#Chapter 7: One Step Forward Ten Steps Backwards | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leftnotright · 9 months ago

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PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus. (Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei

Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira

Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

CHAPTER 11: LET'S BE ALONE TOGETHER

When Reborn and Verde returned to the sunset-tinged sands of the Simone Island, it was to the sight of Ryohei frolicking in a shore tipped with gold, surrounded by a flock of boys and girls with red hair and stigma eyes. Reborn stared out at the sight of Ryohei, his shoulders blushed pink and his hair slicked back, children hanging from his arms.

Pink and red and warm, summer golden-yellows. Reborn thought those would be a good colour palette for a wedding — he should update his mood board.

Then Ryohei turned, sun-lit eyes scorching the horizon before they laid upon that figure dressed in black, standing on the sand. He grinned, lips wet with seawater, and waved with both arms.

“Reborn!” Ryohei cheered and, like something out of Baywatch, came wading out of the shore, waves breaking on his calves.

Reborn stared.

Reborn turned to Abramo, “You have done exceptionally.”

Abramo nodded, arms crossed over his chest, puffed with pride. “Thought you’d like the tight shorts. He chose the worst colours though.”

Verde sighed and walked away, shoulders slumped and eyes squinted against the bright outdoors. Good, Reborn didn’t think he deserved to bear witness to Ryohei dressed in only wet, clinging swimwear.

“How’d it go!? Did you have fun!?” Ryohei asked as he came to a stop in the soft, white sand.

“A few moments short of painful,” Reborn shrugged and reached his hand across. Reborn trailed his fingers along Ryohei’s sun-blushed chest, connecting constellations of just-there freckles with the droplets that clung to his skin. “I’m glad to be back on Simone soil.”

“Well, welcome home!” Ryohei laughed, hands on his hips and completely unperturbed by the finger tracing along his pectoral.

Abramo glanced between the men, then the hand that had still yet to drop. He wiggled his eyebrows at them before not-so-casually excusing himself, splashing loudly into the surf.

“How’s the mainland? Everything still intact?” Ryohei joked as he squatted down next to a haphazard pile of towels, pool noodles and discarded clothes.

For a moment, Reborn was distracted by a single drop of sparkling seawater as it made a journey down Ryohei’s spine and into the tight waistband of Ryohei’s flamingo-themed shorts. He wondered, if he were to tug them, if there would even be any give.

“Nothing of note,” Reborn hummed, and watched as Ryohei shrugged on one of his many Hawaiian shirts, left mercifully unbuttoned.

“Reborn, you should swim too, the water’s great! Something about a volcano!” Ryohei said as they began the slow, sandy walk towards the Simone quarry.

Reborn slipped his arm through Ryohei’s and smiled, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Can’t let a day like this go to waste.”

Ryohei grinned and cheered, scattering the seagulls scavenging along the shore.

“Wait for me here will you, my dear Ryohei?” Reborn crooned as they stepped through the hazy darkness of the Vindice portal, solder and fumes stung their noses. “I’ll be out in a moment in something more… Comfortable .”

“Remember to bring Leon! He needs some real sun!” Ryohei called and Reborn waved over his shoulder as he disappeared through chained-down doors.

Ryohei rocked on his heels and looked around, the grand atrium of the Vindice’s Simone Base still as impressive as the first time he had seen it. The skeletons of the Machine were filling out with muscle of thick wire. Those heavy, metal bases were bolted deep into the bedrock to support the towering beams, finally set and soldered into place in arches overhead.

Vindice ghouls floated around, carrying boxes of materials, sand and shattered glass. There were loose bolts and nuts littering the floor, as numerous as the crushed-up remnants of ancient shells. Ryohei could feel them under the thin soles of his sandals as he walked, inspecting each frame with barely bottled excitement.

And at the centre of it all, surrounded by those looming structures of metal and hope, Verde sat on the floor, nearly nesting in his papers.

Ryohei had barely seen Verde since bringing him to the island, elusive and nearly outsight evasive of all things unrelated to ‘his Machine’. In truth, Ryohei didn’t know Verde well — or knew the would-be- could -be Verde well. The Verde of the future had always been too taken with his creations to deign an audience with the Vongola for anything short of the Tri-Ni-Sette collapsing.

Ryohei could see that same fanaticism now as he made his way over, stepping around the wires thick as great tree roots. He peered over Verde’s shoulder to read what the man was scratching down with a pen running low on ink.

“What?” Verde snapped, quick as a whip.

Ryohei grinned, “How’s the progress? Figured out the glass?”

“Components are missing. Working backwards,” Verde answered, eyes shifting around as if knocked by every new idea in his rattling brain. “Someone— I created intentional voids. I do not know why.”

Ryohei tilted his head, brows furrowed. Verde had left out information. Crucial information. Ryohei squatted down and rested his chin on his knuckles, sandals grinding into the sandy stone floors.

“There's no distinct pattern to the omission. If there's a code, it's not obvious.” Verde dragged a box full of rolls of grid paper, elbow-deep as he scrounged for a loose piece.

There was silence. Soft breathing. Completely unobtrusive, but almost omnipresent. A heat that warmed the stone under Verde's thighs and dried out the paper in his hands. Inescapable. Like the smell of summer on a windless day.

Verde turned his head and regarded Ryohei, still dripping with water, flecks of shells clung to his shins and between his fingers. His shirt was damp with a mixture of seawater and sweat, the bridge of his nose glistened with sunscreen. And he was still. Sitting on his sandy haunches, sun-kissed face cradled in his seashell-sparkled hands. Watching. Windless.

Verde returned to his work. Verde continued to speak. Less to Ryohei and more to Ryohei’s presence — to the heat —, an engineer to a rubber duck. Ryohei listened wordlessly, eyes bright and alert despite the odd, jargonistic words that flew well over his head.

“Everything else is laid out. Working with that, it will simply be common sense. It will require a heat, apparently even more so than the kiln the Vindice uses now but— there’s a piece missing.” Verde scrubbed his hair, sticking up weirdly with oil and sea salt residue. “I will find it. Given time, I will find it.”

“You will,” Ryohei agreed without missing a beat, without taking a breath, without a doubting thought.

Verde blinked and turned to the man crouched at his side, sand sticking to his legs from the beaches, nose bridge pink from the sun. He was smiling. Unhindered. Unwavering. The sky was blue, the sea was deep, and Verde would solve this puzzle made just for him.

What faith.

Verde clutched his near-empty pen tighter, took a breath and felt his lungs scorch. The near-constant damp of the place ripped from the very fibres of his clothes. Under those smiling eyes, Verde was warm.

People hailed Verde as the next Da Vinci. Under those smiling eyes Verde was Now .

“I will,” Verde said, voice almost raspy-dry.

Ryohei grinned like a bonfire. Like a collapsing star. Full of blinding life and steadfast, searing, unrelenting Will .

Oh.

Verde shifted his gaze to the side and saw Reborn standing there, cast in shadow with eyes so bright it was like looking at a sunrise. Reborn inclined his head.

Do you see it?

How could you not?

He’s perfect—

It’s huge—

It could be ours.

Verde swallowed greedily, throat parched, hands tingling. Reborn regarded him with sunrise eyes from behind the figure made of heat and some astronomic faith — clad in an eyesore of a blue and red Hawaiian print shirt.

Verde felt his eyes sting from the light, but kept them open. He felt the buzzing in his teeth. Verde felt the strike of dry lightning on brushland.

Reborn smiled, vindicated.

☀☀

Reborn reclined on the wicker lounge, cradling something boozy, fruity and full of crushed ice. The sun beat down on him as he laid there, his open white, linen shirt fluttering in the salty sea breeze and Ryohei’s wet abs reflecting in the black of his sunglasses.

Ryohei grinned as he helped a small gaggle of Simone children build a sandcastle, shoulder-deep in the sand for a secret tunnel. Reborn watched the slick muscles along his back flex.

“Enjoying the show?” Abramo asked as he came to occupy the lounge beside Reborn, his own crushed ice cocktail sloshing about in his four-fingered hand.

“It’s a luxury,” Reborn sighed, fixing his sunglasses upon his nose. “I need to enjoy the sights while they’re still so exclusive.”

Abramo glanced at the man from around his cup. Reborn looked smug, a curl to his lip, a lilt to his tone — it reminded Abramo of a barn cat after a hunt, picking feathers from its teeth. Abramo sipped his cocktail and cast his gaze over to the man crusted in sand and sunshine, children clambering onto Ryohei’s shoulders as he knelt on the shore.

“Does he know?” Abramo asked.

Reborn regarded him out of the corner of his eye.

Abramo let his cup settle on his stomach as he watched his Family orbit around this new Sun on their beaches, blond hair gritty with salt and seashells, laugh louder than crashing waves and smile brighter than daylight.

“He’s told you right? About his old Set,” he continued, “Things like Harmony… Ryohei’s been hurt, ya know?”

Reborn didn’t utter a sound as he laid there, dark eyes cast in shadow as the rest of him basked in sun. He could feel his skin burning. He didn’t want it to stop.

“I know,” Reborn said finally, almost too softly.

Reborn remembered the suitcase full of pictures, full of papers he had yet to read. He remembered the whiskey, how it had let the words float to the top and spill over. He remembered the lonely, lonely look in Ryohei’s eyes and Reborn’s teeth wanted to grind.

Reborn looked forward and saw Ryohei wrestle with the Simone youths, heard the cheers as no less than seven young boys sent him crashing into the shallows.

“Okay,” Abramo uttered, and Reborn felt the pressure ease, the weight on his chest and crushing gravity. Acceptance was light against his skin. “Nonna Teresa’s pub has an upstairs balcony. It faces the west beach. It’ll be empty tonight.”

Reborn raised his sunglasses and glanced at Abramo. The man was smiling, red eyes soft and warm as he watched his Family play in the sand and the sea, little hands dragging the Sun to follow.

“Reborn!” He turned to the call and saw Ryohei waving, a child standing on his shoulders. “You coming!? You said you’d swim! Volcano water!”

“Volcano water!” The child agreed loudly and jumped into the sea, almost immediately replaced by another clambering Simone child.

“Be gentle with him,” Abramo said as Reborn rose from the lounge.

“How gentle can you be with something just short of a god?” Reborn asked and threw his sunglasses on his towel, sand between his toes and salt in his hair. Ryohei welcomed him into the shore with open arms, sunflares sparkling on crested waves and red eyes watching everything.

☀☀

It was getting cold, a southerly breeze biting through the summer night’s heat haze. The low roar of the pub below melted into the drag-and-crash of the tide, salty meals mixing with salty sea air. The door to the balcony closed with a snap, their private table stocked with alcohol and nibbles.

Reborn let out a long, burning breath, a Simone-style whiskey almost scoring him down to the belly. Beside him, Ryohei sat, elbow on the table and cheek upon his fist, staring out at the bay, the last curve of a smile still on his face.

“What is Harmony like?” Reborn asked, staring out at the pink-orange-red of sunset.

Reborn had heard stories. The moans of Harmony-drunk Flames post-bliss. They say it's like drugs, but better. Like alcohol, but stronger. Like sex, but deeper. Something that could make a hardened mafioso roll over and show his belly, all sticky sweet like honey and tar.

“Warm,” Ryohei answered finally, gently, voice just over a murmur. “Like a bath after getting caught in a storm. Like seeing family. Like coming Home after a long…long forever.”

