuckles in her gauntlets.

"Last call to back out." Backhand announced across every frequency, "there's no shame in asking for a reassignment or to sit this operation out. We can always move things around."

" Pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say, fuck that ." Hancock rasped. " We're with you, General Sunshine. To the bitter end, and some of us even after that. "

" Yeah, gotta' say I'm throwin' my hat in with the freak show. " Deacon agreed, and Backhand could practically hear him winking behind those ridiculous sunglasses. " What's the fun of uninviting yourself to a party, after all? "

God, this was really happening. Vega felt nerves tighten her hands into fists as more and more voices came over the secure channels, more and more confirmations that she had a legitimate army at her disposal.

A large gauntlet gently brushed her hand, mechanical fingers toying with the lucky bandanna wrapped around her wrist. "Awaiting your command, General." Danse murmured when she turned to look at him for reassurance, the paladin giving her a stern nod.

Awaiting your command, General .

Elder Brandis straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back. "Alright, everyone get to your positions. Proctor, I believe you have a giant to awaken."

"Let's get to it, people!" Danse boomed, a boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth for a moment. Soldier to the end .

Everyone filed out of the room, Preston lingering awkwardly before he extended his hand to Elizabeth. "I need you to know that no matter what happens, I'm damn glad to have met you." He stated, laughing when Vega hauled him into a hug. "I'll see you on the other side, alright General?"

"Thank you so much, Preston. For everything." Backhand mumbled into his shoulder. Preston hugged her back tightly, then pulled away.

"It's the Commonwealth way, General. You'd know that better than anyone." The young man reminded her kindly, helping to straighten out her worn army helmet. "Now c'mon. Can't have you falling behind on your date with destiny. Still got that lucky bandanna?"

"Always." Vega said, tapping the cloth on her wrist.

"Good. We can use all the help we can get." Preston opened the door to the observation deck. Vega felt suddenly like her boots were made of cement, and she turned to look back at Danse one last time. The armored man appeared engrossed in whatever Brandis was saying to him, his helmet still tucked beneath his arm.

"Danse!" Vega called before she could think better of it, and the paladin jolted, looking up. "Take care, okay?"

"Ad Victoriam, General." Danse replied with a sharp salute, those brown eyes seeming too forlorn for someone who was merely wishing a contemporary good luck.

Backhand didn't dare dwell on it, instead turning on her heel and scrolling to the option to relay on her Pip Boy. The last thing she saw before relaying was the half-destroyed skyline of Boston, and her eyes narrowed in determination. So much had already been taken from her, what was denying herself one more thing?

The now-familiar crackle of energy met her ears as she teleported into the Institute for the final time. Sure steps led her to the control panel across from the teleporter, and steady hands fed the holotape into the slot beneath the screen.

'Institute relay targeting sequence' holotape accepted , the screen announced. Initiate remote relay sequence?

Backhand took a deep breath, her index finger hovering over the 'enter' key. All her conversations with 'Father', with X6, with the scientists and doctors and maintenance synths…

Was she really about to throw all of that away?

The woman shook her head at herself after a second. She could justify it later. Right now, she needed to be the one who could make the hard choices.

She pressed the key.

...

It was organized chaos at best.

Paladin Logan Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, continued to wave the shell-shocked synths on into the tunnel. He could dimly hear the sounds of booming musket artillery, which indicated that the main contingent of Delta squadron's Minutemen had encountered resistance. It was only a matter of time before their escape route was discovered, unless the Minutemen could hold them off.

Did they even need to, though? If the synths that wished to voluntarily escape had already done so…

Danse shook his head at himself. No . Everyone deserved the opportunity to flee from this technological tomb. Whether they took it or not was their own choice, but it was a choice .

The ground was littered with the plasticine remains of the guards that had been stationed by the tunnel. Their programming was so thorough that they could not be reasoned with, and Delta squadron had made swift work of them. Danse's stomach churned with unease as he assisted his troops, but he had carried on doggedly to complete their objective.

Liam indicated with a nod that the synth who had limped past them was the last of his little group. "I don't know how I can repay you-" he began to say tearfully, extending a hand. A laser ricocheted off the wall, tagging his shoulder and knocking him backwards.

Danse whirled, spotting the distant forms of a cabal of coursers storming their location. It seemed that the Institute had broken through their line of defense. Their only saving grace at the moment was just how long the hallway was. "The blast doors, can you close them?" He frantically barked at Liam, who was staring at his bloodied shoulder in silent shock. The younger man shook himself after a moment, all but toppling against the terminal mounted on the wall.

Danse lumbered in front of him, functioning as a shield while the young man worked feverishly. Doors began closing behind the coursers and Liam cursed under his breath, maneuvering into a different menu. With an almighty groan, the blast doors guarding the tunnel entrance began to close sluggishly. Then, the security doors leading to the hall also creaked to life.

"Go, your friends will need a familiar face." Danse ordered as Liam turned to him. "I'll maintain our position here." Lasers scorched off the walls overhead, and another bolt skittered along the ground while Liam just... stared up at him. " Go , soldier!" Danse demanded.

"Rip the terminal out, okay? Otherwise they might reverse it." Liam requested shakily, cupping the graze on his shoulder and then fleeing into the tunnel.

Rip the terminal out . Danse's massive gauntlet pulverized the machine, but he did tear it off the wall for good measure before returning to his bulwark position in front of the doors.

Some of the coursers had either peeled off from the group or cloaked themselves. That might prove troublesome. But the doorway was ever so slowly closing, and their chances of actually reaching him grew more and more slim. They seemed to realize this, as their fire came more frequently and aimed even more poorly than before.

Suddenly, so suddenly that Danse wondered if he was seeing things for a split-second, a small child came barreling out of one of the intersecting tunnels, barely ahead of the mob. The little boy tripped and nearly fell, screaming at Danse, "wait, please! Don't leave me here!"

If the security doors would stop the coursers they would absolutely stop this child, and God only knew what the coursers would do to the child. Danse's arm shot out before he could think about it and the door hit the side of his pauldron with a teeth-rattling shriek of metal, slowing the already tepid advance. Bracing his thigh and upper arm against the door, Danse stepped into the hallway, closer to the coursers, his free hand outstretched to seize the boy the moment he was within reach. He didn't dare try to thin the herd at this proximity, God forbid a shot bounce off the wall and strike the child-

His pauldron creaked audibly under the strain of holding the door open as the child flung himself into Danse's grip, and the paladin quickly withdrew into the small room behind him. The blast doors slammed shut and for a moment, everything was blissfully silent. Danse was vaguely reminded of he and Backhand's close call with the elevator, just resting most of his weight against the wall as he tried to process whatever the hell had just happened.

Then, "Th-Thanks!" the child panted, his entire body trembling from his close call. "Have you seen my mom, mister?" Danse cocked his head, bewildered. The child was maybe ten years old, his mop of dark brown curls matted to his forehead from the sweat of his wild sprint. Something about his eyes caught Danse's attention, though. They were startlingly blue, icy . Familiar. "She's got blue eyes n' freckles like me, and funny white marks on her face, right here!" The boy continued while indicating at his left temple. He drew a quick line from the top of his face to the bottom, ending at his chin.

Danse's chest went tight.

Elizabeth . This...was this Shaun? Had she been lied to? Or was this one last trick up the Institute's sleeve? She had mentioned getting duped by a child synth during her first visit. Was this the false child? Well, no more a false child than he was a false man, he corrected himself hurriedly.

"You need to come with me." The paladin said finally, extending his gauntlet to the child and beckoning for him to follow. "It's not safe here."

"Okay." The little boy actually took hold of his gauntlet, tiny hand wrapped around one large finger. "My name's Shaun. What's your name?"

Shaun . "Danse."

"Father said my mom would be comin' for me, but I already knew that. My mom is super tough, and she's not scared of anythin'!" Shaun prattled cheerily at him as they made their way to the spiral ramp upwards. "He gave me a tape to give her, said it was real important. My mission is to get the tape to my mom! Do you have a mission, Mister Danse?"

Danse was trying to decide how to answer when a muffled explosion echoed behind him. He stifled a swear, hoisting Shaun up with one arm. "Hold on to me," he instructed the child curtly, realizing that he had nearly backed himself into a proverbial corner. If the coursers caught him on the glorified staircase, he and this... boy , would be hung out to dry. "Hold on and tuck your head, alright?"

The servos in his greaves and cuisses whined as the paladin made a mad dash for the nearest hallway instead, desperately trying to recall the map that Backhand had made them of the Institute floorplan. Which level was it that would lead him back to the relay room? Damn it .

He took a gamble and darted off to the right, blundering through several doors, down numerous hallways that all looked the same until the paladin finally located an elevator, up a flight of stairs and--

Elizabeth .

Danse hurriedly cupped one large gauntlet over the synth child's head, effectively blocking his hearing and sight.

...

"Creation happened because of you, but you enslaved and hoarded that creation!" Backhand shouted hotly. "You didn't personally create a damn thing, Shaun , and you've been riding the coattails of people smarter than you your entire life! You self-righteous ass! " The young woman raged at the elderly, bedridden man in front of her.

"I don't expect someone like you to understand why I've done what I've done." Shaun wheezed, his tone bitter. "You've already thrown your lot in with those barbarians , Mother. The savages that dog the steps of my beautiful creations…"

"Beautiful creations? You treat them like they're slaves or pieces of hardware!" Backhand retorted. "You call them hammers, wrenches, cogs and gears in your magnificent machine. You've never been a father, Shaun, and you know it." Memories rushed forward, still raw after all this time. Nate, their arguments, the paperwork--

The dying man inclined his head, that sardonic smile that crossed his features so like the father he had never met. "Perhaps not. But then, you have also never been a mother, have you?"

She hated that he could get under her skin so easily, pick at her insecurities like fresh scabs. "How dare you ," was all she could hiss in reply.

Shaun chuckled, the noise dry. "Oh yes, you went through so much to get me back. Yet here you are, defiling the innards of the Institute's still-warm corpse while your son lies dying. How great and noble you are, General Vega." He sneered while she stood there, her knuckles white on the stock of her gun. "The compassionate leader, the prime example of virile, fertile pre-War stock."

"Shut the fuck up." Backhand snarled, skin crawling uncomfortably at his crude terminology. "You shut the fuck up. I've had enough. You can die quietly on your own or I can speed up the process, but I'm not sitting here and listening to you ramble." With steady hands, the laser rifle's muzzle pressed to the side of his head. "Which is it, old man?"

On the inside she was cracking, crumbling, hysterical with guilt and grief and the loss that had nearly driven her to the brink. But on the outside, she was every inch General Vega. Unbreakable veteran, savior of the Commonwealth. The one who got things done, no matter the cost.

"I've liberated all your forces and rendered you toothless , old man. How would you like to die?" She reiterated when he was silent.

"Leave me be. You brazen, detestable bitch , threatening to kill a dying man in his bed." Shaun snapped, his tone laced with venom, "I hope the coursers skin you alive!"

Backhand knew her smile was sad. "Funny, that's probably what your father would have said too. Have it your way, old man." She went to turn on her heel, then promptly froze.

Danse , standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs, one large arm wrapped around... something . "Vega?" He asked warily.

Elizabeth rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Gimme a second, okay? One more thing I have to do here and then we're gone." She said with a calm she did not feel. Danse nodded slowly, shifting his weight back as she moved to the terminal. Backhand couldn't be bothered to ponder his strange body language, the woman too busy trying to remember the passcode Sturges had given her. "I'm issuing the evacuation orders." She stated. Whether it was aimed at Danse or Father , she couldn't decide.

"Of course, General." Danse's voice was oddly soft even through the helmet's speakers.

Suppose that answers that question , Vega griped mentally, the keys clicking sluggishly underneath her fingertips. Other than that, the room was silent. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled forcefully, pressing the 'enter' key for the confirmation prompt.