Reborn listened to Ryohei breathe. Slow, soft draws of breath through his nose. There was a slight whistle, like it had been broken before. The hand on the table, loosely wrapped around a glass, flexed. Scars pulled at rough skin, bumped and callused. Dark at the knuckles.

“You’d do anything for it. To protect it. To stay,” he said, “It feels like being loved.”

Home. Reborn barely understood the concept. Base, safehouse, touchstone — those were all more familiar to him but Home? Said just over a whisper and with such warmth it all but melted off Ryohei’s tongue and nestled inside Reborn’s ears.

Reborn tapped his cup with the tip of his finger, a crystal ‘twing’ rang light through the air.

“What was your Sky like?”

“Which one?” Ryohei asked back.

Reborn ran his thumb through the condensation on his glass, ice clinked as it melted.

“Your first.”

Ryohei didn’t move, still cheek to fist, still staring out past the bay like there was something out there. Something heartbreakingly close.

“She was perfect,” he said, a smile in his voice. “She’s my little sister, my childhood friend. I held her hand the day she was born — it was tiny. Tiny little nails.”

Ryohei took a drink. Reborn mirrored him slowly.

“We were always together. She was shy before she went to school, used to hide behind me. I would always have to talk to the shopkeeper if she wanted ice cream.” Ryohei looked into his cup for a moment, watching amber whiskey shift and swirl. “She ate a lot of ice cream. Even in winter. Has a sweet tooth. Likes things cold.”

Reborn let the silence settle, let the glass in his hand go lukewarm under his fingers. He sipped neat whiskey with a slow relish.

“And the second?” He asked, prompting gently.

Ryohei didn’t respond quickly. He pressed his lips to his glass and drank, long, slow draws of the burning liquid. His breath fogged the cup. Ryohei put the glass back on the tabletop with a soft clatter and licked his lips when they tingled from the alcohol.

Reborn watched.

“He was everything.”

Ryohei sounded raw. Like an open wound, meat and nerves, exposed down to the bone.

“He — He was everything. To everyone. You should have seen it- You will see it. God he was —” Ryohei covered his mouth for a moment, breathed hard against his hand covered in starburst scars. “So scared. All the time. He didn’t want to be there, Boss wasn’t raised to be a, well, Boss . He got thrown into it. He was scared.”

Ryohei shifted in his seat, the old wooden chair groaning under his weight.

“Maybe…that was why I loved him so much. Boss was scared, all the time, but that didn’t stop him from fighting. From trying . He built a family out of strangers. He fought for a Family that he had only just heard of. He protected everyone — He tried —”

Ryohei’s voice hitched. Reborn didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Eyes wide, fingers clutched his glass.

“He tried —” Ryohei said again. He swallowed, throat flexing in the sunset light. “He tried to suffer through it. Tried to be big enough, to- to make room for me.” His leg moved, the chair wheezed. “And even then he tried to keep me, to love me, to give me a home even when it hurt . Even when I hurt them— ”

Reborn didn’t know when he moved. Before or after the bolts and wedges of the old, rickety barstool gave under the heat of a Sun ablaze in self-loathing. But he had lept, feet off the ground and hands stretched out, fingers seeking that burn, burn, burn as they fell—

They hit the old timber deck of the pub. Their glasses shattered beside their heads, amber whiskey soaked Reborn’s sleeve, and matted Ryohei’s hair. Bits of wood scattered around, smelling of smoke and black as char. His hat was somewhere in the ruins.

Ryohei laid there, arms out akimbo. Reborn laid there, arms wrapped tight around Ryohei’s crown. Chest to chest, belly to belly, Flames alight and aching as Ryohei laid there under Reborn.

“I can’t do it again,” he whispered, voice muffled into Reborn’s collar, cologne and sea salt in his every breath. “I can’t lose it again. I’ve already lost so much — I can’t lose a home again .”

Reborn could feel him shaking. A spring wound tight, years of compression bubbling under his skin. Years of being small, of being held tight and forced to bow to fit a box. Reborn let his fingers, wet with whisky, slip. And he stared at Ryohei. At the pinch in his brow, the ache in his jaw, the whistle of his broken nose and the burn of his eyes as they blinked, stubbornly dry despite it all.

Ryohei was used to loss. He had run out of tears to cry about it.

Reborn had thought about Skies, like all young Flames, he had fantasised about the day someone worthy of holding him would come. A Sky vast and pure and just the right kind of unhinged that would make room for him, bend the horizon for him. A Home. Better than wine, better than sex.

“You won’t,” Reborn said. With such conviction, with such faith —

Ryohei would not lose again. Not now. Not him. Not ‘His Reborn’ .

Flames rumbled like the coming of a solar flare.

Reborn had thought about Skies, like all young Flames. And he let those dreams, those little thoughts burn with the rest of him as he laid there atop this supernova, his very own Impossibility .

Flames bubbled. Lashed. Stretched. Reached.

And like Icarus he fell, his forehead pressed to the rough timber decking just beside Ryohei’s. He breathed in deep, scorched his lungs with smoke and sunlight.

He felt Ryohei breathe against him, chest expanding under his — that shocking Hawaiian shirt still searing in the twilight.

“You won’t,” Reborn said again.

Ryohei’s chest rattled, “Reborn—”

“You won’t lose me.”

It hurt.

Like sinking into a hot bath after a snowstorm. A shock to the system to feel True Heat.

Reborn felt it tear through him, through his arms, down his legs, up his throat until his tongue tingled and his gums throbbed. And then he looked to the side, his forehead slick with sweat, he saw something divine .

Ryohei laid there, head turned to face him. His cheeks were flush, red and pink and ruddy. There was sweat bubbling on his hairline, slicked back with the fall. His horrendous collar open against the seabreeze that barely cut them a break. The cut on his eyebrow was bright pink like it was fresh again, rebirthed in place. Reborn could see the pulse in Ryohei’s throat jumping a double-time rhythm even for him.

And Ryohei was smiling. Lips puffy and cracked in the corner, teeth knocked just a bit askew from one too many punches without a mouthguard. His eyes were wet — with sweat or tears Reborn didn’t know, but he didn’t care.

Reborn was going to make this man, this Sun, his Icarian Sun , cry for so many reasons. Happiness, frustration, anger, love and every overstimulating nerve he can touch.

And he had all the time in the world. Their world. Their Harmony —

Reborn took a breath, felt his chest expand and relished in the knowledge that he would never know the chill of cold again.

Reborn reached up, fingers sticky with dried up alcohol and sweat and cupped Ryohei’s shining face. Felt his hand sear like he cradled the molten core of a star.

“Till the fall do we part.”

Ryohei stared at Reborn, sweat dripping from his nose. Then he let out a laugh that boomed from the belly, grin bright and utterly radiant in the twilight. A celestial body plucked from the heavens and laid out before him, barely contained in mortal flesh. Reborn bounced with every heave, would have tumbled away if not for those arms that wrapped around his waist and held on with a vengeance. With desperation. With a plea, and a hope and a faithful prayer—

“Why would we fall?!” Ryohei laughed, eyes bright and voice brighter, glittering with seashell sand and glass. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch ya!”

And that was all it took. Reborn let the air seep out through his lips, let that torrent of heat turn into a slow, molten crawl in his veins. Let it curl up in his chest. Let it find a place to call Home.

“Because you did that so well just now,” Reborn huffed, and looked at the charred remains of the barstool. They were going to have to reimburse Nonna Teresa. She took payment in manual labour.

“Hey! I’m a great catch!” Ryohei defended hotly.

Reborn smiled, so deeply satisfied he could barely find the space to be surprised. “Indeed you are, my Ryohei.”

In the quarry, deep underground, the Vindice all turned their heads. Verde glared through his glasses, his pen creaked in his hand. And in the pub, the Simone raised a glass, welcoming the dawn of the strongest Elemental pseudo-Harmony the world had ever seen.

#fanfiction #khr #leftnotright #ao3 #reborn #ryohei sasagawa #proof apollo wears hawaiian shirts #katekyo hitman reborn #time travel fic #fix it fic #alternate universe

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just-my-fandom · 4 years ago

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Rocky Road P7 (JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader)

Part 7

Summary; Barry pulls a gun on the group of six. JJs actions cause a fight in the group and a strain on his relationship. JJ doesn’t believe he’s good enough for the reader with the past his father created on his name.

Warning(s); Guns, alcohol, couple fighting, break up, mentions of abuse. Another part added on at the end that is not shown in the show.

A/N; I am LOVING how this story is turning out and the attention it’s getting. Three chapters posted in two days!!! I’m on a roll and I’m loving it!!

Taglist; @bibliophilewednesday @sexualparkour @jjpouggues @poguestyle17

“Seriously? Cops?”

“Please tell me you didn’t bring the gun,” Kiara pleas, JJ glaring up from the backpack he held,

“Of course I didn’t bring the fucking gun, Y/N told me to leave it back at the Chateau,”

“And I’m glad I did,” You hiss, watching suddenly as a gun is pointed at John B, your eyes widening at the masked man,

“Get out of the car,” He- Barry- snarls, jabbing the gun forward before motioning to you and your friends in the back seat, “Every fucking one of you, get out of the fucking car!”

With quick, feared nods, everyone clambers out of the van, Barry’s eyes lingering long enough on you to cause JJ to protectively move in front of you, jaw clenched when Barry jabs the gun into his face,

“On the ground!” Barry demands, “On your goddamn hands and knees! Down!”

You miss the way JJs hands grasps at your wrist as you and the five others drop into the dirt and grass. Barry ducks into the van, your heart in your ears in fear as John B slowly snuck to the cop car Barry came in.

“John,” You whisper yell, panicked as John B held his finger to his lips, “John B, get the hell back over here,”

You force yourself to hold your breath as Barry departs back to his car with the gold. and with swift motions, John B has hit Barry upside the head, JJ and Pope have jumped up, and Barry now laid against the car with a busted nose.

“I know this piece of shit!” JJ shouts, when John B pulls down Barry’s mask, “He’s a base head!”

“Probably knows my brother,” Sarah heaves, JJ muttering about how Barry sold coke to his father.

“Look, I couldn’t hurt any single one of y’all!” Barry snips, narrowing his eyes at you where you stood between John B and JJ.

Quickly, JJ lunges Barry’s gun into Barry’s face so the man fell unconscious, your hand grabbing at the front of JJs shirt to pull him away as John B took the gun,

“Baby!” You soothe, JJs now dark blue eyes moving away from Barry, to you, “Calm down,”

“Did you not see the looks he’s giving you?” JJ hisses, leaning down with his finger jabbed at the man on the floor, “I’m not going to just let him!”

“But I’m okay,” You raise your hands to his face, feeling JJ exhale against your touch and his shoulders drop, “He didn’t hurt me,”

JJ pulls his head back and looks down at Barry’s license in his hand. When did he get that? “We have one more stop to go,” He mutters, moving back to the van as your brows pinch, “Let’s go see where this son of a bitch lives,”

“Welcome to Crackhead Wasteland,”

“I don’t know about this man,” Pope peers out the window to the van, to the home of Barry.

“Dude, why are we at Barry’s?” John B grumbles, JJ climbing out of the drivers seat,

“This’ll only take a second,”

“Jesus Christ,” You push up from the floor of the van, moving after your blonde boyfriend, “JJ, think about what you’re doing,”

“I’ve already thought it through, baby,” JJ turns to walk backwards so he could face you, “Yo soy justicia,”

“I didn’t understand a single bit of that,” You cross your arms, watching as he began to rummage through cabinets, glancing over your shoulder when John B steps in after,

“Yeah, so what’s your plan, slick?”

“Well,” JJ hums, “As thou hath stealth from us, we shall stealeth from ye,”

“JJ, this isn’t right, and you know it,” You call, John B moving past you to grab at JJs shirt,

“Yeah, that’s great, JJ. But what happens after you rob a drug dealer, huh? He knows who we are!”

“I’m not scared of this guy,” JJ scoffs, and you clench your jaw as he moves to the back room- Barry’s room, calling out,

“There we go!”

“JJ Maybank!” You scold, watching him dump a bag of cash onto Barry’s bed. Taking his wrist, you- with all your strength- turn JJ to face you, “I’m not going to let you make a decision you’ll regret. You already got arrested this past week! I can’t-,” You pause, inhaling, “I can’t watch you get put back in that cop car,”

“Baby, nothings going to happen to me,” JJ pats your cheek, and you raise your blurry eyes to the roof in defeat as he turns back to count the money.

“Alright, look at me,” John B demands, grabbing JJs shoulders, “If you keep going down this road, you’re gonna end up just like your dad-,”

JJ is quick to shove John B into the wall next to him, your lips parted to call out to both males, “You watch your mouth, man. Aren’t you tired of being messed with?”

“That’s not the point, JJ,”

“Cause I am,” With a final pat, JJ releases John B to step out of the house. Your eyes meet John Bs, fluttering shut before you quickly follow after the blonde.

“All right, so we’re looking at five grand each for reparations for putting us through that bullshit,”

“So that’s what we’re doing now? We’re robbing drug dealers?” Kiara asks, looking at you, “Why are you letting him do this?”

“If you think I’m just allowing this, your head is too far up your ass,” You move around John B, “JJ, if you know what’s good for you-,” You quickly pull the bag of money, JJ turning with just as tight of a grip so you were both holding it, “Fucking listen to me,”

“I’m listening,” JJ raises his eyebrows, eyes flicking between yours as your brows furrow,

“Baby, what’s gotten into you?” You breathe, JJ rolling his eyes before you tug the bag so he looked at you again, “I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble-,”

“And I’m trying to protect you!” JJ hisses, your eyes squinting, “I’m not going to let some douchebag look at you, or point a fucking gun at you,” JJ tugs the bag from your grasp, “I’m not putting it back,”

“JJ, if you don’t put that money back, we’re done,” You heave, dryly, watching JJ pause and stare at you, “I’m serious, J. I love you, but I’m not going to watch you pull yourself down when I’m trying to bring you up,”

“Fine,” JJ murmurs, shifting the bag onto his shoulder before he turns, beginning to walk down the driveway, “Guess we’re done,”

Your lips part to suck in a deep breath, eyes tearing up so JJs figure blurred, raising your hands to cover your face. “Goddamn it,”

“Look, he’ll come around, okay?” You let your puffy eyes look up at John B across the table, “He’s doing a JJ thing,”

“Think he’ll go home?”

“There’s a zero percent chance that he did,” You shift in your seat, inhaling a deep breath, “What if that was it?” At the strain in your voice, John B looks up at you and frowns, “What if we’re really broken up?”

“JJ loves you,” Pope states, “Way too much to let you go that easily. Just… hopefully he’ll be back in his right mind by tomorrow night,”

“JJ?”

You don’t know whether to be glad that he’s alive, or angry of the fact that he’s currently sitting in a hot tub with a glass of alcohol.

Both. Definitely both.

“What the hell did you do?” Pope asks, roughly, JJ sliding his sunglasses down his nose that makes you question why he even has them on at ten o’clock at night.

“I got a jet going straight in my butt right now,” JJ giggles, and you can visibly tell he’s already overly tipsy, “Y’all should get in, you hear me?”

“How much did this cost?” Pope asks, JJ humming behind his glass of alcohol,

“Well,” JJ slurs, “With the generator, the petrol, and oh, hey, express delivery, pretty much all of it, yeah,”

“All of it?” You breathe, JJ nodding and finally looking at you, “You spent all of it in one day? JJ!”

“Yeah! So what? I mean- come on, you only live once, baby!” JJ watches you flinch at the nickname, “Oh. That’s right. You broke it off with me because I was trying to get payback,”

“I was doing it for the good of us,” You exhale, JJ raising his arms from the water,

“Look where it got me!” JJ stands up, your gasp audible when your eyes land on the bruises and cuts littered across his chest and stomach, “I’m sorry I didn’t help some charity, or pay off the restitution! I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you, Y/N. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted!”

“JJ-,” Pope and Kie watch as you force your flats off your feet, moving to the edge of the hot tub before climbing in. Your clothes stick to your skin as soon as you pull JJ against you, his arms instantly wrapping around your back to pull you tighter to his bare chest, exhaling a breathy sob that clutches your heart strings,

“Baby, you are what I want,” You rush, whispering against his ear as your fingers rake through his damp hair, “You are everything I want. You are good for me, good to me,”

You lean back, hands caressing his face so your eyes met his teary blues, “I love you so, so much. I hate seeing you in pain, I never want to be the cause of that pain. I want to take away that pain, baby,”

JJ coughs out another sob, forehead dropping against yours as your thumbs smooth across his cheekbones, drawing his lips to press against your own.

“I’m sorry,” JJ repeats, twice, dropping his head onto your shoulder as he finally began to break down, “I can’t take him anymore! I can’t- he says things about you and how I’m only going to drag you down, and I can’t help but believe him!”

You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your arms around his neck before you feel Kie and Pope move in after you, enveloping you both in a large embrace.

“He okay?”

You look away from the trees above you. Like the night prior, you and JJ lay in the same hammock, only JJs grip is tighter- reassuring himself that you really are there.

“He’s calm,” You correct, voice breathy as Kiara moves to the hammock beside you.

She watches as JJs face in tucked against your neck, lips parted with soft breaths as he slept. Your fingers took turns carding through his hair, and stroking the side of his face.

“Did you know he was going through that?” Kie asks, quietly, “With his dad?”

Although you nod, you let your eyes flutter shut as JJs arms tighten subconsciously around your waist, “I didn’t think it was this bad,” You whisper, “He never tells me these kind of things,”

“Well maybe he will, now,” Kie smiles, weakly, where you nod enough to not wake the blonde, “You going to be okay here with him tonight?”

Another nod, and Kie nods back, standing up with a small wave and a silent goodnight. Tilting your head, you let your lips settle against JJs warm forehead, resting your head against his as your eyes begin to get heavy with sleep.

#jj maybank drabble #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader smut #jj maybank x reader #john b routeledge #pope heyward #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #Barry

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wille-zarr · 4 years ago

Text

The Mandalorian: “Kissing is Disgusting”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Eight ~ “Kissing is Disgusting”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; angst; threats of violence; alcohol consumption

word count: 12.7k

chapter summary: after waving goodbye to life on arvala-7, you anxiously continue along your journey to nar shaddaa... but when tensions erupt and dangers arise, your bond with the mandalorian is put to the ultimate test.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: fluff and angst awaits!

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Eight: “Kissing is Disgusting”

Well, so much for promising yourself to behave around the Mandalorian… Only ten days since you were gutted like a colo claw fish, and you’re already back to flirting with a vengeance.

You will never learn, will you?

“Not bad, Ka’r’ika.”

You stare at the target, your brows creasing as you assess your hit.

“Not bad? Kriff it, Din! Look at that!” You fling your arm out in the direction of the target. “My vibroblade hit the inner target ring this time! Almost the bullseye!” You spin around, glaring daggers at him. “How about you give me just a little bit of positive praise for once?” You cross your arms tightly across your chest, a smirk tickling on your lips. “Or would that kill you?”

The Mandalorian tilts his head to the side, hooking two fingers in his belt as he stares over at you. “I did give you praise,” he grumbles through his vocoder.

“Not bad? You call that praise?” You purse your lips, a smile threatening to break the character you were playing. “Din Djarin, have you ever taught anyone anything before? Positive praise is a crucial part of the learning process.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the heavy, long-suffering sigh that slips beneath his helm.

“Fine. You’re doing… okay.” His voice is dry, utterly unbothered by your grievances.

“Well, if I’m still not meeting the Mandalorian’s standards-” you march over to the target, yanking out your vibroblade from where it juts from the board- “you’ll just have to show me how to throw the blade again, step-by-step.”

You casually stroll towards him, twirling the blade between your fingers. Flashing Din an impish grin, you hold your vibroblade out expectantly.

The Mandalorian sighs, heavy and tired. But you’ve spent enough time with him that you could now detect the jest, the amusement layered within his tone.

Spinning around to face the board, it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl as his hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest.

Maybe it was a tad conniving of you, but…

You’ve been, uh… faking bad throws… Lots of them.

In fact, you really didn’t require any training from the Mandalorian in vibroblade throwing. A few days prior, you took the initiative to do some independent practice. It only took a few initial swings, and your muscle memory kicked back in, each one of your throws hitting the bullseye, true and center.

But, well, let’s just say you have a reason- a good, though admittedly mischievous reason- for feigning incompetence at the moment…

“Okay, Ka’r’ika-” Din’s gloved hand glides around your shoulder, gently inching its way down your right arm. He pauses at your wrist. “Relax this,” he rumbles right above your ear, his left hand lightly squeezing your shoulder.

“And stop tensing.”

Oh, karking hells. You clench your teeth, trying to ignore how big and warm and close he is. How the kriff are you supposed to just not tense with the Mandalorian glued to the back of your body like a blasted Mynock?

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing!” you squeak. Okay, maybe you had been holding your breath, but, again, he’s glued to your back like a Mynock leeching off electromagnetic energy. How the hell are you supposed to just blasted… breathe?

“Loosen your stance,” he whispers in your ear, releasing your wrist. He takes a step back, and you frown at the loss of his comforting- though admittedly distracting- presence.

You stare at the bullseye, letting your eyes drop-drop-drop down to the outer ring.

There.

Your target. With one last little smirk, you fling your arm back, shift your body weight forward, and give a sharp snap of the wrist.

Bang.

You hit exactly where you intended, the outer ring. Holy shavit, your dad would be proud!

“Hell yeah!”

You catch Din staring at you, head angled curiously at your elation over an apparently even worse throw than before. “Oh, um-” you shrug, flipping your grin for a scowl- “Din, I, uh, I’m just really bad at this. Please, let’s practice hand-to-hand defense now. I’ll have more use for that anyway.”

“No,” he grunts, stalking towards the target to yank your blade out. “You aren’t healed enough.”

“Come on, Din!” You drop down into a fighting stance as he slowly strides back towards you. “I am perfectly healed. Omera’s slathered me in enough bacta to heal a chopped-in-half dewback.”

He moves closer, and you playfully reach out to slap the back of your hand against his Beskar-armored chest.

“Come on, Mandalorian, what are you- WHU- HEY!”

He’s bent you over backwards, trapping you against his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“OOF! DIN!”

“This is what you wanted.”

“Let me go! I wasn’t ready!”

“You weren’t?”

Stars, you hate that stupid smugness in his voice! You wiggle against his hold, but he only presses you tighter under his arm.

“Blast it, Din!” You fling out your hand, landing a sharp smack against his ass. “Let me go, you rusted tin can!”

He drops his hold, and you stumble out from under his arm. You promptly flip around, shooting daggers into his darkened visor. He just stares right back, resting both hands on his hips, all cool and calm against your fire.

You reach up, bunch your hat in your hand, and smack it down against your thigh. “Din Djarin!” you snap. “You take too much pleasure in dominating me!”