The overhead announcement system crackled to life, offering the succinct information that the reactor was in a meltdown state. The evacuation order had been successfully issued, just like she had promised Preston she would.

Everyone deserves the chance to live the way they want to . "I wish that there had been another way." Backhand blurted out. "I wish that...I wish things hadn't gotten so stupid."

"You lying- "

Danse cut off Father's reedy voice, the paladin firmly stating, "you and I both know that the Institute would have continued to terrorize the populace ad nauseam, General Vega. This was the only solution. With time and effort, perhaps the Commonwealth will be able to work past their differences with synths." He sounded enviably hopeful and certain.

Backhand stole a shuddering inhale, blinking away her tears. Without so much as a glance backwards, she led the way out onto the spiraling ramp.

…

The General was dead quiet. The sounds of combat echoed up from far, far below. Where was the rest of her team? Why had she come here alone?

"Elizabeth." Danse finally said softly, drawing her attention to him.

Her lower lip trembled slightly as she made eye contact, but she bravely kept her composure. "Yes, Danse?"

The paladin wordlessly moved his hand and revealed the small boy tucked into the protective cradle of his elbow. Shaun blinked up at him, seeming a little dizzy. Vega's sob sounded painful, like it dragged through her ribcage and burst from her throat. At the noise, Shaun glanced over. "Mom!" He was obviously thrilled, struggling to get out of Danse's hold. "Mom it's really you! You did come for me, just like Father said you would!"

"Of...of course I did, baby." Backhand choked out, kneeling so she could hug the boy. "Let's get you out of here, okay?"

"I have a mission, just like Mister Danse. He's great!" The child prattled cheerily, taking her hand and pressing a holotape into her palm. "Father said you'd come back for me, and that I should give this to you! He said it was really important so I needed to keep it safe."

Backhand glanced at Danse, but all the paladin could offer was a shrug. God only knew what was on the tape. Hell, God only knew why 'Father' had sent this defenseless child synth out in the middle of a full-scale assault. A nasty suspicion took root in Danse's chest, but he shoved it down. He wouldn't voice such a notion at this point; Elizabeth was clearly in an incredibly delicate state. One more thing might send her spiraling. No , he would keep it to himself, ignore the terrible thought that had come to him the second he realized who the boy was. Because if Father had sent this child out to die purposely--

"I'll listen to it later, I promise." Backhand was saying to the child, her words thick with suppressed emotion. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I was pretty scared, but Father said I needed to find you on my own." Was Shaun's reply, his tiny hand safe in hers.

The sight caught Danse strangely in the chest, and he turned his head away before the lump in his throat could overcome him. It was just the domesticity of it all, he reassured himself. Elizabeth's own joy, fragile as it was, sent a current of longing through his body that struck his very core. Could he have made her happy, if things had been different? If he hadn't been a poor facsimile of a man, or maybe even if he had simply never learned the truth about what he was? Could they have enjoyed years of contentment, eking out a meager yet rich existence in the unforgiving Commonwealth soil?

Maybe. But maybe wouldn't do them any good now.

He felt a small hand grab hold of his huge gauntlet and he looked down at Shaun. "Thanks for helpin' me get to my mom, Mister Danse!"

With those familiar, familiar eyes trained on him, Danse couldn't formulate an appropriate response. The paladin settled for a thin smile beneath his helmet and a nod, cursing his own hangups and cowardice with every beat of his heart.

He had no idea why he moved when he did.

…

Danse's free hand flew upwards suddenly as the group arrived at the next doorway. Backhand opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, then her eyes widened as a blue laser struck his gauntlet with a loud tzark! .

"Nice try!" Danse snarled, broadening his stance in front of Vega and Shaun. Backhand felt Shaun's hand tighten around her own, the child pressing himself against her side.

The voice that met her ears made her blood run cold. "Ma'am, not to be forward but what exactly do you plan to accomplish here?"

X6-88 . The most fearsome courser the Institute had at its disposal. Vega closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to formulate her thoughts. He had given her a warning shot. Clearly .

"I would appreciate a response, ma'am." X6 said through gritted teeth.

"Lower your weapon and she will attempt civility." Danse retorted, his own rifle trained on the courser. "We have you outgunned, synth."

"Wait, Danse." Vega placed a hand on his elbow, sidling out from behind the bulk of the paladin's armor. "X6-88, I understand that you must be confused." She began, her tone carefully measured. "I'm sure that this course of action probably seems...wild, or erratic. Extreme. And I know you prefer order, so I don't blame you for being distraught."

"I am not distraught." X6 seethed through clenched teeth. "I am disappointed." At some point during the assault, he appeared to have suffered a head wound. Blood was trickling down the side of his temple and he had lost his signature glasses. Unmasked gray eyes bored into her with a fury so intense it took her breath away. "You have betrayed the Institute, ma'am. Betrayed your own son -!"

"Father may have been my son, but he clearly did not wish to continue as such. He wanted to subjugate and conquer , X6, placing the burden squarely on the back of every synth that he had." Vega interjected. "I'm not letting it continue. Everyone can make their own choices now. Even you."

"Choice has led to nothing but suffering! " X6 shouted. "It was choice that killed--that decommissioned G5-19!" His grip on his rifle was trembling, those eyes wild with the emotion that he wasn't supposed to feel. "And then you , saying you could answer questions! Coming into the Institute like a snake! " He spat. "This is all your fault! You've destroyed Father's legacy, and now the Commonwealth will burn because of you!"

Vega closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. "So what are you gonna' do about it?" She asked abruptly. X6 was silent, the synth obviously stunned. " Well , X6? Do you want to die down here?"

"Die?" X6 repeated, his brows furrowed.

"The reactor is melting down. The whole place is compromised." Backhand's voice faltered a little as the gravity of the statement hit her. Years of research, advancements, technological wonders...Vega suddenly felt like she was holding a torch in front of the library of Alexandria. "We have to leave, X6." Taking an incredible chance, she extended a hand. "You don't have to leave with me, but I want you to leave. I want you to get out of here."

" Why? " The courser snarled, jerking back from her hand.

"Because you were good to me while I was here! Shit, X6, you kept me sane in this sterile nightmare!" Backhand cried, "you're funny and you're terrifying and it was good to have someone around that wasn't going to sugarcoat all this bullshit!"

"I--" X6 floundered, taking another step back. Vega heard Danse shift his weight behind her, his armor wheezing slightly at the motion. "Ma'am, the Institute…"

"I know. It's been your home your entire life." Vega tried to maintain her level tone. "But you can't stay. If you come with me now, I can guarantee your safety. The teleporter is going to go down soon, X6. We're running out of time, and I don't know whether your emergency relay will cut it."

"What will you do to me, should I comply?" X6 asked warily.

"I'm not gonna' do anything. You'd be free to go."

"General Vega, I realize this is important, but we will lose our escape option if we linger here much longer." Danse spoke up stiffly.

"X6. I hope you'll come with us." Backhand surprised herself with her own level of bravery, calling Shaun forward so she could take his hand once more. X6-88 merely stepped aside when she cautiously advanced, the courser gone silent.

Danse was obviously slower to trek past X6. Vega could feel the tension between the two of them, drawing tighter and tighter.

"Danse, it's alright. He won't hurt us." It was halfway assurance, halfway order. The paladin obliged all the same, reluctantly turning his back on the black-garbed courser.

No sooner had they rounded the next corner though than Vega heard the sound of running footsteps behind them. "Wait, ma'am!" X6's voice rang out over the noise of Danse's armor, and Vega paused as the courser breezed by the paladin back up to her.

"Change your mind?" The general inquired dryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Ahead, you...you will encounter resistance." X6-88's teeth were gritted yet again, but he still forced the words out. "Coursers. Seven of them."

Seven . Vega's mouth went dry, one was bad enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Danse flick the safety off on his rifle. That he'd even had it on in the first place spoke volumes-!

"I'll go." The paladin muttered after a second. "Take the child and backtrack."

"They will kill you." X6 replied in his usual monotone.

"It doesn't matter. Our mission is too important to risk failure now. I'll buy you the time you need to escape. I'm a large target for a reason."

Backhand tried to protest, "Danse, no , that's--"

"General Vega," Danse interrupted her sharply, not actually looking at her. "The Minutemen cannot afford to lose you. You are instrumental in their operations." His salute was rigid.

Elizabeth wanted to scream. "Take my EMP, then." She forced herself to say instead, tugging the grenade from her belt and holding it out. X6-88 flinched visibly at the sight of the item and Vega wished she could apologize. God , this had all gone so wrong!

Was this going to be her existence? Constantly trading one life for another? Father for Shaun, Danse for her own, the Institute for the Commonwealth--

Danse accepted the grenade with a solemn nod, his massive gauntlet closing down around her hand for a brief moment before he turned to face the other direction once more. "Go. Take your son and the courser and get out of here ." He ordered urgently. "If you backtrack and hurry , you ought to have enough time."

Vega tore at the knot of her lucky bandanna and quickly tied the battered fabric around the top of Danse's arm just beneath his pauldron. "I expect to get this back, Paladin." She stated. Danse still didn't tilt his helmet to look at her, simply nodding his acquiescence. "Be...Be careful, okay?" Vega continued, her voice breaking.

Danse nodded again, and then he left without a word.

"We need to move quickly, ma'am." X6 sounded shaken, his hand on her shoulder unexpected. "Carry the small unit, and I will cover you."

"Th-Thank you, X6." Backhand hiccupped, desperately blinking back her tears. Shaun clung to her hand, the child silently burying his face in her neck once she picked him up. Vega stared at the ceiling for the world's longest second, struggling valiantly to maintain her composure. "Okay. Alright. Let's go."

Part Nineteen

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taesbetch · 5 years ago

Text

04| Den Of Hybrids

Pairing: BTS x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Summary: Taking care of six hybrids can be a pain in the ass but when a stray needs y/ns help, y/n brings him home to his new family. Follow Y/n as she tries to help Taehyung (The new hybrid in town) fit in and continue to keep the other six alive along with other troubles that life brings.

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Silent. The house was so incredibly silent. And oddly cold. Without the presence of your seven hybrids, the house had lost its sparkle and as you sat on the staircase staring at the door your hybrids had just marched out of, a small tear let itself fall down your cheek.

You held your phone in your hand knowing that you needed to get on the phone with the police asap there's no way that this is allowed. She can't just take your hybrids without your consent. You dialled the number of a very good friend of yours who ran multiple hybrid organisations, hoping she would be able to help you sort this mess out. "Oh hey! y/n! hows it going?”

“Horrible. Hyuna please help me out. My bitch of a great aunt has taken my hybrids !? Claiming she can do so because I’m providing for the family and i need to get my work done? What the actual fuck? Can she do that?” You asked, tears prickling in your eyes as you imagined how scared and uncomfortable your hybrids must be.

“Well no, not to you anyway considering you’re over the age of sixteen! Did she show you a document?” Hyuna asked, concern growing in her voice as you heard her type away on a laptop.

“Barely. It looked real and she said she had the police involved. Hyuna what do i do?!” You pleaded suddenly the situation dawned on you that your hybrid hating aunt was supposed to look after seven hybrids for a brief amount of time. HYbrids who were traumatised, Hybrids who were high maintenance....This was really, really bad.

“Don't worry we’ll get them back before anything bad happens, I'll call you back in just a second,” Hyuna said before hanging up. You quickly grabbed your bag not being able to just sit around and wait.

--- Third P.O.V

“I can’t breathe”

Namjoon sat with jimin as he gasped for air. All seven hybrids were trapped in a stuffy room. Grey walls containing them from any other contact. Single beds lay in a row, one for each hybrid; one pillow and a small blanket fit for a baby.

“Jimin it's okay! Y/ns gonna get us out of here we don't have to worry” Namjoon cooed as he rubbed the bunnies back. Jungkook sat staring at the two as yoongi tried to lay his head down and sleep.

“Yoongi how can you sleep at a time like this?” Hoseok asks as he sits himself down on the bed next to yoongis.

with a scoff, yoongi rolls over to face the confused man.

“How else are we supposed to pass the time?”

The boys sat quietly for a second as the doors outside started to open.

“She's coming” Jungkook whispered, his spirits a little broken from being yelled at a little too much on the ride here.

As the door opened the boys all tried their best not to sneer at the elderly woman. they all shuffled around uncomfortably as she glared at the lot of them, two men stood behind her both dressed in all black with their eyes hidden by sunglasses.

“take the photo” She orders.

One of the men take out their cellphone and snap a quick picture of the boys. He then moves further into the room taking a close picture of the tearful jimin and the depressed jungkook.

“That should do it,” May says, a sly smile making it onto her face.

“DO what?” Jin asks bravely his experience with the hag proving an advantage.

“Well when soppy little y/n sees how sad her hybrids are she’ll do anything to get you all back home. Maybe even pay a little price for your speedy return.” She explained laughing afterwards like she had just won the worlds smartest women award.

The boys all glared with disgust. Of course, she had some alterer motive. None of this was to help y/n. Its always about the money and it will always be about the money.

“ You’re a wretched witch, y/n will never give you what you want” Jin stated strongly resisting the urge to spit where she stood. Her smile dropped. Nodding at one of the men she watched joyfully as he strolled over to jin; without hesitating he struck jin across the face, his fist meeting jins jaw with swift precision.

The boys all rose with panic. Namjoon stepped forward with a scream of disapproval but before he could do anything the other man was pointing a gun at hoseoks head. Everyone froze.

“That seemed to shut everyone up. Y/ns life wouldn't be so messed up if it weren't for you mutty hybrids. Honestly, what was she thinking? The girl could be an award-winning scientist by now...but instead, she lounges around writing books and taking care of you” May rants. her eyes flickering between each of theirs.

“Sleep tight. I’m sure by Saturday you’ll be back in your home. Or back on the street. Either way” May laughed once more before she exited leaving the room feeling heavy with emotion. Namjoon looked around worriedly, and for some reason, he knew that the hit jin received would not be the last one.

---- Y/n

“What the fuck.

You stood in front of your aunt's house, banging on the doors to what seemed like an abandoned home. The maids weren't even present, nor was norm, the angry doorman who you know hated you as much as your aunt.

The white pristine house you hated so much as a child and feared to enter seemed so dim and..well beneath you. It felt like what was a David and Goliath story had flipped on its head. Pressing your face against the glass pannels you noticed that no lights were on which was odd for your aunt.

sneaking around the back you were even more surprised to see no garden workers attending to the massive gardens outback. Roses looked dried out and leaves had flown their way over to the once perfectly cut patches of grass.

“So weird.”

disrupting your thoughts, your phone rang.

“Hyuna! Hey! what did you find ?!”

“sooooooo much. Enough to bury your aunt with at least 60 years in jail” She replied. The typing you heard before still going.

Your eyes widened in shock at the response you had gotten.

“Wow! I-i-i Don't wanna send her to jail for basically the rest of my life, i just want my hybrids back.” You replied, your eyes drifting to the house where minimum furniture lay and old paintings sat broken.

“I mean okay...You have security cameras in your house, don't you? Let me come over and ill send it to my people i can have your hybrids back by tomorrow.” Hyuna said before hanging up the phone.

You sighed, looking at the house that used to bleed ‘im rich’ in confusion one more time before leaving. How very very odd...

---

“Wow, Everything is happening so fast” Hyuna sighed as she watches the security footage back. You ran a hand through your hair feeling the same level of frustration as you did that day. Both of you sat in your lounge trying to decipher the situation. Hyuna seemed to think that this video was more than enough evidence as she had no actual means to take your hybrids.

“Okay, let's get this in and get your hybrids back,” Hyuna said as she typed away, her fingers moving at the speed of light. As you watched her your phone lit up with a text message from your aunt.

‘How horrible. Look what the did to each other! Guess the space isn't working out for the. Shame i can't move them anywhere’

You eyebrows knitted with confusion at the text as you watched the typing bubbles anxiously. And that's when the pictures came through. Gasping, you clasped your hand over your mouth as pictures of your hybrids in pain flooded your screen.

One of jimin bawling his eyes out. One of jin with a black eye, Namjoon with bruises all over his legs, Jungkook with a small cut across his cheek.

You couldn't bear to look.

“What? What's wrong?!” Hyuna asked worriedly. Handing her the phone you sat yourself down trying not to cry. This woman you had trusted with the most precious people in your life had presented this outcome...and tried to blame it on them.

“Look at what they did to each other? Does she think I'm dumb? That bitch did this to them AND IS WHAT? TRYING TO TRICK ME? DOES SHE ACTUALLY THINK IM STUPID”

Before hyuna could say anything your phone received another text message. Your face dropped and your eyes narrowed. Flashing back to her home you realised what was going on.

“Let me guess...she wants some money in order for them to be let go” you sneered. Anger suddenly boiling up within you. That fucking bitch.

“Yep...1 million per hybrid. Look y/n/ I might be a bad friend for suggesting this...i know shes your family member but i seriously have so much dirt on this woman it's ridiculous.” Hyuna sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Shes broke...shes broke so shes abusing my hybrids to get money out me? She literally could have just asked? Does she think she can actually get away with this?” You scoffed.

“Maybe she does. What do you want to do about it?” Hyuna asked, her tone lower than before.

You paused for a second. Considering your options. The boys were the only real family you had left. And she had the audacity to lay a finger on them for what? some coin. You looked at hyuna whose determined eyes surely matched your one.

“Let's bury the bitch”

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dwellordream · 4 years ago

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I'm loving all this great discussion you've got going on about Rhaenyra Targaryen. How would you have preferred GRRM to have written her? What could have given her greater nuance and made her less "total hot mess" and more "nuanced and possibly tragic antiheroine"? Thanks for your generosity in answering all of these questions!

Thank you so much! I hope I’m not annoying people with my constant complaints about Fire and Blood haha. Just as a whole I think Fire & Blood would have benefitted as being a series of interwoven novellas, not a mock-medieval-history of the past 300 years of Westeros. GRRM’s greatest talent as a writer, imo, is in how he develops characters as nuanced and realistic people with understandable ambitions and fears through their own perspectives. That’s lost out on in F&B. Occasionally it breaks into more ‘novel-like’ scene descriptions, but overall it’s supposed to read as a dry historical text, only it’s an often contradictory, absurdly biased, all over the place, relying on shock value dry historical text. I get that part of the whole idea was to present various viewpoints of certain characters and events and ‘leave it up to the reader to decide’ who they were inclined to believe, but really it’s just more of a vehicle for misogyny than anything else, since we exclusively get the viewpoints of a couple of very sexist maesters and... Mushroom. Yay. Okay for example if I was going to handle Rhaenyra’s character while still hitting the basic plot points of her story (and this is not me saying I think I’m a better writer than GRRM or that I ‘know his characters better’, it’s just my personal interpretation), I think my goal would be to humanize her to the audience of readers while not shying away from her darker moments. She’s supposed to be controversial and provocative. However that doesn’t mean she has to be totally 2-dimensional or such a hot mess. I think I would start by emphasizing Rhaenyra’s position for the first 10 years of her life. She is the coddled, cossetted, and beloved only child of Viserys and his adored wife Aemma. She has never had a sibling, she’s never had to share any attention, her parents dote on her, as does all the court. Of course she is going to be spoilt, high-maintenance, proud, and temperamental when she doesn’t get her way. However, Rhaenyra is not just a bratty princess stereotype (or, she doesn’t have to be). She is also an extremely brave and determined little girl. She is extroverted; she likes socializing and being around people, she’s confident and assertive and used to having her voice heard. At the age of seven, she single-handedly tames and bonds with a young dragon. That is an extremely impressive feat for a child. You can’t argue, bully, or demand your way into riding a dragon, a wild beast. Rhaenyra had to show some serious grit and tenacity to do that at such a young age, so she’s not just this puffed up little fragile flower who wails when she doesn’t get her way. Rhaenyra also has a great relationship with her father. He doesn’t seem to hold the fact that she is his only child and a daughter against her; he praises and shows her off in front of his court, he makes sure she is always by his side. Rhaenyra is used to being honored before everyone. She is her father’s cupbearer, she is present while he holds court, she is exposed to a high level of adult political interactions and basic courtesies. She’s probably pretty bright for her age, and has a keen understanding of who is who and what everyone at court’s relations to one another are. She’s not been kept locked up in a nursery playing with toys, she is seen as an active member of court and her father’s little shadow. She also likely has a very good relationship with her mother Aemma. Rhaenyra is Aemma’s pride and joy, her sole surviving child after the trauma of a very young marriage and multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. Aemma has no close siblings of her own, and never knew her own mother Daella; no doubt she prizes her relationship with Rhaenyra and hopes Rhaenyra does not experience what she did as a little girl, growing up without a mother and only much-older half siblings in the Vale. Then there is her Uncle Daemon. Daemon is the ‘fun’ relative little kids adore. He doesn’t treat Rhaenyra like a child, he doesn’t condescend to her, he brings her back all sorts of exciting and interesting toys and gifts, he takes time out of his day to spend with her, he takes her on outings and makes her feel special and loved. He’s not always busy with the mundane aspects of ruling that her father likely is, he’s not caught up with his own wife and children, he has all sorts of wild tales of adventure and mystery. It’s easy to see why Rhaenyra loves him so. Then Aemma dies. No doubt this is a horrible shock to Rhaenyra. She’s a little girl, just eight years old. She’s not necessarily that familiar with the harsh realities of pregnancy and childbirth, she just knew she was getting a little brother or sister, and now her mother is gone, just like that. Aemma died during the birth. Rhaenyra never got to say goodbye, and her little brother dies a day later, compounding the grief and horror. Her father is heartbroken and reeling, and her favorite uncle is out drinking and whoring. But Rhaenyra is named her father’s heir. Her mom might be gone, but her dad still loves her, and he loves her so much, in her eyes, that he is willing to buck the precedent that set him on the throne (passing over Rhaenys) in order to name her his heir. She’s Princess of Dragonstone; a whole island! Despite her grief and rage over her mother being ripped away from her, this is probably thrilling for a little girl. She’s going to be queen one day. Everyone loves her and wants her to be happy. She’s going to be the first Targaryen queen in her own right. Doesn’t that make her special and chosen? Then a year later her father remarries. Rhaenyra likely isn’t happy about this; her mother has only been dead a year!- but she is willing to try to get along with her new stepmother, Alicent, who probably seems like less of a mother and more of an older sister figure, just a teenaged girl of 18. Alicent is smart and pretty and Rhaenyra remembers her from court as a very small girl. Her father is Rhaenyra’s father’s Hand, someone Rhaenyra probably knows well, maybe even considers almost family, having grown up seeing him all the time, exchanging gifts at holidays and birthdays, attending tourneys with his family, etc. Then Alicent gets pregnant, something 9 year old Rhaenyra probably wasn’t really thinking about. She has a son, and people are saying he will be king, that her claim doesn’t matter. Then Alicent has another son. She doesn’t have time for Rhaenyra anymore. She’s not Rhaenyra’s mother. She has her own sons, and Aegon will be king, even though it’s not fair, even though Father promised she would be queen, even though Mother is dead and never coming back. These are three major events happening in short succession in the life of a precocious little girl. Rhaenyra likely feels hurt and confused and angry. Sure, her father hasn’t officially declared Aegon as his heir, but Alicent and her father are pushing it, people Rhaenyra thought she could trust. Who is she supposed to rely on now? Well, there’s Uncle Daemon, who suddenly seems like less of the fun uncle, almost like a big brother, and more of.. something else. He doesn’t treat her like a little girl anymore, he calls her beautiful and encourages her to show off her good looks and charm, assures her that regardless of what her father says or does, he will always care for her. She can count on him! And Ser Criston Cole, her longtime crush- well, he just sees her as that spoilt little girl. She’s growing up! She’s not a child anymore but he just doesn’t get it. She’s certain he feels the same way about her, that he loves her back, but his vows and white cloak are in the way, and he won’t stop seeing her as the little princess, not a girl of sixteen, a woman grown! She doesn’t have a mom to talk to this stuff about, but there is Uncle Daemon, and he knows pretty much everything about love and seduction; that’s why there’s all those wild tales about him. If she asks him to help her show Criston that she’s a woman now and wants to be treated as such, he wouldn’t turn her down, would he? Besides, he treats her like a grownup. He thinks she’d be an amazing queen. Father and him fight all the time, but Father’s blinded by his love for Alicent- she’s manipulating him! Uncle Daemon gives her advice, and she tries to impress Criston, but it backfires. He leaves her feeling humiliated and rejected. It’s not fair, she’s the princess, she’s supposed to be good at everything, but he acted like she was wrong to try to show him how much she cares and wants to be with him! Now he won’t talk to her anymore, and Father is sending Uncle Daemon, who seems like her one true friend, away from court because of some stupid rumors that he ‘deflowered her’. Alicent is saying she should be married to Aegon, her half-brother who she can’t stand; he’s a spoilt little creep, always groping servant girls and kissing up to their father. Dragonstone seems like the escape she needs from all of this, but Father is threatening to strip it from her unless she marries Laenor- Laenor who she knows isn’t even into women! They’re not even close friends. He doesn’t want to marry her anymore than she wants to marry him, only their fathers are insisting on it. Daemon’s gone and she has no idea when he’s coming back, and Harwin is sweet and says he loves her, but he would have never been accepted as her husband. Still, at least he’ll never leave her or turn on her, the way everyone else has. And that is basically how I would cover Rhaenyra’s childhood and adolescence in a way that I think at least gives her some understandable motivations, some nuance, and some real emotion beyond ‘she threw a fit when she didn’t get her way’.