He does not answer. Just… stands there- his visor latched on you.

You open your mouth to speak, but you slap it shut when he sharply angles his head to the side. “Ready to try the blade again?” His voice is gruffer than usual, gravelly. Deep and, blast it, okay!

Fucking sexy.

You yank the hat back on your head, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. “Yeah, sure,” you mumble, averting your eyes from him. “And I will hit that karking bullseye.”

You will. Kriff it. You’re done playing your little flirtatious game for attention. It’s time to show the Mandalorian what you’ve been holding back. Make him bloody well proud of you…. Not that you care to make him proud or anything…

You dig the heel of your foot into the dirt, marking your distance from the target. “Watch and learn, Man-do.”

A hand slips under your arm, gripping your elbow from behind. “Relax this time,” Din rasps, low and deep, into your ear. He releases your elbow as swiftly as he had grabbed it. You swallow, ignoring the little lurch in your stomach.

Stars, this man is a menace.

You shake your head, trying to clear it of… uh, distraction. Sighing under your breath, you stare out at the target.

There.

The bullseye.

Pull back.

Aim.

Throw-

“Hello!”

“Pablo!” you yelp, watching as your vibroblade flings well above the target, missing the board altogether. “You absolute dune worm!” Spinning around, you stomp straight up to where Pablo stands a few feet behind Din.

Pablo leaps back, hands forward in surrender. “Wait, what did I do?” He points a finger at himself.

“You-” you slap his hat back- “made me miss!”

With a sharp snort, he leans down to stare you directly in the eyes. “Maybe you just need more practice, sweetheart.”

“Oh, look who’s talking!” You push against his chest. “A man encased in carbonite until I saved-”

“Oh, here we go again! I told y-”

“Din kicked your ass.”

“I was distract-”

“Froze your ass.”

“He was lucky-”

“And I melted your ass.”

“Now look-”

Pablo stills, slapping his mouth shut.

At the same time, a heavy shadow drapes over your body, cloaking you within a protective cocoon. You look to the right.

“Mando,” you smirk up at Din. “I’ve changed my mind. Teach me to use a staff. Then I can keep Pablo six feet away at all times.”

You hear a puff of modulated air. “As you please, Ka’r’ika.” The words are husky through his helmet’s vocoder. He hooks a finger in his belt. “But not until you’re completely healed.”

“Works for me,” you grin, letting your lazy outer rim accent slip forward. “Pablo, scram, blurg-brain. But get my blade first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pablo sighs, throwing you a half-hearted salute.

“You did well today.”

The grin on your face grows, practically ear-to-ear. You peek out from under your hat’s brim, meeting the Mandalorian’s dark visor boring into your eyes.

“You’ll be as good as me one day.” The Mandalorian says it so low, so quiet that you could barely hear it over the breeze whipping through the homestead. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just turns to watch Pablo walk up, your vibroblade extended from his hand.

Pablo winks as you take the blade from him. “Later, sweetheart.” Chuckling, he strolls towards the hut, thankfully leaving you and Din alone once again.

“Come on now-” you turn back to Din- “I could never be a professional such as yourself.” You snort before continuing, “I mean, how long have you been learning all this Mandalorian stuff? Years, I imagine.”

Din drops his hand from his belt, slowly turning, pausing upon finding a few of the children running in the distance. “See the children?”

You nod.

He drops his visor away from your face. “I wasn’t much older than they are now-” his voice slows, warming with each word he speaks- “when I was taken in as a foundling.”

You blink. “Oh.”

You might not be able read his face, but you recognize the raw emotion hidden in his tone all too well.

“I owe them my life,” he rasps, the words scratchy through the vocoder. “After my parents died, the Mandalorians took me in as one of their own.”

Silence.

Oh…

You- you hadn’t realized. Din mentioned his parents died during the Clone Wars, but not that the Mandalorians had rescued him, taken him in. The thought of a young Din, alone and scared, trapped in the middle of a war a child could never comprehend…

Kriff.

You swallow the lump in your throat. It… hit too close to home.

“We really do have a lot in common,” you mumble, your eyes drifting along the gleaming sunlight crowning his Beskar helm.

He barely nods at your words.

Then the air turns… awkward, tense… neither of you knowing what exactly to say or do next. You mindlessly flip your vibroblade over in your hand, afraid any words would make the air even more uncomfortable. I mean, what do you say? Hey, Din! It’s great we can bond over our dead families?

“To be honest-” you nearly drop the blade at Din’s voice- “I… didn’t learn much about blade throwing from the Mandalorians.”

You raise an eyebrow, questioning the hesitation in his voice.

“When I was younger, a woman... a Twi’lek…” He shuffles his weight back and forth, looking everywhere, it seems, but at you.

Oh.

You raise an eyebrow.

“A woman?” You smile a bit too sweetly, nudging the Mandalorian with an elbow. “A lover, perhaps?”

He stares out at the distance, but you think you notice a slight shrug.

You force a laugh, more a bark, to be honest.

“Was she pretty?”

Silence.

You lean forward, tapping his armor with the end of your blade.

“Did she… break your heart?”

He looks at you.

“She tried to stab it.”

You sheath the blade.

“Well,” you puff, “that’d certainly kill a relationship.”

Yanking your blade back out, you fling it over and over and over in your hand, trying to ignore the burn searing up your throat.

Whoever she is, blast her.

Kriffing blast her.

You gasp- a glove shot out, gripping your wrist before you can toss the blade again.

“Are you trying to lose a finger?”

You rip your hand away, twisting around to hide the warmth exploding across your face. “Don’t coddle me, Din. I’ll never learn if I don’t face peril.”

He makes a noise you cannot decipher.

“My dad taught me,” you blurt, eager to change topics. “With knives, a little bit, I-I mean.” You slowly turn back to the Mandalorian, finding him still, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You bite your lower lip, picking at the edge of your sleeve with the blade. “But I never took his lessons very seriously. I…I just wanted to make him laugh at my stupid antics, which, of course, he would.” You smile wryly. “But, still, I wish I’d taken a lot of things more seriously back then... I was too busy being a terror.”

Din makes a noise. A breathy “not surprised” slips out from beneath his helm.

You crinkle your nose, choosing to pretend you didn’t hear that.

Spinning your blade a few times, you stop, sheathing it once again. “You know, he’d sneak me up into the ice caves sometimes. Stars, from as young as I can remember. Taught me to use vibroblades and, eventually, even how to swing a staff. I guess he had it in his head he could turn us into little snow warriors or something.”

You throw Din a cheeky, lopsided grin. “But then me and my sister started beating each other with big sticks when we’d get angry at each other. Then we’d gang up on my middle brother- two sticks against one.” You burst into warm laughter at the memory. “Kriff, did we ever get a long lecture. Even longer than the time I taught my siblings to use the curse ‘kark’.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve changed much.” The Mandalorian’s tone is layered with amusement, and a hint of… something else.

“No,” you snort. “That’s the problem.” You crouch down on the ground, pretending you’re aiming in the distance with a weapon. “But he loved showing me how to use his hunting rifle the best, even though I had horrible aim…. Uh, still do, actually.” You let your eyes droop closed, releasing a heavy breath into the air. “That thing was his baby.”

Damn it.

You miss him.

The clank of Beskar forces you to open your eyes. The Mandalorian’s standing in front of you now, a hand stretched out.

“I thought he was a herder.”

Taking Din’s hand, you let him pull you back up.

“Oh, he was,” you chirp. Bending down, you brush the dirt off the knees of your pants. “But weapons were his hobby, practically his religion, as my mother would tease.” With a small smile, you toss the Mandalorian a pointed look. “I think he would have liked you. Or, at least, your big-ass rifle.”

The Mandalorian just shrugs.

“Well,” you sigh, staring out at the target again while simultaneously removing your blade from its sheathe. “I think I’ve gotten the hang of this now.”

Pull back.

Aim.

Throw.

Slam.

“Not bad,” you sniff, staring at your blade protruding from the center bullseye. “You’re a good teacher, Din. We’ll have to find something else for you to teach me.” You slap him on the back. “I have a few ideas.” You turn to walk away, biting back your giggle.

You hear him make a noise, barely audible with the distance.

“Looks like you could teach me...”

-------

You’re gunna throw up.

You can’t believe you’re leaving this- this haven tomorrow… for kriffing Nar Shaddaa.

Holy Hutt. Nar Shaddaa-

The planet you actually just fled from with only the clothes on your back…

Oh, flutterplume at a festival feast!

You’re insane. You’re actually insane.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting hard to restrain any sign of outward distress. After all, if there’s one lesson the galaxy beat into your brain, it’s that you never, ever show any sign of weakness. Got to keep the upper hand. Got to stay ten steps ahead… Or, in your case, at least appear to be…

No, as far as anyone on Arvala is concerned, you’re excited for Keolith.

…Kriff Keolith.

You release a heavy sigh, continuing to bounce the child up and down on your knee, a small smile growing on your face with every little giggle that falls from his mouth.

“Make sure to take it easy, not overdo it,” Omera calls at you from the other side of the room.

“Mhm,” you mumble, barely paying her any mind.

“I mean it. Din, make sure she obeys, okay?”

He makes a noise. “I’d wager-” the Mandalorian lays his rifle down on the table- “it’d be easier to wrangle a varactyl.”

“Din Djarin-” you keep your eyes focused on the baby, wincing as he yanks on your hair- “did you just call me a varactyl?”

“… No.”

“I give up,” Omera groans, taking the chair across from where you sit. “I learned a long time ago; patients never listen-” she sighs- “until they’ve reinjured themselves.”

You lift your eyes to meet her own. “Wait, Omera, you were a doctor?”

She laughs at the question. “I suppose it’s safe to say so, now that the Empire is gone.” She rests her elbows on the table. “I was a nurse in the Rebellion, which is where I met my late husband, a patient of mine. When I found myself expecting Winta, we felt it was time to step away together, leave the battle behind.”

“Pin two ears on a gundark!” You lean back in your chair, laughing in amazement. “No way! I knew I liked you!”

The Mandalorian angles his head to the side, eyeing Omera up and down.

“Don’t give me that look, Din,” she chuckles, giving his shoulder a light shove. “You never asked.”

“Maker-” you shift the baby to your opposite knee- “sounds like a story straight out of a holo. Meeting the man of your dreams in a rebellion, nursing him back to health.”

“I suppose,” Omera smiles, that certain gleam in her eyes you’ve seen before.

Uh oh.

“What about you?”

“Me? What about me?”

Omera smiles, not about to let you get away with your game. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been in love before.”

Oh Maker.

Dangerous.

This conversation is dangerous.

“Maybe,” you grumble, bouncing the baby on your knee again.

Oh kriff.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll find someone.” You can see Omera is trying her absolute hardest not to laugh, but she’s obviously failing.

Stars.

Someone.

Anyone.

Help!

As if answering your plea breathed into the force, Winta dashes over, pulling on her mother’s hand and whispering for assistance. Omera nods at you, that sly smile still etched on her face, and steps away from the table.

Oh, thank the Maker! Bless all the little children.

With a weary sigh, you sneak a glance over at Din from the corner of your eye. He’s watching you… intently, helmet angled to the side in that curious Lothcat way of his. He begins to lean forward, as if he’s about to ask you a-

No. Kark that.

Kark that shit!

You’ve had enough awkwardness for one day!

You burst up from your chair, cradling the baby against your chest. “We’re going to take a walk,” you speak to Din as much as to the baby. You shoot him a quick glance.