#fire and blood #rhaenyra targaryen #ask

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pictureswithboxes · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 7 is up!

AO3 Link [x]

Veronica was standing with Martha at their lockers before class when two girls walked their way. Veronica knew them well enough, Jane and Ashley were their names and Veronica was sure that if it weren’t for The Heathers, they would be good candidates for the top of the food chain at Westerburg. They were chattering about something, only to slow when they saw Veronica and Martha. Jane turned to Ashley and whispered something to her, Veronica was just close enough to hear the term “Dump-Truck” being used.

Ashley laughed at that before she and Jane started to walk off again. Veronica watched them for a moment, she felt fury build inside of her. How dare they act like that toward Martha? Nothing gave them the right to be this way and all Veronica wanted to do was tell them that. Maybe she also wanted to slap them across their stupid faces as well, but that would probably result in a suspension of some kind.

Veronica didn’t care about missing school, but a suspension would probably affect her college prospects.

“Hold that thought.” Veronica said to Martha before she headed toward the two girls.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say, all Veronica knew was that she was furious. The girls were barely four steps ahead of Veronica, she only needed three seconds to catch up to them.

“Hey!” Veronica said as sharply as she could manage.

The two girls turned around and gave Veronica, both looking slightly annoyed by Veronica’s intrusion.

“Veronica, right?” Jane asked, her tone almost dismissive already. “What’s up?”

Veronica took a second to think of what Heather Chandler would say if she were here. She had to think of something cutting and intimidating to say.

“I must have heard you guys wrong just now.” That probably wasn’t the most intimidating thing she could say, but Veronica stood by that. “I mean, I didn’t just hear you both call my best friend Martha Dump-Truck, did I?”

Jane and Ashley both scoffed and Ashley rolled her eyes.

“I know you may think you’re at the top of the untouchable now that you’re The Heathers’ little lap dog,” Ashley said, crossing her arms and straightening her back. “So I’m gonna give you some free advice. Ditch the loser if you know what’s good for you. The Heathers can only keep you safe for so long if all you do is commit social suicide.”

Jane laughed and with that the two girls turned and sauntered off.

Veronica stood in the hallway, frozen. Did she really think that just because The Heathers let her hang out with them, it meant that everything would be perfect for everyone? She had no real power at this school, no one respected or feared her like they did The Heathers. Sure, she was left alone by the masses, but what good was that when her best friend still got bullied? How many times had this happened when Veronica was too busy hanging out with The Heathers to notice any kind of torment?

“Let it go, Veronica.” Martha’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She sounded dejected, Veronica knew that Martha was used to this kind of thing. That just made it even worse. “It’s not a big deal. And we're about to be late to class.”

“Who the fuck do they think they are?” Veronica was seething.

“Let it go.” Martha repeated. “It doesn’t matter.”

Veronica nodded. “Fine, I’ll let it go.” She lied, walking with Martha to their history class.

. .

The Heathers were already seated at their lunch table in the center of the cafeteria when Veronica arrived for lunch. She hadn’t felt this nervous about speaking to them since the first day they’d met. Veronic kept telling herself that she didn’t need to be nervous, that what she was going to be asking for was normal enough for friends to ask for. Right?

Veronica paused when she got to the table, the cafeteria was loud and The Heathers rarely paid attention to anyone. They hadn’t noticed her yet. Duke was reading aloud as Mac and Chandler listened. When they’d first met, Veronica would have thought they were bored and not paying attention, but now after knowing them now it was clear that they were very interested in whatever Duke was reading to them.

“-The unknown fixed on the young man one of those looks which penetrate into the depth of the heart and thoughts.” Duke was reading when Veronica cleared her throat to announce her presence.

“Hey Veronica.” Mac gave Veronica a little wave. “How’s it going?”

“I crave a boon.” Veronica blurted, earning confused looks from the three girls.

“A boon?” Chandler asked, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of boon? And also why are you talking like I’m a pirate captain in the sixteen hundreds?”

Veronica could have hit herself for her phrasing. Of course Chandler would call her out on talking like a historical figure. “Well...” Veronica paused. “I need you guys to help me with something.”

“Generally that’s what a boon is,” Duke said, putting her book down. “Why are you still standing?”

“And why are you acting like you’re asking for a favor from the mafia?” Mac asked with a furrowed brow.

Veronica sat down, she couldn’t help but fiddle with her skirt when she did so.

“Just spit it out.” Chandler sighed, she looked bored. “Seriously, with the way you’re acting, it’s like you want us to help you dispose of a body.”

“Oh I know!” Mac said excitedly. “We get some liquid nitrogen, douse the body in it, shatter the body into tiny chunks, then throw them into different dumpsters all over town. That way no one will find the body, no body no crime.”

“Does the FBI need to put you on some kind of list?” Duke laughed, looking at Mac fondly.

“Or acid.” Mac added after some thought.

“Acid?” Duke leaned forward, she looked more interested in a hypothetical body dump than she did with this entire conversation. “What kind of acid?”

“Shut up, Heather.” Chandler said, snapping their attention back to the conversation at hand, before looking pointedly at Veronica. “Speak now, Veronica.”

“Some girls have been being mean to Martha and I can’t stop them.” Veronica blurted out, this seemed to pique The Heathers’ interest a little. “I need your help so they can leave Martha alone. They don’t listen to me, but everyone listens to you guys. I just... I don’t know what to do short of using violence. Please make them leave Martha alone.”

The Heathers were quiet for a few moments, their faces almost unreadable as they exchanged glances.

“First off,” Chandler said finally in a particularly disinterested tone that made Veronica want to scream. “Violence really isn’t the answer. Not for you, at least. I could get away with slapping someone across the face, but you definitely couldn’t. For me it would be putting someone in their place, for you... Everyone would just say that a former freak became unhinged. Not a good look.”

Veronica opened her mouth to speak, to tell Chandler that she hadn’t asked if she could ever get away with slapping a person. But Chandler simply held up her hand to keep her from speaking.

“As for the Martha situation,” She continued. “Did she ask you to help her?”

“What?” Was all that came out of Veronica’s mouth.

“Did Martha ask for your help?” Duke repeated Chandler’s question.

“No, she didn’t.” Veronica replied. What did Martha asking her for help have anything to do asking The Heathers for help? “What does that have to do with anything? My friend is being harassed, I have the resources to help end that harassment. If I don’t help her, then I’m doing her a disservice.”

“You feel guilty.” Chandler said after a moment. “You have some powerful new friends so people are afraid to mess with you. But our umbrella doesn’t cover Martha, and that gives you nasty, little tummy rumbling.” She paused and took in a breath. “As for these girls, you have to think about how it’s going to look if we come running to her defense.”

“How’s it going to look, Heather?” Veronica’s blood was boiling. Chandler could have just given her a yes or no answer, but for some reason she decided that this had to be a learning opportunity.

“Like we give a shit.” Chandler said with a sigh. “And like Martha can’t handle her shit. We storm up to these girls and demand that they leave Martha alone, she’ll have a week, maybe two, tops. But we can’t and won’t hover over Martha’s shoulder everywhere she goes. We don’t have classes or lunch with her. And our lockers are on the other end of the hall. We have no way to ensure that whatever happened to Martha won’t happen again.”

“What are you saying?” Veronica had to clench her jaw to keep from yelling at Chandler.

“What I’m saying is that anything we do would be a bandaid.” Chandler replied. “We’d have to rely on your friend tattling to us whenever someone is mean to her. Which then makes all of our actions reactive rather than proactive. Meaning, we’d be playing cleanup. Not running maintenance.”

“So you’re saying you can’t do anything?” Veronica demanded.

“We never said that.” Mac said, her face was just as unreadable as the others’.

“Then please stop giving me a high school politics lesson and please just tell me you can do something!” Veronica snapped.

“If you understood high school politics better, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” Duke replied with more venom than Veronica could ever hope to muster. Her eyes were sharp and her glare was almost painful. “But here we are, so let Heather talk.”

“We can make their lives miserable.” Chandler said, taking her cue from Duke. “Punish them. Retribution and all that. But... It can’t be us telling them why. If we do that, we lose power. We lose power, and next thing we know, we’re...” She glanced at Mac.

“Heather McNa-Moron.” Mac sighed.

“Or Heather Dyke.” Duke added. “Or Heather Puke, if my hypothetical tormentor isn’t a homophobe.”

“The downside is that if they’re miserable, then they might take it out on Martha.” Chandler continued. “Now, I can think of worse things to do to a person than just a mean nickname that rolls right off the tongue.”

“Especially with all the ammo she just hands out.” Duke added. “No offense.”

“So it’s up to you.” Chandler folded her hands in front of her on the table. Her pose, her perfect posture, the sharp look in her eye, it all made her look like a supervillain. “Give me the names and I will make their lives pure hell. Or, you let it go, respect Martha’s wishes, and we never speak of this again.”

The way Duke and Mac sat beside her, one on each side, their eyes boring holes into Veronica as she considered the offer, they were like a group of sharks. And Veronica was about to chum the waters.

Veronica thought for a moment. Was she really just feeling guilty about her newfound friendship? And even if she was feeling guilty, what did it matter? Her friend was suffering, and she had the means to help her. It was wrong not to help her. Wasn’t it? Martha had to have told her to let it go because she didn’t want to be a bother. Veronica had to help her friend.

“Martha can never know.” Veronica said finally. “None of this gets back to her.”

“Veronica, I can confidently say that I’ve never knowingly spoken a word to your friend.” Chandler said. “Honestly, before this year, I probably wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a line up. There’s no way this would get to her.”

“I’m not even sure who we’re talking about, if I’m being honest.” Mac said, turning to Chandler. “Isn’t she Harvey Dinsmore’s sister?”

“What?” Veronica frowned. “We’re talking about Martha Dunnstock, not Leslie Dinsmore.”

“Please just give us the names and stop being so dramatic.” Duke sighed in a bored tone. “This isn’t the fucking Godfather. Just spit it out already. Not everything has to be a big production”

“Jane Derringer and Ashley Evans.” Veronica said quickly.

“Ashley’s on the cheer team.” Chandler said, turning to Mac. “See what you can do.”

“I’ll have her running extra suicides this week.” Mac said. “Trisha Cappelletti, from Northpoint Catholic, told me that she got a nose-job the summer before she transferred to Westerburg last year. I could make a couple calls. Ashley was on their squad, they’re bound to have photos. Post them all over the school. Trisha owes me a favor, she won’t tell.”

“You’re sure she won’t tell?” Duke asked, she looked suspicious.

“Completely.” Mac nodded. “I loaned her my lalas at a competition last year after she... uh... had an incident with hers.”

“That’s too much too fast, suicides are fine though.” Chandler nodded knowingly. “She doesn’t have anything on you, does she?”

“The only people who have anything on me are at this lunch table.” Mac rolled her eyes. “And I could take you all down with me if I wanted to.”

Veronica frowned at that. Eating lunch with these girls was like eating lunch with members of the KGB.

“As for Jane...” Chandler said, turning to Duke. “Did you hear that she’s been cheating on Jake Devaran with Alex McMinnimen?”

“I sure did.” Duke said, opening her book again. “I also heard that she’s missed her last period. Her and Jake apparently haven’t done anything yet, but it would really be a shame if a rumor started about her getting pregnant.”

“Oh that’s fun.” Chandler smirked. “Let’s stagger these rumors. Spread the cheating shit around for a week or so, then we’ll start on telling everyone that she’s about to be rocking a fetus fanny pack a little bit later.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Mac said, clapping her hands together. “We should get tacos!”

“Oh man, from that authentic place on Main?” Duke replied with a nod. “Definitely. I’d kill or die for their pork tacos.”

Veronica sat there for a moment with her mouth agape. How could they be so casual about this? It was like they already had a plan for what they were going to do. Did they just have an issue with these two girls already? Or did they have a plan for how they were going to take down everyone at Westerburg?

“You guys never asked what they did.” She said, making the three of them look up at her again.

“Does it matter?” Mac asked before taking a sip from her chocolate milk.

. .

The library at Westerburg High School was not used often, mostly due to Westerburg not having an actual librarian, making it impossible to check books out of the library. Veronica had asked several teachers on more than one occasion if she could borrow a book for her studies, only to be told that she needed to come in on her own time to read in the facility itself. Unfortunately for Veronica, there weren’t any faculty members willing to stay behind to supervise a reading teenager.

The Heathers, as it turned out, were much more persuasive when it came to convincing faculty to stay behind and supervise them. Or rather, the group had been given a key by the principal after they had promised not to steal anything. Veronica wasn’t sure that was a very good system.

“When the hell are we going to get a damn color copier at this school?” Duke muttered as she and Chandler made copies of the photo that Mac had been able to procure using her cheerleading connections after over a month or so of waiting.

“I don’t think anyone’s going to care about the color.” Chandler said, grabbing a stack of freshly printed papers. “Did you get the tape, Heather?” She looked over to the table that Mac was sitting on.

Mac held up three rolls of masking tape with a smile. “Got it.”

“Good.” Chandler nodded. “I think five hundred copies should be enough. We should get these posted.” She passed everyone a stack of flyers. “Heather, you do the second floor and the gym, and Heather, you do the junior and senior hallway. Veronica, you come with me, we’ll cover the freshman wing. Once we’re done, we’ll meet up at the cafeteria. Make sure that you save at least ten copies each, I want the cafeteria covered in these.”

“Got it.” Duke gave Chandler a mock salute before leaving.

“See ya.” Mac said, practically skipping out of the library.

This left Chandler and Veronica alone to do their work. Veronica’s work was essentially just following Chandler around and holding her papers for her. She also was apparently the lookout too, though the school was already locked up, so Veronica wasn’t sure why that job was needed.

“You know, it was only a matter of time before Ashley Evans and Jane Derringer crossed a line.” Chandler said once they’d finished plastering the freshman lockers with Ashley Evans’ pre nose-job face and were headed to the cafeteria. “They always forget that they don’t exist in a vacuum. Like come on guys, your actions have consequences. Unfortunately for them, it’s apparently my job to teach them this lesson.”

Veronica couldn’t argue with that statement.

“The thing is, Veronica,” Chandler continued as she began posting flyers all over the cafeteria. “Real life sucks you dry, if you want to fuck with the eagles you have to learn to fly. And do you know how birds learn to fly?”

“They get pushed out of the nest.” Veronica replied.

“And some of them fly, others just fall and die.” Chandler nodded, she taped a flyer to the vending machine.

“Thanks for the life advice, Mother Goose.” Veronica said.

“Oh shut up, everyone knows that people remember shit better if it rhymes.” Chandler snapped before tapping the vending machine twice.“You want a pop? I’m buying.”

“Sure.” Veronica shrugged. “I’ll have a-”

“I’m gonna guess.” Chandler said quickly, shoving a bill into the machine. “You look like you drink Dr. Pepper. No offense.”

“I mean, I do drink Dr. Pepper, but why would I be offended?” Veronica asked, watching as Chandler hit two buttons at the same time. “And what the everloving fuck are you doing?”

“Well, it’s no fun if I just buy you a drink.” Chandler said as a bottle fell and clanged at the bottom of the machine. “Think of it as a game of roulette. Either you get the Dr. Pepper that you crave, or you get milk.”

“Milk? From the vending machine?” Veronica furrowed her brow. “Why is there milk in the vending machine?”

“I don’t know.” Chandler shrugged. “But I don’t know how often they change out the machine gets restocked. So are you feeling lucky?”

“Why are you like this?” Veronica asked, bending down to grab her drink.

“Do you want a joke answer or do you want to hear all about my childhood traumas?” Chandler replied sarcastically.

Veronica chose to ignore that and grabbed the bottle, scowling when she saw that it was a bottle of milk. Regular, white milk. It wasn’t even chocolate. This was such a disappointment. Veronica scowled at Chandler, who was not even bothering to hide her laughter.

“Dude, you just wasted a dollar.” Veronica said, tossing the milk into the garbage can. “And for what? Two seconds of laughter?”

“Worth it.” Chandler was cackling. “Wanna try again? What’re the odds you get milk twice?”

“Do me a favor and never go to Vegas.” Came the voice of Duke as she and Mac entered the cafeteria.

“There go my weekend plans.” Chandler rolled her eyes and fed the machine another bill. “Who wants to try their luck? Veronica?” She met Veronica’s eye. “Double or nothing? If it’s a Dr. Pepper, I’ll get you a second one. If it’s milk, you have to open it up and take a sip.”

“Don’t do it, Veronica.” Mac said, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. “I once got the milk and she made me take a sip.” She scowled. “Gross.”

Chandler smirked. “Tick tock, Veronica.”

“Fine.” Veronica shrugged. What was the worst that could happen? She’d take a sip of something gross, it wasn’t like it was her own money she was wasting.

Chandler slammed both buttons and a bottle clanged down. “What do you think it’s gonna be?” She bent down to grab the bottle and her smirk became almost predatory. “I am so happy.”

Veronica scowled when Chandler placed a bottle of milk in her hand. “You’re a dick.”

“You made a bet.” Chandler said, her eyes narrowing. “Now sip the probably bad milk or I’ll shove the entire bottle up your growler.”

Veronica wanted to ask Chandler what the fuck a growler was, but on another level, she absolutely did not want to find out. She wrinkled her nose and opened the lid of the bottle before lifting it to her lips and taking the smallest sip possible. The unmistakable taste of sour milk slipped into her mouth and Veronica almost gagged before throwing the bottle into the trash.

“You suck.” Veronica groaned, digging into her pocket and pulling out a bill. She got herself a Dr. Pepper to wash the taste away.

“You made your choice.” Chandler shrugged, turning to the others. “You guys get good coverage?”

Duke and Mac nodded, both looking smug.

“I can’t wait to see Ashley’s face tomorrow.” Mac said gleefully.

“Are we ready to go?” Duke asked, glancing around the cafeteria with a frown. “This place gives me the creeps at night.”

“Yep.” Chandler nodded, gathering her things and heading toward the doors. “You guys wanna grab some food then head to mine?”

“Sure thing!” Mac replied, following Chandler out. She was practically skipping.

Duke and Veronica followed last, walking a little slower than Mac was.

“What the fuck is a growler?” Veronica asked Duke.

. .

Veronica walked into Westerburg with her head held high, there was a certain amount of power that came with knowing someone else’s week would be absolutely ruined because she willed it to happen. As she walked to her locker, she heard a few people whispering about how they’d heard Jane was pregnant with a baby that wasn’t her boyfriend’s and saw the flyers with Ashley’s original nose on them. If these were different girls, if they hadn’t been blatantly mean to her best friend, Veronica would have felt sorry for them. But they made the mistake of insulting Martha right in front of Veronica, and for that they needed to be punished.

“Hey Veronica.” Martha greeted Veronica when she got to her locker, she looked a little less than thrilled to see Veronica.

“Hey Martha.” Veronica smiled. “How’s it going?”

“I’m all right.” Martha crossed her arms and leaned against the lockers, she fixed Veronica with a glare. “But I did hear a rumor. Apparently Jane Derringer is pregnant with Alex McMinnimen’s baby and everyone is going crazy about Ashley Evans’ nose.”

Veronica pretended to look surprised. “Oh wow, really? What’s up with her nose?”

“One of the reasons why you’re such an easy person to be friends with is because you’re such a terrible liar.” Martha deadpanned.

Veronica felt a pit of dread form in her stomach. “What?”

“Veronica.” Martha sighed. “Do you really expect me to believe that it’s a coincidence that a little while after Ashely and Jane were mean to me, suddenly there are rumors and mean flyers going around? You got The Heathers to help you get revenge, didn’t you?”

“Well, look at you, Nancy Drew.” Veronica forced herself to laugh.

Martha didn’t look amused. “Veronica, come on. This isn’t funny.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Veronica asked. “They were jerks to you and deserved to get a little blowback. I tried to stand up to them and make them stop, and all they did was laugh at me! So I reached out and got back at them.”

“Veronica.” Martha’s frown deepened. She didn’t look angry anymore, she looked disappointed. “But you stooped to their level. You’re no better than they are.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. That was exactly the kind of movie bullshit logic that she hated. It was what kept the hero from killing the villain, even after they’d absolutely mowed down groups and groups of the villains minions. It made no sense to Veronica on movie nights and it made no sense to her now.

“That logic makes no sense.” Veronica replied. “You can’t just let people be jerks with no push back, letting them be mean to you isn’t an option. I’m not going to let my best friend keep getting hurt just so I can pat myself on the back for being the bigger person!”

“But that’s what I asked you to do.” Martha said. “This was my problem, not yours. And I wanted to rise above it. You didn’t listen to me. I told you to let it go and instead you got your friends to bully these girls. Now everyone knows that Ashley’s nose is fake and that Jane cheats on Jake with Alex. That’s way worse than being called Dump-truck once sometimes.”

Veronica frowned. “Okay, I admit, it was kind of an escalation.” She nodded. “But-”

“No buts.” Martha interrupted. “You broke my trust and that’s not okay. Period. You’re in the wrong.”

With that, Martha turned her heel and walked away. Veronica watched her go, frozen in place. Did she and Martha just have a fight? She and Martha never fought, sure they’d had their disagreements, but never to the point of a storm off.

It didn’t feel right at all.

. .

“Martha and I had a fight.” Veronica said when she sat at the lunch table.

“And let me guess, you’re going to project your frustration with yourself at us?” Chandler asked, barely even looking at Veronica. “Because if that’s the case, don’t even bother. It’s so cliche and played out, and we established that you were going against her wishes when you asked us for this favor so-”

“Heather, I’m not mad at you.” Veronica said quickly, earning a glare from Chandler.