He’s still leaned forward, visor still trained on your face. He’s motionless, but relaxed, shoulders slightly slumped forward, the way they do when he’s tired. You read his silence as permission, and so you turn and walk out the door, trying to ignore the lingering sear of heat on your back, that lingering prickle of being watched.

Once you are through the door, you put as much distance between you and Kuill’s hut as quickly as possible, worried the Mandalorian might try and follow you outside. Grumbling under your breath, you stop at the fence line. You point up at the moon and stars, whispering for the baby to look up at them along with you.

“See those?” you whisper, grinning as the child’s large, soulful eyes fill with the reflections of hundreds of sparkling stars. “You’re just as special as those stars. Your force abilities are special, a gift.” You feel your heart swell with familiar, motherly warmth. “Special- just like you are to your father.”

You tap your finger against his nose, and he bursts into a fit of giggles. “You little womp rat, quit laughing.” You shoot him an exaggerated frown. “It’s against the law to laugh.”

He laughs even harder. And so you start laughing.

“The child’s grown fond of you.”

You startle at the voice, relaxing when you see it’s just Kuill, limping forward to stand beside you at the fence. “Yes-” you turn your eyes back to the baby’s face- “I suppose, like most children, they’re drawn to whomever shows them the most attention, ya little attention-seeking womp rat.” You caress his ear, smiling wistfully. “Mando doesn’t hug you enough, does he?”

“You’re very good- with all of the children,” Kuill rasps, leaning his weight forward on his cane.

“Yeah, well, I had four little siblings.” You throw Kuill a pointed look, and you continue on with your ramble. “They were such little monsters.” You grin. “And then there’s all the children from my village. Oh, and I often helped the other mothers with the children in the camp and-”

You freeze.

“…I- I mean-”

“Labor camp?”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “H-how did you-”

“Omera described the tattoos on your arm to me. I understood their meaning, immediately.”

“Oh, no,” you breathe, panic bubbling, swelling up in your chest. “I- I can explain-”

“I did not tell Omera- their meaning, and I suggested, for your privacy-” Kuill waves his hand aside- “she should not discuss them with anyone else.”

No. No.

Blast it.

Blast it!

Kuill reaches out, resting a hand on your arm. “Do not concern yourself. It is your story… to tell when and if you wish. I myself- have spent time in such places. You were a victim of the Empire… as we all were.”

Raw emotion… grief… guilt- bubbles up your throat, threatening to cut off air. Choking. Suffocating.

“No, Kuill,” you mumble, barely audible. You place the baby down on the ground and use your free hand to tug up your sleeve.

Kuill brushes his fingers, gentle and light, across the marks, lifting his eyes to meet your face. “A life sentence.”

You rip the sleeve back down, resting both hands on your hips. With a sharp intake of air, you pull on a mask- the tough, outer rim girl persona: the same one that’s simultaneously kept you both safe and in trouble for far, far too many years.

“And I did what the Imperials sent me in for.” Your voice is hard, tired. Hells, you are so blasted tired.

You shake your head. “I didn’t deserve to have my sentence commuted by the New Republic, once they took the camp over-” you rub your eyes a little too hard, filling your vision with blurring, swirling lines- “b-but I guess they figured it’d be easier to release everyone than to try sorting between the political prisoners, innocent families, and… actual criminals.”

Plus, there was the issue of the children to consider…

“I’m-” your words catch in your throat, sticking against your tongue, afraid to emerge fully from your lips. You force your eyes closed. “I’m… not as a good a person as you think, Kuill.”

Kuill grunts, tapping his cane against the fence. “I’d think your recent sacrifices-” he motions the cane towards the child, toddling beside your feet- “would contradict that statement.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, avoiding looking Kuill in the eyes, “or maybe I’m still the same.”

“I think not.” Kuill rests against his cane. “For when you’ve lived as many years as I have-”

“-you learn to recognize patterns in behavior.” You smile wryly.

“It seems the galaxy has smiled upon you… given you a second chance.”

“Well,” you sigh, pressing your forehead against the top of the fencepost. “I’ve been doing a fine job of botching it up already, I’m afraid.”

Stars…

“I’d say you have one path open to you at this moment,” Kuill grunts. “But what will you do with it?”

“I appreciate it, Kuill, but… I can’t stay here.” You give him your classic, lop-sided smile. “Gotta keep exploring this big galaxy, ya know?”

Kriff the galaxy.

Kuill chuckles under his breath. “That wasn’t the path I was referring to.” He reaches out, patting the top of hand. “I wish you luck… my child.”

You blink, watching as Kuill moves away. You wait until he’s just far enough in the distance before releasing a strained breath of air.

Maker…

A light coo, a tug on your pants, shifts your attention away from yourself, away from your tumultuous thoughts. With a small smile, you reach down and pull the baby up against your neck, letting him nuzzle there as you glance back up at the stars.

Always running.

You’re always running.

But one day- one day, you will choose your own damn path.

-------

“Wipe your eyes, Birdie-” you ruffle the top of his head- “or you’ll flood the planet and put Kuill out of business.”

Birdie launches straight into your legs, knocking an oof from you.

“But- but what if I n-never see you- you again?” He buries his face in the fabric of your pants.

Dropping down to your knees, you peal Birdie off of you, holding him back by his shoulders. “Of- of course I’ll see you again, hm?” Your heart throbs as you speak the lie into the air, wishing it would just carry away on the desert wind.

Karking hells.

Your heart explodes, pain seeping from every new little crack. You tug Birdie into you, wrapping him up in your embrace just as new set of arms snakes around your neck from behind.

“We-we’ll miss you!” Winta says between sniffs.

“Come now,” you chirp, straining your voice to be as easy and care-free as you can muster in your compromised state. “I’ll have a thousand new stories to share when I come back, hm?” Your empty promises are apparently working, the heaviness easing off of their shoulders before your very eyes.

An approaching presence shifts your attention away from the children.

“All of us, the parents, felt like you should have this.” You blink, eyeing the satchel in Omera’s outstretched hand. “We owe you so much more, but-” Omera’s face tenses- “it’s a thank you to remember us by, to help you get started on Keolith.” She slides an arm around Winta’s shoulders, pulling her against her skirt.

You can’t do anything but… stare at the bag, stunned by the absolute generosity of the gesture. “I-I can’t take anything for-”

“Please.”

You don’t want it.

It feels… wrong to take it.

But you won’t risk insulting them by outright refusing their kindness.

“Go into town-” you give Winta and Birdie a sly wink- “and buy the children something fun. To remember me by. To make them laugh.” You wiggle your hat back and forth, pulling it tighter against your scalp. “That’s my payment.”

A good decision, or so the little sunny grins on Birdie’s and Winta’s faces tell you. Omera hesitates- then smiles. An agreement. And so, you return the expression with equal warmth.

“Kekthar, Rukia.”

You gasp- eyes tearing over to discover… Kuill?

Sularian.

A Sularian farewell.

You haven’t heard your native language spoken by another in, well… years.

“Kekthar, Sudbia,” you return, a small smile tickling at the corner of your mouth. As you share the smile with him, a silent understanding, a knowing, passes between your eyes:

You are always welcome in my home.

You will never deserve such kindness.

“Thank you, Kuill,” you whisper, bowing your head with respect.

As you continue sharing goodbyes, your heart grows heavy with each one spoken aloud. Part of you wants to just barrel into the Razor Crest, dive into the bed, and hide under a blanket just like the baby.

Stars, goodbyes reek.

“Be careful, Din.” A faint conversation to your left shifts your focus away from your misery. “Come back as soon as you can.” You turn, eyes widening as you watch Omera wrap her arms around Din, enveloping him in a warm, heartfelt embrace. He returns the gesture, going as far as to… rub her back… affectionately.

A pang.

A punch in the chest.

Shavit.

Just… shavit!

Spinning around on your heel, you stomp towards the Razor Crest, grumbling under your breath like some bitter old man.

Blasted seven Corellian hells- just-

Stoopa. Stoopa!

Kriff everything a-and-

You stop.

Kriff, wait, what is this? Corellian hells, what-

Oh.

You blink, gritting your teeth.

You’re… jealous?

…

You’re jealous.

You groan, yanking your hat low across your eyes. You have got to stop bantering so much with the Mandalorian… flirting. You’re- you’re getting too attached. And there’s only one way this could possibly end:

Like a nuna at a Hutt roast…

Uh, not so good, in other words.

You turn and frown, watching the pair speak in the distance.

Omera is… incredible. That Beskar idiot should marry her. Settle down. Have a family. He… deserves to have that. To be happy.

He’s a good man.

“We really need to get going,” Cara grumbles, walking up beside you to stack a crate next to the ramp. “I’ve gone way, way over schedule, and Karga is breathing down my neck, even though he knows I lost my ship.” Cara pauses to sigh, leaning forward against the stack. “He says the town has gone to hell without me.”

Blinking away any lingering physical signs of your jealousy, you slip on an indifferent, bored expression.

“Why so, Cara?” Your voice hardly veils the tension brewing in your head, but Cara, thankfully, does not seem to notice.

“I’ve been acting as a sort of-” she waves her hand in the air- “part-time Marshal, in a sense, on Navarro. Cleaning out a lot of the criminal rings scumming about,” Cara sighs, rubbing her face. “Still have a long way to go, but-” she lifts her eyes, giving you a sly smile- “I think I’m going to talk to Karga about dropping the Guild work completely, instead working full-time cleaning the streets. Maybe get a school up and running. And a doctor’s office; we need that too.”

“Cara,” you chuckle, stooping down to sit on a crate. “You surprise me. A dreamer lurks under all that brawn.”

“Maybe,” Cara chuckles. “But even so, my reason for visiting Arvala is dead, and I’m needed on Navarro.”

You blink. “Dead?”

Cara shoots out a hand, pointing at a lone Pablo approaching with his satchel. “Dead, according the Guild registry, that is.”

A bright grin bursts across Pablo’s face. He throws his hands out at the side, spinning around until he is facing the approaching Mandalorian. “Hey, shame you and Cara lost such a priceless bounty, right, Mando?”

The Mandalorian saunters up to Pablo, pausing to stare him directly in the eye.

“I was paid for killing you.”

The Mandalorian knocks into Pablo’s shoulder as he moves past.

One glance at the panicked expression on Pablo’s face, and you burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. He twists, shooting you a murderous look, which you happily return with only sweetness and a smile.

At least, on the bright side, you now have someone new to torment besides Din.

After all, it’s the little things that matter.

-------

“Dad!” You climb up on top of the huge fallen log, waving wildly to your dad in the distance. “Look! Watch!”

He pauses at your words, giving you a cheeky, lop-sided grin. “Okay, Starlight-” he leans forward against his rifle- “I’m watching.”

“You’re watching?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, don’t look away!”

“I won’t.”

“Still watching?”

“Starlight-”

With a grunt, you spin backwards off the log, landing a perfect backflip…

…straight into a hidden snowdrift.

“DAD!” you shriek, buried up to your hips in snow. You continue to wriggle, desperate to free yourself… to only sink down further with every shift. “Dad!” you yelp. You hear a rustling noise, and you jerk your head up.

Your dad- ever the helpful, supportive parent- is leaning over the top of the log…

laughing at you.

“Starlight,” he chuckles, “very impressive. Ten out of ten for style.” He crosses his arms across the log, angling his head to the side as he stares down at you. “But you made that fatal flaw we’ve talked about before.”

“Dad!” you growl, in no mood to be lectured nor teased. “Get me out of here! I don’t care!”