“Don’t fucking interrupt me.” Chandler said in a low, dangerous voice. “Ever. Understood?”

“Right, I won’t.” Veronica replied with a nod. “Sorry, Heather.”

“It’s fine.” Chandler said, leaning forward onto her elbows. “So you and Martha had a fight because you went behind her back and got revenge on her behalf. Go on.”

“She’s mad because I didn’t listen to her, and I get that.” Veronica said with a frown. “But she wasn’t listening to me when I told her my side. I just don’t get why she’s mad. People were being mean to her and I had the power to stop it. What was I supposed to do? Watch my friend get hurt over and over again until graduation?”

“It sounds like a tough situation to be in.” Mac said in a noncommittal tone. “It sounds a lot like being between a rock and a hard place. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“That’s why I exclusively make friends with vindictive bitches.” Duke shrugged, unsurprisingly, Chandler and Mac smiled at the accusation. “If someone hurts these two, they’d love to see that person burn.”

“She’s right, I would.” Chandler nodded.

“Maybe apologize to Martha.” Mac said softly. “You can’t really take back what happened, especially since I know for a fact that Heather, Heather, and I will not be cleaning those flyers up. But It sounds like you just hurt Martha’s feelings. Apologizing to her might be a good first step.” She paused. “Unfortunately you might need to have a talk with Martha about feelings.”

“Gross.” Chandler scowled.

“Ditto.” Duke added.

Veronica groaned at the idea. That sounded like the worst possible solution.

“You know, sometimes it’s kind of hard to deal with you guys and your emotional constipation.” Mac said with a frown.

“Shut up, Heather.”

. .

Veronica would rather eat glass than talk about her feelings. Fortunately for Martha, she loved her best friend more than she hated dumping all her emotions out in front of another person. Her friendship with Martha meant everything.

So there she stood, on Martha’s doorstep after school. Veronica rang the doorbell, the sound of the ring seemed to kick start her heart into overdrive. She’d never been this nervous to speak to Martha before, then again, she’d never had Martha more than a little annoyed with her before. Logically, she knew there was no way that this was a friendship ending argument, but there was a little nagging voice in the back of her mind that kept telling her that if she said the wrong thing, they may never recover.

It felt ridiculous to even think about.

“Hi, Veronica.” Martha said when she answered the door, opening it a little wider so Veronica could step in. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry.” Veronica said the moment she stepped through Martha’s front door. “I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you feel like I don’t listen to you. I just didn’t want to see you hurting. Especially since I don’t get bothered so much anymore, ya know? I just... You know... I love you, I guess. So I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Oh.” Martha looked very surprised. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, I kind of surprised myself if I’m being honest.” Veronica let out a nervous laugh. “But, you know me, I need to be the hero and save the day. I just... I let my feelings overshadow yours. That wasn’t cool of me.”

“No, it really wasn’t.” Martha replied, crossing her arms. “And I think I’m gonna still be mad for the rest of the night.”

“I understand.” Veronica nodded.

“I’m not gonna lie, it sucks that you didn’t listen to me.” Martha smiled after a moment. “But you really pulled out the big guns for me, didn’t you? They called me a mean name and you basically ordered a mob hit on them.”

Veronica laughed. “I was just fighting fire with fire.”

“More like fighting minnows with sharks.” Martha replied.

“Don’t say that around The Heathers, the next thing we’d know, they’d be arguing about what kind of sharks they are.”

#heathers #heather mcnamara #heather chandler #heather duke #veronica sawyer

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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I LOVED your boarding school teacher fic! That's so funny that the entire school is so into gossip!!!! Can we get more please? I don't know what but more!!!

Original prompt: Two boarding school teachers finally, FINALLY get together. Everyone around them is way too invested and knows way too much.

Hi, nonnie 👋 This has been sitting in my inbox for months now, but since @idristardis requested a follow-up to What Would We Do Without Internet? as her gift for my fic giveaway, I can finally answer your request! @idristardis I believe I got most, if not all of your requests into this story, and I hope you enjoy ❤️ It picks up in Emma’s POV directly after the non-epilogue-ish part of the original!

AO3: Part One | Part Two

-/-

“How long have you been together?”

“Was it this weekend?”

“Or was it before but we’re just now finding out?”

“Do you love him?”

“Does he love you?”

All of Emma’s day has been filled with those five questions or, at least, a variation of them. Some of her students are more creative with their wording and their questioning, and some of them simply want to talk to her about the fact that they know that she slept with Killian this weekend. How they all know that is a mystery to her. They shouldn’t. It should be a private matter between she and Killian and absolutely no one else.

Especially not one hundred sixteen-and-seventeen-year-old students.

She woke up this morning with the guy she really likes in bed with her and with this stupid smile on her face that she knew would carry her throughout a long Monday, and then she walked into her first period World History class and was bombarded by questions about her dating life.

Decidedly not a good start to her morning when she did not and still does not want to be part of Storybrooke Academy’s never-ending gossip mill. It’s all fun and games until it’s her life being talked about and picked apart by the student body.

(The faculty are definitely talking about her behind her back.)

They’ve got to get internet in the dorms in this place so that the kids have something to focus on other than who’s dating whom and whether or not the headmaster is actually dying from some kind of contagious disease or not.

(Emma sure as hell hopes not on that second part since she had a performance review last week and had to sit in the headmaster’s office for an hour.)

“Ms. Swan,” Jackie whines, “aren’t you going to answer any of our questions?”

Emma shakes out of her thoughts and blinks, taking in the thirty students who are currently sitting in front of her waiting for her to start teaching her fifth period American history lessons.

“Um, no,” she mumbles, “I’m not. I don’t know what you’ve all heard or think, and I really don’t care. I won’t be talking about my personal life or any rumors about it to you all. Now, you have a project due next week. Let’s talk about that.”

When the bell rings and her class is dismissed, each of them walking out the door upset with her as if she owes them details about her personal life, Emma buries her face on her desk and wonders if there’s any way to call out sick for the rest of the day…or the year. The year would be nice.

If the pay here wasn’t so good, Emma would pack her bags and go teach somewhere where she didn’t have to have her entire life displayed for a couple hundred people.

There’s a knock at her classroom door, and when Emma looks up, she sees Killian standing there with his shoulder against the archway. He’s already got his coat on, a fitted blue peacoat that she’s always loved on him, and has a knitted beanie tugged down over his ears so that only the slightest bit of black hair peeks out. She smiles to herself knowing that he’s got a little red mark beneath his ear from her. It shouldn’t bring her so much joy, but it does.

(Her thighs are red with beard burn, and even though she’s a bit sore when she walks, that brings her joy too.)

“Hey, Swan.”

“Hey.”

He cocks his head to the side and raises a brow. “You have time to get lunch?”

“I do,” she sighs, “but I don’t think I can handle the cafeteria or the teacher’s lounge right now. It’s been – ”

“Absolutely insane?” Killian laughs. “Have you been getting the questions?”

She’s not sure if she’s relieved or not that Killian is getting the same questions as she is, but it definitely makes her feel something. Maybe she’s experiencing whiplash. That would explain a lot with how the past few days have been.

“So many questions. I don’t even know where to begin with them.”

“I feel the same way.” He walks into the classroom and holds his hand out for her to take it, and she imagines in his head he’s thinking about always being a gentleman or some other Killian quip that she’s grown used to in the three years of knowing him. She takes his hand, and he pulls her up until she’s standing beside him. “Why don’t we go get our lunches out of the lounge? I have a place for us to eat in privacy.”

“Is it one of our apartments? Because apparently those aren’t private.”

“No, love, it’s actually not.”

It ends up being an old classroom on the fourth floor of the fine arts building, a place neither of them have any business being unless they’re watching one of the semi-annual performances the drama club puts on during each semester, but the ease with which Killian guides her through the hallways makes her think that he’s here a little more often than that. Once they’re in the room, she can see why. It’s perched at just the right spot where if she looks to her left, she can see most of campus and the white snow that’s currently blanketing it, and if she looks to her right, the small town of Storybrooke and the ocean are just on the horizon. Killian’s always had a thing with the sea. Maybe that’s how he discovered this place.

Or maybe this is where he’s taking all of the teachers he’s sleeping with.

She has no idea if it’s only her, and for the first time in a long time, she actually wants someone that’s hers and who she doesn’t have to share. What kind of craziness is any of this? Why did she kiss him? That was such a bad idea looking back. It could have gone horribly wrong, and she doesn’t know if –

“Emma,” Killian interrupts as a table scrapes across the old hardwood until it’s in the middle of the room. He’s got their food, leftover Chinese they both must have taken from her place this morning, already spread out in the middle. “You okay, there?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, quickly closing her eyes and centering herself so that she doesn’t freak out. She won’t freak out. Nope. It’s not going to happen. This is good. This is…fine. “How did you discover this place?”

He doesn’t answer at first, too busy grabbing her a chair and holding it out for her until she sits down, but once he’s settled and taking off his coat so that he’s left in a dress shirt and a vest, he looks up at her with this broad grin that makes her flashback to this weekend once more.

“I was helping move some furniture that the school didn’t want to throw away but had nowhere to keep, and this is where the entire maintenance crew decided to bring it. I don’t know, it’s kind of a fascinating place, and it allows me to have a space to breathe without having to walk across campus to my apartment. You’re the first person I ever brought up here. The view is amazing, right?”

Well, that answers her question about this being the place where he takes all of the women he’s sleeping with. At least, it kind of does.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees, “it is.”

Killian smiles at her again. It feels like he’s trying to encourage her to keep talking, to say something else, but she’s at a loss for words. The two of them have been bantering (flirting) back and forth at each other for years, only stopped talking this weekend when they literally couldn’t anymore, and now she has nothing to say because the only thing in her mind are her own questions about how the hell this is going to work as well as her students’ questions.

“How long have you been together?”

“Was it just this weekend?”

“Or was it before but we’re just now finding out?”

“Do you love him?”

“Does he love you?”

Her life would be far less dramatic if she’d stayed in Bar Harbor and worked at a regular high school where instead of caring about her personal life, her students were freaked out by running into her at the grocery store. She’s only ten years older than a lot of them, and while a decade doesn’t seem like too long, it’s an eternity to her. The fact that her students don’t seem to think so worries her.

“You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma jumps, and she knows that she isn’t able to cover herself when Killian starts laughing even as he bites down on an eggroll. “I’m kind of freaked out by the entire school knowing that we slept together. I want to know how they know too. This was supposed to be private and something we kept quiet while we figured it out and now – ”

“Everything is out in the open, and every move we make is going to be scrutinized by every person here?”

“Exactly. No one has a life or entertainment at night and ugh,” she groans, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “I just…I love these kids. I really do, but I’m not comfortable having my relationship that I’m not even sure is a relationship be the center of all this attention.”

Killian reaches over the table and threads their fingers together and brings their knuckles to his lips so that she feels a scratchy kiss while her heart flutters. In the good way though. Not the way that would send her to the hospital.

She’s a mess today.

“It’ll die down, Swan,” he promises before kissing her wrist over her buttercup tattoo. “Next week or the week after that, some other thing will happen, and everyone will forget about us. And if you’d like this to be a relationship, I’m more than happy with that.”

“Yeah?”

He nods and places their hands down on the table. “Absolutely. I feel like I’ve already told you this, but I’ve fancied you for quite awhile, Swan. That’s not something that’s going to change even if a nosy student saw me go into your apartment and then not leave for most of the weekend except for the few trips we made up to my place.”

“How would they even know that? They’d have to be in our building and – oh. It was Henry Mills, wasn’t it? He must have been visiting his mom.”

“Apparently, he and several other students were in the building because it was Henry’s birthday, and his mum was cooking for all of his friends. Caroline Abbot saw me go to your apartment from down in the lobby, and they seemed to find entertainment in figuring out what we were doing.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Aye, quite a bit. If the building wasn’t so open, I believe we would have gotten away with it with no interference.”

“You sound like a villain on Scooby Doo.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman reference Scooby Doo while out on a date.”

“Oh, is that what this is? A date?”

“Absolutely. We’re not going to get a lot of privacy, so I’m taking every opportunity to court you that I can get. If we only counted the quiet moments, I doubt we’d ever get one.”

“You’re so old-fashioned.”

Killian winks, bringing their joined hands to his lips again. “As I’ve said before, I’m always a gentleman.”

“If you say so,” Emma teases. She takes a bite of her chicken. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“I’ve got dorm duty tonight and tomorrow. Wednesday?”

“I have dorm duty until Friday. This weekend?”

“It’s my weekend to be on call for chaperoning the trips into town. You could always come with me.”

“And have everyone stare and talk about us more? No thank you. I don’t…I think I’d prefer we don’t show any affection or – ” she waves her hand between them “ – whatever this is. I think it’ll help everything to die down a bit.”

Killian nods, lips tight, and Emma’s stomach twists. Is she disappointing him by not wanting to walk around campus with her fingers threaded through his or with his arm around her waist?

Is this going to be a thing between them that’s going to make it all burst into flames?

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

“The same to you.”

-/-

To say that getting used to dating someone again is difficult is an understatement. Emma may have been the one to barge into Killian’s classroom and pretty much give him an ultimatum (even if that’s not at all what happened) for the two of them to stop dancing around each other and just go for it, but that’s not her, not usually. It was reckless and unthinking, and as calculated as Emma can be now, that isn’t how she used to be.

Sometimes it’s thrilling to still get to be like that and have the rush of adrenaline running down her spine when she does something like that.

Or when Killian looks at her.

God, his smile kills her. He’s got this this soft one, lips pressed together and eyes so incredibly blue, and she selfishly likes to think that the smile is reserved for her. But the soft smile can quickly transform into a wicked smirk that has Emma’s stomach fluttering and heat curling in between her thighs.

The smile, or smiles really, are what keep her sane as February chills into March, snow still fluttering around and the cold clinging to every inch of the ground and each particle of air. The questions from her students about her relationship stay steady for two weeks before slowly tapering off, but not a day goes by where there isn’t some question from a student or inquiry from a fellow staff member. Mary Margaret, bless her, is particularly excited about Emma’s recent relationship development, and she invites Emma and Killian over to her apartment for what is essentially a double date with Mary Margaret and David.

(Emma’s never been on a double date, and despite how much she loves the Nolans, there’s something so peppy about them that it makes her hesitate.)

They end up going.

It’s a great time.

The wine is good, the food even better somehow, and Emma is pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to slip into the role of someone who is happy and does things like dinners with other couples while her boyfriend’s hand rests on her inner thigh under the table.

Is twenty-eight too old to call someone her boyfriend? Partner sounds too serious. Significant other too boring. Lover too creepy sounding even if it’s true. So maybe boyfriend is the best word. Maybe that’s not important.

What is important, however, is that as she and Killian adjust to being together, it becomes easier by the day. They’ve been friends and colleagues for years, which made the stakes seem so much higher at first, but in reality, all it’s done is make this transition smoother than she ever thought possible.

(Smooth doesn’t mean she didn’t struggle. She definitely did, but her fears at the beginning were definitely overexaggerated.)

Emma already knows all about Killian’s work and knows how passionate he is about it even if she knows that high school math teacher was never his ultimate goal and is still not his goal. He likes classical music and reading a book a day and is an absolute and total know-it-all. She knows that he eats far too much fish, and he knows that she absolutely despises fish in all of its forms which is most definitely why he tries to kiss her every time he’s eating it.

The asshole.

Who she really, really likes.

She doesn’t need the gossip around the school to let her know that he feels the same way.

There are days when she wants to pull his hair out and days where she doesn’t want to stop kissing him or laughing with him, and when the school year ends and they’re allowed a month of vacation with no workshops or lesson planning, they get the opportunity to do all of that without any students around them.

None at all.

It’s glorious.

Killian finds them a small one-bedroom cottage to rent out in Boothbay that’s right on the beach and only a short drive away from town, and Emma almost cries in relief the moment she steps in the front door and all of the weights of the school year disappear from her shoulders. She loves what she does for work, but by the time summer inches closer, she needs a break. Getting to go off and live at the beach with her boyfriend for a month is the exact thing she needs even if she knows he’s about to eat a hell of a lot of fish.

“I think this place might be heaven,” she sighs as she walks into the living room and sees the large windows that look right out onto the sand and the cresting waves. She can hear the ocean, can smell the salt in the air, and somehow, it’s different than the ocean in Storybrooke. It’s warmer and more inviting and she can’t wait to dive in until her skin is tanned and wrinkled.

Killian steps up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder, scratchy scruff pressing into her neck. He’s warm and solid, and she leans back into him, content.

“I’m glad you like it, love. Thank you for agreeing to come away with me.”

Emma pats his hand over her stomach. “Thank you for finding a place for us to get away that didn’t make us go completely broke.”

Killian laughs, something deep and low, and for some reason it has her twisting her head and pressing her lips into his. He tastes like the mint of his gum that he was chewing on the drive down here, and it’s spicy on her tongue when his lips quickly part and his tongue runs along the seam of her lips. They haven’t had time to be truly alone and away from students and other faculty during their entire relationship, and it’s what has Emma turning her body and fumbling for the buttons on Killian’s shirt.

There’s a rush of air between them as clothes fall away and hands brush over warm skin, and Emma can scarcely breathe by the time they’re fumbling back toward the couch, falling onto unfamiliar cushions with throw pillows scattering across the room. They may have a month of this, a month of complete privacy and no one but each other, but they come together hurriedly and without much finesse. Killian’s thrusts are quick and harsh, and Emma’s nails hook into the skin of his back while her legs wrap around his ass.

The heat in her belly keeps building, the fire being stroked, and faster than Emma can think about how damn good this feels, she reaches that high. There’s only the beating of her heart, the slap of skin against skin, the feeling of Killian pulsing within her.

There’s only the feeling of Killian.

Of them.

“Well,” Killian pants when they’re both trying to catch their breath, “that certainly didn’t take long.”

Emma huffs. “Next time make me work for it, you know? I feel like I should at least have to take you out for dinner first.”

“A man does like to be courted.”

“You’re ridiculous.”“Aye, but you like me. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Shut up,” Emma chuckles before kissing him again.

-/-

Over the weeks, Killian’s skin gradually tans, and it somehow makes the dark patches of hair on his chest more prominent. She’s always loved the little tufts that sometimes show through his dress shirt or over the top of his sweaters, but there’s something undeniably attractive about seeing him walk around with tanned skin and lean, defined muscles and mostly no shirt on. She’s used to seeing him in sweaters and blazers and those awful school-mandated scarves, so having him constantly be walking around in low-slung sweatpants with no shirt or swim trunks with no shirt (emphasis on the no shirt part, obviously) has been a pretty good bonus of this month-long vacation they’re taking.

Emma’s sure that Killian feels the same way about her lack of clothes and sun-kissed skin as well, but none of that matters as she sits on the couch in the living room with a cup of coffee in her hands while she looks at the muscles of his back and the curve of his ass while he stands in front of the sliding doors that lead out to the ocean. The sun is illuminating him, and he almost doesn’t look real.

But he is.

And so is their relationship.

And so is the fact that Emma knows that she loves him. Her stomach nearly heaves at the thought, at knowing that she’s got feelings this deep for someone else again, and if she doesn’t tell him soon, she might implode.

Holding it in for a month has nearly killed her. She’s wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know that she feels about him the way that she knows he feels about her, but that little niggling fear of it all going to shit has held her back.

Emma’s a coward, and love freaks her out so that she can barely breathe.

Right now, she’s thinking breathing might be overrated.

“I love you.”

Killian’s shoulder’s tense, muscles visibly moving, and while Emma’s heart pounds, she watches his shoulders fall and his posture relax. He’s still looking out at the ocean. Maybe he didn’t hear her. Maybe that was all an illusion.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But then he’s turning around and smiling at her. It’s the soft smile, the one that’s just for her.

Mine, she thinks.

“Did you mean to say that out loud, or should I pretend I didn’t hear it?”

Stupid man. He’s ridiculous. Only he would actually ask her that.

But she loves him. And it’s not terrifying…unless he doesn’t say it back soon.

Please say it back soon.

“I meant to say it.”

His smile stays the same as he walks closer to her, taking her coffee out of her hands and placing it on the table in front of them. He leans into her and presses his lips to her neck, leaving warm, lazy kisses in all of the spots that send shivers down her spine.

“I love you, Emma Swan,” he whispers, teeth grazing her ear. She may melt. She doesn’t care how cheesy that sounds. It’s true. “You are magnificent.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Please, I’m fucking amazing.”

Emma’s laugh carries through the house and all the way up to the bedroom where they spend the rest of the day.

-/-

“Who is that?”

“Hmm?”

“Who is that?” Emma repeats, discreetly pointing toward the petite blonde woman sitting on the other side of the teacher’s lounge.

Killian looks up from his lesson plans he’s been studying all week, as if he hasn’t been teaching the same formulas and math drills and whatever else it is he teaches (math is not her thing) for the past nine years, and adjusts his glasses.

“Oh, that’s Tink Bell.”

“That is not a real name.”

“It’s what it said in the email sent to the arithmetic apartment about our new member of the faculty.”

“Oh, so she’s a teacher?”

“Aye, love.”

“Have you met her?”

“At our department meeting yesterday.” He leans over and presses his lips to her cheek, and it’s been weeks since they were at the beach but he still smells like salt. “I need to work on these lessons. Something isn’t clicking, and I want it to be perfect for when the school starts. Can I meet you at your apartment for lunch?”

“I’m eating lunch with Mary Margaret. You can come with us if you want.”

“I think I’ll let you girls catch up, but I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Sounds good, babe.”

-/-

As with the beginning of every new school year, the first day is pretty much pointless. All of the students are back together from spending the summer with their parents or on vacation and living in a world with internet access wherever they go. It’s an adjustment for them, especially since they feel the need to catch up on all of the latest news (gossip) while crammed together in classrooms instead of in their dorms at night, and Emma has almost zero control trying to go over the syllabus.

And, of course, the returning students want to know if she and Killian are still dating.

Yes, she tells them, trying not to smile.

And no, she won’t say anything more than that. Killian won’t either.

As the weeks go by and school fully gets into a steady rhythm, Emma is able to keep her students in check and actually work through her lesson plans. There’s the ever-present rumble of gossip and questions, and Emma can’t go a day without having a teenager ask her about her romantic relationships. But it’s fine and normal (at least for her), and as tired as Emma is some days, it’s good to be back.

It’s great to be back.

She loves this job and this place even with all of its quirks.

What she doesn’t love is how little time she and Killian are getting to spend with each other.

Their dorm nights never match up, so if Killian is the supervisor for his dorm on Monday through Wednesday, Emma is the supervisor Thursday through Saturday. They’ve tried to get it changed, but their headmaster has informed them that he won’t be changing their schedules simply because the two of them are dating.

Asshole.

Mary Margaret and David have matching schedules, and no one complained about that.

But it is what it is, and they deal with it. They mostly deal with it in trying to eat at least one meal together a day and making sure to text while in the dorms. Sometimes they have time to find their secret spot with a view of the campus, but those visits are few and far between. It’s different and not what they want, but Emma is happy. She’s happy, and she’ll do what she can to stay that way. Killian’s been her friend for years, and none of that is going to change.

She’d simply like to have a few more opportunities to make out with him.

That would be more than nice.

Emma sees him often walking across the courtyard with Tink Bell, the two of them chatting away.