“What’s that fatal flaw?”

“I don’t care!”

“Starlight?”

You shoot him a pathetic frown. “I didn’t observe my surroundings first.” You twist your head away, pouting your lips. “I acted before thinking.”

Gloved hands wrap around your arms, lifting you up out of the snow drift.

“Good girl-” your father pulls you up against his side, rubbing your back. “Remember-”

“-think first, show off second.” You release a puff of air, watching as it crystalizes in front of you.

Your dad laughs and slips you that characteristic sly wink.

“My little snow warrior-” he grabs your hand, leading you back towards the mountain path- “such a little show-off………”

-------

“I’m not a show-off!”

Pablo flashes you a grin. “Come now, princess-”

“Okay, fine.” You crinkle your nose, lifting your hand up, two fingers spaced closely together. “Just a little bit. But still, it’s true.”

“Oh sure.”

“Yes! I could out-drink both of you, and ten Corellians on top of that.” You shove against Pablo’s shoulder as you move past, sitting down beside him.

“Speaking as a Corellian man, that’s big talk, sweetheart,” Pablo slides his glass of whiskey back and forth on the table between his hands. “But are you willing to try and prove it?”

“Pour me some of that-” you tap your fingers on the table, smirking at Cara- “before you and Pablo wipe out our supply.”

Cara pours and slides you a glass, a questioning expression on her face. You take a deep breath, lean back, and down the whiskey in one shot.

“Oh-” cough- cough- “wow, that’s-” cough- “that’s defi-” cough- “de-definitely Corellian.”

Cara smacks her hand down on the table, clutching her stomach as she doubles over with laughter. “Oh, dank farrick, your face!”

Pablo snorts. “Still think you can out-drink ten Corellians?” Resting his elbows against the table, he slides the bottle towards you.

Feeling your face flush with warmth from the shot of whiskey, you can only grin and tilt your head. “I’m certain of it.”

Pablo leans back, chuckling as he crosses his arms behind his head. “Fine. The minute we land on Tatooine-” he points at you, raising an eyebrow- “I’m dragging you into the first cantina we find.”

Your smile plummets.

“Tatooine?” You fling around in your chair, gawking over at the Mandalorian on the other side of the hull. “Tatooine?”

He stops cleaning his blaster, lifting his helmet to meet your eyes.

“He didn’t tell you?”

You spin back around, now gawking at Cara. “Obviously no. I thought we were heading to Navarro!”

“No.” Cara shrugs, leaning back against her chair. She lifts a brow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Tatooine is closer than Navarro. We’ll jump transports from there, letting you and Din continue on to Nar Shaddaa.”

“Hell,” you breathe, flopping back against your chair.

Tatooine?

“I’ll be loath to part from you all.” Pablo lifts his glass in the air. “I’ve grown so attached to everyone…. Well-” he raises a brow at you- “minus one.”

“You know, Pablo-” you jump forward, slapping both hands down on the table- “you’re being awfully rude for a man who’d be cargo right now if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh, don’t start on-”

“I will!”

“You know good and well-”

“You’re so rude!”

“I am not!”

“Carbonite man.”

“Don’t call me-”

“HEY!” You both rip your heads towards Cara.

Silence.

She slowly leans forward. “Are you two done?”

“Absolutely,” you sniff. Leaning into the palm of your hand, you release a long, heavy sigh, choosing to just ignore Pablo.

“Stars,” you whisper, staring up at the ceiling, beginning to reminisce. “I haven’t been to Tatooine in, well… years. Pretty sure I still owe some people money,” you grumble. “Dank farrick, I got into so much trouble there.”

“As an exceptional speederbike racer.”

Your eyes rip up, trailing the Mandalorian as he sits beside Cara. “That is, if I remember correctly.” His tone light, almost… airy compared to his typical grumpy snaps.

Oh. He’s teasing you.

You raise an eyebrow.

You know you should stop. Stop teasing him back.

But…

“I’m better than you, Din Djarin-” you lean across the table, smiling slyly as you stare him down- “that’s for certain. I’m the damn best, too.”

He shifts back, folding his hands against his stomach, just…. gazing at you.

“Damn best, huh?” Cara takes a shot of her drink. “Then you should have joined the Nar Shaddaa professional circuits. High risk, high reward.” She slides the bottle of whiskey towards you. “I imagine the violence, death, and insanity would have been right up your alley.”

“Well…” With a small sigh, you drop your eyes, beginning to play with the edge of your shirt. “Actually I- I would have.” You lower you chin. “But… uh, had someone I needed to stay alive for,” you discreetly add under your breath.

Cara grins and lifts her glass at you. Din, on the other hand, stretches his neck, dark visor pinned to your face. You snap away, staring over at the slightly tipsy Pablo instead.

“Boyfriend?” Pablo mumbles, taking the whiskey bottle for himself.

You only smile.

“Well, either way-” he sloshes his glass high- “to Tatooine!”

“Hell,” you grumble.

You lift your own glass.

To Tatooine.

…

Dank farrick.

-------

The darkness moves in. Closer. Suffocating. Gnawing away at the light.

…

“I know why you chose this.

…

You love power.

…

Crave it.”

…

You bury your face in your hands. “Shut up! You know nothing!”

…

“You can’t hide forever.

…

I know what you’ve done.

…

And you’ve seen what I’m capable of………”

…

Something presses into your neck.

…

Shit.

Your eyes blast open.

Can’t-

Can’t breathe!

Wriggling and squirming, you claw at your neck, kicking the covers off Din’s bed as you twist and turn and push and fight.

“Urf! C-Cara,” you hiss, slapping at her arm slumped across your neck. “Move!”

Cara snores louder, oblivious to the fact that she’s, you know, smothering you. She mumbles something in her sleep, pulling her arm back to flop over to her side of the mattress. Launching up from the bed, you gasp, sucking in deep gulps of air. A few more seconds, a few more gulps, and you glare over at Cara.

You can put up with snoring.

But you draw the kriffing line at actively trying to suffocate you in your sleep.

“Stars…” you hiss, pressing a palm to your forehead before pulling it back, blinking at the sweat dripping from your hand.

You’re… drenched. Trembling, shivering- your soaked nightshirt and pants stinging like ice in the cool air. Sliding down to the foot of the bed, you wrap your arms across your chest, squeezing tightly in a vain attempt to slow the trembling tearing at your body.

You groan, your head sloshing with exhaustion and fatigue and tension, but then… the threat from your nightmare slips past it all, the memory growling in your head-

You can’t hide forever…

Your throat catches.

Oh hell.

You slap both hands over your eyes.

You’re dead…

-------

Some people turn to religion.

Some people talk to a therapist.

But your newfound cure for anxiety?

Apparently, the smell of Andorian Mountain Roses.

Specifically, the faint scent of Andorian Mountain Roses lingering on the Mandalorian’s flannels.

After Cara’s murder attempt, you waited several minutes on the edge of the bed for the trembles, the shakes, to dissipate… but no such luck. Desperate, wet, and cold, you had peeled off your soaked nightshirt, swapping it out for a flannel shirt stolen from a heap on the floor.

You bury your nose into the sleeve of the thick shirt, inhaling deeply as you pad gently across the floor of the Razor Crest’s hull.

It smells like Din.

…

You’re safe with him.

…

He promised.

…

“Ka’r’ika?”

You freeze, dropping your arm at the faint voice, low, barely a rasp.

You tiptoe closer to the base of the ladder leading up to the cockpit. “Din?” you whisper, staring up into the dark void above.

“Come up.”

Biting your lip, you tentatively rest your foot on the bottom rung. One hesitant breath, and you scamper straight up.

“Din?” you question again, poking your head up into the space above. You blink, your eyes shifting towards the cockpit windows, smiling as you admire that familiar sparkling, dancing hyperspace light bouncing off everything within the cockpit.

Your eyes follow the streaking lines… forward… straight to the Mandalorian. He’s turned around in his chair, studying your every move.

“Hi.” You smile, a bit… shyly.

Hm. That’s new.

Resting back against in the pilot’s seat, he folds his hands- gloveless hands- across his stomach.

Fiddling with the edge of your shirt, you gently pad into the cockpit. A sharp glance to the left- you smile. The pram is sealed again, cocooning the child as he sleeps.

You glance back to Din, and as you step closer, you notice his right pauldron is missing. “Hey-” you slip into the right co-pilot’s chair- “I hope I didn’t wake yo-”

“I was already awake.”

“Oh.” You blink, chewing on your lower lip. He seems so… close. Stars, you didn’t remember the cockpit being quite this… uh, tight.

“Um, I couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, not wishing to risk waking the baby. After all, from the looks of Din and his missing pauldron, it must have taken quite some time to get the baby to sleep.

You slide forward, resting on the edge of the co-pilot’s seat. “Between Pablo’s and Cara’s snoring-” you grimace- “it’s like trying to sleep in a kriffing zoo down there. They’re both drunk off their socks.”

Din makes a noise. “Really?”

“Yeah, Cara tried to smother-”

“No-” the Mandalorian dips his helmet at you- “…is that really why you can’t sleep?”

“Am I really that easy to read?” you huff, raising a brow.

Silence.

“…You’re afraid.”

You blink, falling quiet. Of course you’re afraid...

You’re terrified.

You hear him shift in his chair, but you do not look up.

“…Why did you leave Tatooine?”

How can his voice sound so gentle, so soft, even when modulated? Stars, you can only imagine it without the distortion… You glance down at the floor, spinning the chair back and forth, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Grandpa yanked us off overnight,” you blurt, a bit surprised by how the words hurt as they emerge. You continue spinning in the chair, this time in full circles. “…Because I was a damn idiot.” You stop rotating, and face Din’s seat. Your eyes trail down his helmet… down his arms… to those hands.

Large.

Tan.

Scarred.

And warm- so warm…

Karking hells, you’ve spent too much damn time thinking about how warm they felt that day… How he brushed your chin- confident, no hesitation. And so blasted gentle, like you were made of glass.

…Oh, seven Corellian hells…

You’re done for.

Thank the Maker your warming face is hidden in the dim light.

A shift of movement draws your focus back over to the pilot’s chair. Din leans forward, resting his elbows against his thighs- a silent invitation.

Groaning, you pull a foot up into your chair, tucking it under your chin. “After… after it was just me and Grandpa-” you wave your hand in the air- “I, uh, had a talent for getting into… situations.”

You turn your eyes away, fearing you might not have the strength to continue if you shared even just one glance with him. “Grandpa- he kept having to pull us off planets. I’d always get mixed up with the wrong crowds, gangs, whatever. We could never stay one place too long.” With every word you speak, your throat tightens- constricts.

Your… your Grandpa deserved so much better than you.

“I just… kept acting out more and more the older I got.”

Stupid.

So stupid.

Flopping your head back against the chair, you stare up at the ceiling. “By Tatooine, I was pretty much… unmanageable. He tried- he really did- but, in a way, I think- I think he had given up on me. He stopped asking so many questions when I’d be gone for hours, sometimes days, at a time. He was… he was so used to me running off.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep the burning in your eyes at bay, you continue. “Remember the boy I told you about? The speederbike racer?” You venture a glance at Din, finding him in the same position, leaned forward against his thighs. He gives you a light nod.

“He…he was part of an illegal racing club. He got me in- I was good, great at it.”

“Damn best?”

You smile at Din.

“Hell yeah,” you chuckle, pulling your second leg up into the chair, tucking it under your chin. “I pulled a lot of ill-advised stunts. Got me noticed by the right, or rather wrong, people. A Hutt sponsored me as his challenger in the biggest speeder race Tatooine had seen in years.”