Good. Killian deserves to have friends who he can geek out about math with. She likes that for him.

What she doesn’t like is when the rumors start.

It starts small. There’s a whisper of Killian and Tink eating dinner together in town. It’s nothing. Emma knows they were both in-town weekend chaperones that week, and they’re friends. Friends get dinner.

But then there’s the two of them eating lunch together on campus on the days that Emma has a different lunch break than Killian and the talk of both of them happening to run at the same time in the mornings. Killian runs at a ridiculous hour, usually when the sun hasn’t risen, and Emma can’t understand why anyone else would want to be up that early to run.

Never in a million years.

Tink Bell likes to get up early to go running.

The rumors may start small, a whisper here and there, but then they spread like a wild fire until Emma is wrapped in a blazing inferno.

And it’s ridiculous because Emma doesn’t listen to rumors at this school. She doesn’t. They’re inane and often untrue, and she has other, better things to do with her time. It’s also ridiculous because she knows that Killian loves her. Their schedules might not match up well, but when they do spend time together, it’s the same laughter filling the room every single time.

They’re fine. They’re good. They’re great.

But Neal.

She had loved Neal too, and Neal had said that he loved her.

But the revolving women coming in and out of his bed told her otherwise.

That’s not…she’s not…trusting again after being cheated on isn’t easy, and Emma hates herself for being this way. She does. Because Killian has been her friend for years, and he has never done anything to hurt her. Not on purpose. Her heart aching over him not knowing about her feelings for him was all on her. That wasn’t on him.

This isn’t either.

It doesn’t help her from thinking all of these insane thoughts.

It certainly doesn’t help keep her from blurting out all of her thoughts and feelings and years old scars of Neal to Killian in the middle of one of the rare moments of them spending time together. She wasn’t going to say anything. She really wasn’t, but apparently some of the students have been rude to Tink because they think she’s trying to get between Emma and Killian and they just can’t have that.

None of this is okay.

“What would possibly make you think that I’m like him?” Killian asks after Emma pretty much word vomits all of the feelings she’s been having for the past month.

“I don’t.”

“You obviously do or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“That is not fair.”

“Hell, Emma,” Killian huffs before threading his fingers into his hair and then running his hands down her face. She feels sick. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’ve dumped a hell of a lot of information on me, and all I want to do is punch that absolute ass in the face. I want to hurt him for what he did to you, and I want to hurt him for making you not trust me.”

“You think that’s what this is about? That I don’t trust you?”

“Is that not what this is about?”

“Of course I trust you!”

“Then why are you pulling away from me? Why are you saying all of this and getting it into your head that these fucking ridiculous rumors are true?”

“Because everyone I’ve ever been with has left me,” she breathes out, her heart heavy and voice cracking. “No one has ever stayed. They’ve all left, and I don’t know what I’d do if you left me. I don’t…every single person in this place would know and would look at me strangely, and I’d be this shell of a person acting like I was okay when I’m not.”

“Emma,” Killian whispers. Her name is so quiet that it gets tugged away with the air. That’s impossible for so many reasons, and Emma has no idea when in the world Killian stepped so close to her. “I don’t intend to let you down.”

“I know.”

Because deep down, she does know.

His lips curve into a half-smile as he reaches forward and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Nothing is ever going to go on between me and Tink. Nothing has, and I know you know that. I know that you let the gossip get to you and that your mind ran wild with thoughts. You’re not crazy for thinking them. You’re human.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

Emma huffs and leans forward into Killian, collapsing into his arms and the undeniable warmth of him. She could stay here forever. Maybe she wants to. “I’m sorry. I just – do you want to forget this ever happened and order a ridiculously expensive takeout dinner?”

“I have ingredients for pasta. Why don’t I cook for you? I’ve missed you these past few days, and I’d love to hear about how your first round of exams went.”

She pulls back and looks up to Killian while still holding onto his back. “Only a fellow teacher would care enough to ask me about the first round of exams.”

“Darling, if I did the weather for the local television station, I’d still ask you about the first round of exams.”

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Killian tilts his head back with laughter before dipping his head forward and brushing his lips over her forehead. Her heart is fluttering in that good way again. “If you want, later we can change into our pajamas and talk over next month’s lesson plans.”

“You are talking dirty to me right now.”

“Good,” Killian mumbles, gently pressing his lips to hers. He’s soft and pliant, and she melts into him. “And if that really gets you in the mood, we can even catch up on our Netflix queue later while eating pop-tarts I have hidden away in the cupboard for you.”

“Have I ever told you that I loved you?”

“Aye, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.”

She presses a kiss against his jaw. “I love you.”

“Damn right you do,” Killian teases before squeezing her ass and pulling back from her to walk backward into his kitchen. “And don’t you forget it.”

Ass.

He’s an such an asshole. Who she loves. Like, a stupid amount.

This entire month has had her all out of sorts, and she’s ready to be back on track.

That starts with sitting their students down and telling them that harassing Ms. Bell is never okay. It doesn’t matter that they were doing it out of wanting Emma and Killian to be together. It’s not appropriate or their business.

No, they’re not breaking up, they tell the students.

Yes, we’re still together.

Mr. Jones and Ms. Bell are just friends.

Ms. Bell and Ms. Swan are also friends.

Just because you hear something doesn’t make it true.

It’s weird and not something Emma ever wants to do again, but when it’s over, she’s relieved.

She feels better actually talking to Tink and getting to know her too.

-/-

“I’d like to live off campus one day.”

“Yeah?” Killian asks, tapping his foot against hers as they sit in their secret spot in the fine arts building and watch January snow fall past the windows, a few flakes sticking against the glass.

“I mean, yeah. If you live off campus, they put your housing here into your paycheck, and you get more privacy. Plus, bigger spaces. Can you imagine having a normal apartment or house like an actual adult and not being someone who’s pretty much living out high school again?”

“Why don’t…we could go look for a place, Swan, if you want.”

Emma arches a brow. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I’m asking if you want to move in together.”

Emma almost chokes on her food, but she manages not to, only a slight cough to keep breathing. “Are you serious?”

“As I can be. We don’t have to, of course, but I do happen to know how much you enjoy sharing a bed with me.”

His brows move up and down his forehead, and Emma’s laugh rumbles through her. “We wouldn’t have to do dorm duty, so that’s sounding like a good idea.”

“Really? Not having to do dorm duty is what’s enticing you to move in with me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Killian’s laugh is on his lips when he kisses her.

-/-

They go house hunting in Storybrooke three weeks later.

The first house is a lovely three-story Victorian, but they’re teachers, not doctors, and they can’t afford it. Maybe one day.

The second is smaller than the dorms at the school, and Emma would rather live at the school with no privacy than in an apartment that’s the size of a toddler’s shoebox.

The third is a nice loft apartment, but the bathroom not having a door bothers Killian too much.

“You have to afford a man a little privacy sometimes, Swan.”

The fourth, however, is perfect.

It’s a two-bedroom apartment five minutes from the beach, which Killian loves. The kitchen is pretty much all white with clean lines, which Emma loves even though she probably still won’t cook, and the closet and bathroom are big enough that they won’t get into fights over having enough space.

Hopefully.

“I love it,” Killian says, bringing their joined hands up so he can press his lips there. “What do you think?”

“It’s so much better than our apartments.”

“Aye,” Killian laughs, smiling down at her in the way that makes her heart pound and her lips stretch into the biggest smile.

-/-

They sign the papers for the apartment that day even if they can’t move in until June.

-/-

“Where the hell are we going?”

“Language, darling.”

“You literally use the word ‘fuck’ like it’s my name. I don’t think you can talk to me about language.”

“I’m British. We’re not as uptight about cursing as you Americans are.”

“You say that like you don’t live and work in America and aren’t dating an American.”

“Ah, well, we all make sacrifices.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, pushing into his shoulder as they keep walking through downtown Storybrooke in the opposite direction of the car that can take them back to the school. “Seriously, babe, where are we going. It’s February, and I’m wearing a dress. I’m freezing.”

Killian stops walking and shrugs off his coat to put over her shoulders. She’s got a jacket, but it’s not doing anything for her legs. She doesn’t think Killian’s coat is going to do anything but have him freeze to death too.

“Thank you,” she says anyways, tightly tugging it around her before wrapping her arm around his back and rubbing her hand up and down. “Now will you please tell me where we’re going? We had dinner, and we should go home and curl up under the blankets and have another glass of wine.”

“Five minutes, Swan. Give me five more minutes, and then I promise we can go home and get ready for bed like the elderly people we are.”

“Five minutes. No more. No less.”

By the time five minutes have passed, Emma’s toes and fingers are frozen, and the whipping of the wind near the sea isn’t helping warm her up. It’s doing the exact opposite, and she’s going to murder Killian on their first night living together.

That’s got to be some kind of record.

“You lied to me, Jones,” Emma mutters as her teeth clank together. “You’re a big, fat liar.”

“You were walking much slower than I thought you would.”

“These are tall heels.”

His brows wiggle while his lips curl into that damn devilish smirk. “Don’t I know it?”

Emma huffs, her breath coming out in white puffs in the night air, and she has to resist rolling her eyes. “So can we go home now?”

“Give me two minutes.”“I don’t trust you anymore.”

“I know.” His hand moves down her back until it’s caressing her arm, from elbow to wrist. Little bumps pop up over her skin, and they’re not from the cold. “Emma Swan, my love, I know you’re freezing and hate me and probably desperately want to go home and take your bra off.”

“I do.”

Killian chuckles and leans forward to brush his icy lips to her nose. “And we will do that as soon as possible if you could do me a favor and hand me the box in the right pocket of my jacket.”

Emma’s an actual idiot because she hands Killian the palm-sized red velvet box without realizing what she’s handing him. The asshole knows she didn’t figure it out too because as he kneels to the ground, he can’t stop snickering underneath his breath.

“Darling,” Killian starts at the same time as Emma’s heart wells up in her chest, “you are the kindest, wittiest, most caring, and most compassionate person I know. You may not believe those things about yourself, but I think they’re true. I’d like for you to give me a chance to prove that to you every day, and I’d like to do it as your husband. So, what do you say, Swan? Will you marry me?”

She almost makes a joke about only marrying him if he can get her out of the cold, but she figures now isn’t the time for jokes when the man who she loves and thinks all of those wonderful things about is asking her to marry him despite the fact that she is always a mess.

“Yes, Killian, of course I’ll marry you.”

His little, joyful laugh makes Emma chuckle as he slides the diamond ring onto her finger before she helps to pull him up to her height so that she can wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. He tastes like the damn fish he had at dinner, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about anything except the two of them and the happiness that is spreading across her body and permanently inking itself into her skin.

“I love you,” she whispers between kisses, her teeth hitting his in her joy.

She can’t seem to stop smiling. Killian can’t either.

“I love you,” he repeats back. “More than anything. Do you think you’d like to go inside now?”

“I think I’m good staying here for just a few more moments.”

“Yeah,” Killian says before resoundingly kissing her again, “me too.”

-/-

They don’t leave her apartment the entire weekend.

But they do unfortunately have work, and as Killian walks her to her classroom Monday morning as he always does, Emma turns to ask him if she should take off the ring since they haven’t told anyone yet.

“Nah, keep it on. I think it’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye.”

He nods his head toward her classroom, and through the window Emma can see a large banner that reads “Congratulations Mr. Jones and Ms. Swan!”

“How the hell do they know everything?” Emma laughs, her cheeks flaming red. “Seriously.”

“Well, love, I think this one might be on me. Right after I proposed, I saw Caroline Abbot and a few of her friends walking by us. I believe they must have seen the entire thing and reported it back to the school.”

All Emma can do is laugh and be thankful that they are getting their own place now…even if the gossip seems to reach them there too.

It doesn’t matter because she’s happy.

And she loves this stupid school.

(But she’s thrilled to actually get her…their own place in June.)

-/-

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