You groan, burying your face in the palms of your hands. “And, under no uncertain terms, I was to win… or else. And, of course, my stupid self thought-” you throw both hands in the air- “‘Great! I’ll win, no big deal! Win lots of money and fame! What an honor to be a Hutt favorite!’”

You shoot Din a knowing look.

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his thigh.

“What… happened?” His words are hesitant.

“I karking won, of course.” You cross your arms. “What else did you expect?”

He just stares at you- tilts his head to the side.

You make a noise. “Grandpa flipped when he found out. He knew how’d things would inevitably end- entering those kinds of races, working with the Hutts.” You let out a dry laugh. “He yanked me off that planet, kicking and screaming. I thought he was ruining my future. Turns out, I did a fine job of that on my own.”

Stars… you can’t think about Grandpa right now- don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry-

“A-anyway-” you force a laugh- “um, enough about me.” You lift your chin, tossing Din a forced grin. “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Such as?”

A slight smirk grows on your face. Actually… there is something you’ve been dying to ask him, but… it just never felt appropriate- you felt too intimidated to question. But here, draped in the dancing blue hue of hyperspace, he somehow feels less like a Mandalorian and more like… just a man.

“Can you ever take that helmet off?” you blurt. You instantly cringe, regretting the words the second they leave your lips. “You don’t ha-”

“I can.”

You blink.

He spins around away from you, facing the console. “For my children.” He flicks a switch. “And a… a wife.”

“…Oh.”

You tilt your head to the side. Huh.

“Stars, wait-” you shoot up in your chair- “does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone before?”

He freezes.

One second-

Two seconds-

Three seconds-

“Sorry!” You press a hand against your cheek. “Sometimes I- I blurt before thinking.” You flop backwards, sighing heavily. “Anyway, you’re not missing a thing. Kissing is disgusting. Think about it- swapping spit? Touching tongues? With another person?” You crinkle your nose. “It’s nasty.”

You lean forward, eyes widening. “Oh, my Maker! One time, I was dared to kiss a Gungan, and I think I’ve had lingering trauma ever…. uh, since…” You press your face into your knees, your face warming. “Ah, um, you know what? Never mind.”

Kark- maybe try thinking before speaking just once- JUST once?!

The Mandalorian resumes fiddling with the switches on the console, as if you hadn’t been speaking at all- thank the force.

After all, the Gungan story was rather hard to explain.

A few minutes pass, no word spoken aloud, and the cockpit falls into a stillness.

A calm stillness.

Just… tranquility.

You suck in a deep breath of air, sinking deeper into your chair. Even with your awkward blunders, you feel more comfortable, safer in this moment than you have in far, far too long.

Eyelids drooping, time begins to swirl around you, mixing, blending with the hyperspace light. Lost in the realm between consciousness and sleep, you are barely aware of a lingering presence that looms beside you.

You drift away from sleep, sailing closer to consciousness. Parting your eyes just enough to see, a small smile slips onto your lips. He- Din- hovers over you. He reaches up, removing the cape from his back, and drapes it over you as your eyes slip back closed. You feel the weight of it pause halfway.

A slight tug- a pull- on the edge of your shirt.

Your eyes part, your groggy smile returning.

“Keep it,” Din rasps, barely a whisper. He continues rubbing the fabric of his shirt you wear between two fingers. “Looks… nice.”

The weight of the cape moves up, fully cocooning you, safe, warm, much like his son that sleeps beside you.

“Sweet dreams… Meshla.”

“Mmf,” you mumble. “What’s… th-at… mean?”

Skin traces the outline of your ear.

“Nuisance.”

“Kriff… you.”

“Go to sleep.”

You smile, letting your mind sail back towards the shoreline of sleep.

-------

“HEY! Get away from there! You know he doesn’t like droids!”

You lumber down the ramp after the Mandalorian, squinting against the unforgiving rays of the twin Tatooine suns. You lift a hand to your eyes, blinking as a woman- head full of tight curls- marches towards the Razor Crest.

“May as well let them have at it,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “The Crest needs a good once over.”

“Oh! So, he likes droids now. Well, you heard him.” The woman waves at a crew of droids. “Give it a once over!... I guess a lot has changed since you were last in Mos Eisley.”

The Mandalorian pauses in front of the stranger with Cara, Pablo, and yourself gathering around him.

“Well, looky here! You’ve made new friends!�� The woman narrows her eyes, leaning in towards Pablo. “Hopefully you three won’t try and kill me like the last one this Mandalorian dragged in here.”

She leans into you this time. “If you ask me, I think your Mandalorian here needs a good group of friends,” she whispers under her breath. “The man doesn’t live well.”

You slap a hand over your nose, pressing to muffle your burst of laughter.

But then Pablo laughs, and you just can’t hold it in.

The Mandalorian sighs, not sparing the two of you a glance.

“I’m Peli.” The woman nods again, oblivious to the effect her words have had on you and Pablo. “I am a very- OH ho!” Peli launches forward, swooping the baby out from the Mandalorian’s satchel. “I’ve missed this little one! Let me guess, I’m needed for babysitting services? Don’t ask! Yes!” She rocks the baby against her hip, and the baby, delighted by the attention, grins and giggles- clearly very pleased to see Peli again.

“If it isn’t too much trouble.” The Mandalorian reaches out, stroking the child’s ear. “The girl and I need to resupply. I’d rather leave the child here.”

“I have a name, Mando,” you grumble under your breath, shooting him a glare.

He keeps his head straight, focused on Peli, ignoring your protest.

“Of course!” Peli shouts, walking several feet away as she rambles away to the child.

“Mando-” Cara touches his arm- “I’ll catch up with you later today before we leave Tatooine. I’m taking Pablo with me.” She eyes Pablo, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. “He claims he has a contact, can get Navarro hooked up with a good supplier.”

“Of course!” Pablo flings his hands out, grinning ear to ear. “Old Bolbo is a close friend! He completely forgave me for that incident with his sister in Anchorhead!”

Cara stares at him.

“Oh, hell.” She adjusts the rifle on her back. “Let’s get this over with.”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as Cara and Pablo walk off towards the exit.

“Peli-” the Mandalorian walks after her- still dashing back and forth, rambling to the child. “I want you to keep the doors secured until I get back.” He hooks a finger in his belt, his helmet following Peli back and forth, back and forth. “Don’t open them for anyone you don’t know.”

“Oh!” Her eyes brighten. “I actually have a defender droid now! 4PO!” she shrieks, waving her hand in the air. “Come on! Come on! Wa-iting.”

Your eyes widen, watching with a mixture between disbelief and dismay, as a silver droid stumbles forward- red light radiating from its joints. “Um,” you bite your lip, fighting against the laughter swelling up your throat. “Isn’t… isn’t that a protocol droid?”

“It’s been refitted!” Peli slaps the droid with her free hand. “4PO! DEFENDER MODE!”

The droid wobbles back and forth- bolts and screws raining down, bouncing across the floor. You blink. “Is- is th-”

The droid’s head snaps to you.

“<death is but a relief from our meager existence>”

…

The Mandalorian looks at Peli.

“Keep the doors secured.”

His hand wraps around your upper arm, pushing you towards the exit.

“Blast it, 4PO!” Peli’s shouts from behind, pulling a giggle from your lips. “I can’t believe you’ve embarrassed me like this! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“<i am trapped in this shell. i cannot die.>”

“4PO!”

-------

Ah, Mos Eisley Spaceport:

Dangerous? Yes.

Scummy? Yes.

Entertaining? Also yes.

You grin beneath the scarf wrapped around your face, gawking at all the activity and interesting faces that swarm past you on the street. You are so enraptured with the sights and sounds that the Mandalorian is occasionally forced to grab your arm and pull you against his side.

“Stay close,” he’d grumble… before you’d inevitably leave his side again five minutes later.

“Mando!” you call from the top of a store’s steps, waving across the street for him.

He sweeps forward, stopping beneath you just at the bottom step.

“Stop disappearing.”

His voice is hard, all bounty hunter.

“What?” You grin, skipping down the steps to stand beside him. “The bounty hunter can’t hunt me down? Keeps losing me?”

He releases a heavy, long-suffering sigh and angles his head down at you.

“Move.”

Giggling under the scarf, you allow the Mandalorian to lead you inside the store. You don’t wait for instructions nor directions- you know what you want, and you’re going to get what you want. The Mandalorian finds you a minute later. He doesn’t say anything, just stands on the opposite side of the rack as you claw through the hangers.

You stop long enough to give him a look. “The baby needs clothes, Mando.” You continue clawing through the limited selection. “That sack he wears is ridiculous. Now go, leave me alone. I don’t need you hovering.”

He throws his head to the side, a small sigh slipping out- but he obeys your command.

You sneak a glance from the corner of your eye, a lop-sided smile stretching across your face. He’s off to the side, trying to appear occupied, but you know what he’s doing:

He’s not letting you get further than ten feet away.

The hovering- the lingering, keeping an eye on you…

It’s… kind of cute.

…But irritating.

Still, considering the incident on Arvala, he has good reason to hover… You’d do well to remember that yourself.

After making a few selections, you spin around, expecting to find the Mandalorian where you left him. But he’s gone.

“Hm.” You twist your head around but spying him nowhere in the store.

Fine.

Guess he took your command seriously this time. You make your purchases and step outside the door. Just as you go to sit on the top step, the clank-clank of Beskar jolts you around.

“Mando!” You throw both hands on your hips in mock frustration. “You left me.”

He rests a hand against his holster, and chuckles. “Make up your mind, Ka’r’ika.”

You drop the frown, trading it in for a blooming grin. “Fine. What was so important that you left me behind?”

His helmet angles down, his hands fiddling with something hanging off from his belt.

“I was next door… I… saw this.” He reaches out, presenting you what’s in his hand. “Thought it… suited you. Better than the one I have. Mine’s… too long. This suits your size. Suits your height… better.”

You tentatively take the plain metal bar, no longer than the length of your hand. “Ah, thank you, Mando! I… love it.” You blink. “Um, what is it?”

He points to a switch on the side.

“Is tha- OH!”

A blade slices out from the end. “Seven Corellian hells!” you laugh. “This is- wait, what’s this do- OH KRIFF!”

You nearly throw it from your hands. One flick of a switch, and the bar the length of your hand grows to be three, maybe even four feet in length

“Din!” you hiss, tapping the staff down onto the ground. “You bought me a weapon to kill people with!” You flick the switch again, grinning as it collapses back to the size of your hand. “I’m going to cry!”

The Mandalorian grunts, angling his head to the side. “Weapon to defend.”

You flick the switch again, grinning as the blade slides away, hidden within. “Well.” Hooking the bar onto you belt, you look up at him with an impish smirk. “Now you’re trapped. You have no choice but to train me with a staff.”

“That’s the idea.”

You can’t help but grin like an idiot.

-------

“Where are you going?”

“Refresher,” you shout, continuing to march away from the Mandalorian and straight towards a cantina. You step inside, grimacing at the smack of stench that punches you in the face.

Uhg, what’s with cantinas and unwashed masses?

Shaking your head, you let your eyes sweep around the dim, dingy, and nearly empty cantina. Ah, there’s th-

“OH!” you squeak, pulling away from the hand grasping your shoulder. “Din!” you hiss, pushing against his arm.

“I said stay close.”

“You can’t use your bounty hunter voice on me and expect it to work.” You march away. “Unless you’re coming with me into the refresher, wait for me out here.”

-------

You are only gone a few minutes, but you are frustrated to find yet again- yes, again- the Mandalorian has disappeared within that time frame. With a heavy sigh, you sit down at the bar, ignoring the other patrons beginning to trickle in as Tatooine’s work hours for the day come to a close.

“Hello there, miss.” A young man sits next to you at the bar. He throws you a smile.

Ah, he’s cute.

“Never seen you here before. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

A sly smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth.

An idea.

“I never refuse a free drink.”

You flick your eyes back towards the cantina entrance. “Come on, Din. I want to have fun with you.”

“Say,” the man leans towards you as the bartender slides you your drink. “How about we go somewhere, hm?”

You crinkle your nose, lifting the drink to your lips. “No thanks.”

“But I bought you a drink-”

“I don’t remember leaving with you being part of that deal.”

The man’s facade drops, his expression twisting into irritation. “Girl, you hav-”

“Unless you want to talk to my husband into letting me go with you, I just can’t.”

You bite away the grin that begs to explode across your face as you watch the man’s eyes widen twice their typical size.

“Husband?”

You twist your head, and stare across the bar-

-directly at a looming, hulking, intimidating, Beskar-donning Mandalorian.

The man leaps from you, his eyes not leaving the Mandalorian- not for one second. “Uh, um, look I- I didn’t mean anything.” He throws his hands up.

“Honey-” you take another sip of your drink- “could you watch the kids so I can go with this gentleman?”

The Mandalorian’s visor is glued to the man- searing him to the ground.

A bird stalking prey.

“You know the kids don’t listen to me, Cyare.” His voice is quiet, dangerously contained. “So, you chose.”

He stalks around the bar, slowly, deliberately…

“Do I string him up for the rancors… or do I shoot him now?”

“I like rancors,” you chirp, twisting to look up at Din. “They’re kinda cute.” You turn back-

“Hey, he’s gone!” You groan as the Mandalorian wraps his hand firmly around your upper arm, pulling you off the barstool.

“Let’s go.”

“Just when I was making friends.”

“I’m getting you back before you get yourself shot.”

“But I have my stick now!”

“Staff, Ka’r’ika.”

“Yes, staff- a big stick.”

A beaming grin bursts across your face at the pained, long-suffering sigh that erupts from his helmet’s vocoder. He continues to lead you in silence through the streets of Mos Eisley, only coming to a stop after pulling you aside in an alley.

“I can handle myself, Din,” you teasingly smile, pressing your back up against the wall.

He hovers over you, tilting his head forward. “You’ve yet to convince me of that.”

You bite your lower lip, mischief tickling in the back of your mind.

“I’m fast, remember?”

He leans forward, closer into your face. “So you always say.”

You let your smile slowly drop… drop… drop…

His hands shoot out-

You lean back-

SMACK.

You laugh as Din stares down- stunned- at the staff held sideways in your hands, blocking him from grabbing you. You push the bar against him, ducking sideways to escape his grasp.

“Nice try!” you growl through your gritted teeth as you bolt down the alley. “Race you to the hanger!”

Burning every drop of adrenaline flooding your bloodstream, you blast through the twisting turns of the alleyway labyrinth, hissing each time you think you see a gleam of Beskar from the corner of your eyes.

Blast!

You slide sideways across the dirt, narrowly avoiding bursting through a vendor’s cart, cackling as the vendor hurdles curses at your fleeing back. Taking a sharp turn, you speed into another alley, sliding across the loose dirt as you stumble to a halt- unable to continue another foot without passing out.

“K-kriff!” you pant, twisting your head back and forth, spying for even just a hint of shining Beskar in the empty alley.

“I’m out- out of… shape! I- I can’t- AHRG!”

You fall forward, hard, against the ground to escape what dropped from the roof behind you.

“DIN!” you shriek, baring your teeth at him.

“Keep up.”

He spins around.

Kark that!

You launch forward, grabbing onto his cloak, and- yank!

“Bitch, get back here!”

You stumble into his back and wrap both arms tightly around his neck- bursting into a fit of giggles as Din lifts you up and keeps moving forward. He reaches his hands back, pulling your legs up around his waist- essentially carrying you piggyback.

“Din!” you yelp between barks of laughter. “I-I’m slipping! OH!”

You plummet to the ground. You roll over on your back, rubbing the tears from your eyes. “S-stars! Oh.. oh kriff! I- I’m hu-hurting! From… la-laughing! Oh, ouch! O-Ouch!”

Your eyes finally clear of the blurring tears-

There he is- kneeling beside you- looking down- laughing at you.

“Din!” you giggle, slapping a hand up against his chest. “Jerk! You dropped me on purpose!”

His laughter gently fades away- and he stands, reaching a gloved hand out for you.

“Come, Ka’r’ika,” he rasps, his tone… deeper than usual. “Let’s get back to the hanger.”

You grin, looping your arm around his.

“Anywhere you say, Din.”

Truly, anywhere.

At this point, the man could lead you straight into a rancor’s din, and you’d jump in if he did too.

-------

Something’s wrong.

You know how he normally walks- confident and striding.

…Something’s wrong.

“Din?” You tilt your head to the side, raising a brow. “What did Peli tell you? What’s…?”

He stops- pausing just before the cockpit ladder- and angles his head at your voice.

“There’s a Mandalorian to the north. Mos Pelgo.” He turns around and starts slowly walking towards you.

“…Oh.”

You lower yourself into a chair, not exactly sure where this is going…

“That’s… good, I guess?” Crossing your arms together, you chuckle. “Sometimes it’s hard to imagine there’s more than one of you.”

He rests both hands against his hips, turning to face the hull wall.

“I’m going out there.” He throws you a quick look. “After Cara returns to keep you safe. I’m… taking the child with me.”

“Ah, sure?”

He’s leaving something out…

“But… why, exactly?”

“I’m hoping a Mandalorian can… lead me to someone. The child-” Din’s voice quiets. “He’s… special.”

Oh.

“Is this about his force abilities?”

“Force?” Din rips his head around. “You mean… Jedi?”

With a small smile on your face, you pull both legs up into the chair with you. “Jedi use the force. Think of it as-” you wave your hand in the air- “like an energy thing. The force binds all things, connects all things… real mystical stuff.”

Din does not move. Just… stares at you.

“What do you know of the Jedi?” His voice is quick.

You grunt, shifting your eyes to the floor. “I know they’re all dead now, for the most part. Hunted like animals by the Empire." You force a dry laugh. “They- they didn’t stop at the adults. No-” you shake your head- “slaughtered the children too. Kriffing creeps. Hunted down each last survivor- any force user- one by one.”

Silence.

“How… do you know this?”

“My Mom.” You release a heavy sigh. “She wanted more- more excitement than what life on Sularia offered. She was intelligent, and her intelligence earned her a job as a civilian contractor with the Republic during the Clone Wars.” You smirk at Din. “Grandpa was not happy with her.”

You tilt the chair backwards, staring up at the ceiling as you speak. “She worked among the Jedi. Friends with many of them.”

You hear Mom’s weeping in your ear… her eyes radiating such… pain and loss. You dig your fingers into your palm, willing the memories away, your eyes sliding closed-

“He must be trained.”

Your eyes blast open, flying straight to Din. “What?”

“After Arvala- what he did to the woman on Arvala-” Din lowers his head, avoiding your glare- “I knew he was strong, but…

“Din,” you grit your teeth- “you must forget he’s special.” You throw your hand out. “Forget Arvala ever happened.”

“A Jedi can train him.” Din is speaking more to himself than to you. “After I leave Nar Shaddaa, I will return to my quest. Find the kid a Jedi.”

Silence.

“What?” You launch up out of your chair.

“If what you say is true-” Din’s voice is level and even, barely audible even in the silence- “I can’t protect him. He… needs to be trained.”

“Trained?” You voice strains in your throat, tightening with every word. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s too dangerous to let him follow that path!”

The Mandalorian faces you. “Danger is all he’s ever known.” He turns and begins to stalk away. “I was wrong to not follow my quest. I… must follow my creed.” He stops. “This is the way.”

“The way?” You race over to his side, staring up into that emotionless visor. “To give up a child that loves you? That you’ve called son?” You grab his arm. “Refuse him a happy, normal childhood?”

“His life with me is not normal. It’s no life for a child.”

“And- and life as a Jedi isn’t either!” your voice raises. “They aren’t allowed to express love- hold attachments!” You clench your fists, willing your breathing- and voice- to level back out. “That is no way for a child to be raised.”

“That is their way.” The Mandalorian rests a hand on a ladder rung. “And… this is mine.”

Blood explodes in your ear.

“How can you be so cold!”

The Mandalorian’s head shoots to you.

“If you cared about him, you’d- you’d keep him- fight for him- love him every day- thank the Maker he’s there every morning when you wake up!” Furious tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you wipe them away with your sleeve- refusing to let them fall. “Grateful you have more than just your memories and dreams of him to hold!”

“I do care about him.” The Mandalorian’s voice cuts dangerously calm. “But unlike you, I can’t be selfish.” He steps forward, forcing you to take a step back. “Doing whatever I want; whatever I please.” He stops, his voice quieting. “I… I cannot give him what he needs. He… needs more than me.”

Selfish? Selfish?

The decaying stench of Nar Shaddaa wafts down the streets as you walk lower, deeper into the underbelly of the rotting city center. The tears have now dried on your cheeks, but you know the streaked mascara staining your cheeks will give their existence away. You will have to duck into the sink first before heading into your dilapidated apartment- you can’t let her see any evidence of your suffering.

It’s all for her, and that’s all that matters.

“You-” you swallow the lump cutting off your air, pressing your hands behind your back to hide their trembling- “You know nothing of my life! And frankly, you know nothing of me, Mandalorian.”

“I know enough.” His tone matches your still, quiet coldness. “You’d put your feelings and attachment over what’s best for him.”

“How can you say that while I stand here-” you jab at your side- “carrying scars I took for that child!”

He takes a step forward, his hands raised almost as if in regret, but you cut him off.

“You sound just like a Jedi!” you shout. “Maybe you would be the perfect teacher for him!”

His hands drop.

“I… will not dishonor him by denying him his way- his people.” He lowers his head to the floor, almost as if speaking to himself again. “I can’t let the way you are influence me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you hiss, the blasting blood deafening in your ears.

“You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions.” The Mandalorian’s words slice your heart, cutting you down to the core.

“You never take the bigger picture into account, the greater implications of your actions. Some things are more important than you or I want.”

“What about what he wants? You’re his father!” you yell, giving up on restraint. “That is more important than anything!”

“He… he will forget.”

You blink.

“A child-” your voice drops, quiets- “never forgets love.” You shake your head, nausea brewing in your stomach. “How can you be so cold? So… callus?”

He scoffs at you.

“You’re being foolish.”

He turns to leave.

“Mandalorian-” your eyes are on fire, burning- “You’re the only fool I see. You’ve been given a gift; do you know what I’d give to have that again?”

He stares you down.

“But- but because you’re scared- you’re scared of failing him- you want to just dump him off on the first Jedi that crawls into your path!” You shake your head, using every ounce of control to keep from exploding.

You fail.

“You’re the one being selfish, Mando! A coward!”

“I’ve sacrificed everything for him.” His voice takes on that dangerous tone again- warning you with every word spoken. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I thought you were more than a heartless bounty hunter under all that armor-” you sneer, tapping a finger against his chest- “but I guess I was wrong!”

Silence.

“You were wrong to assume anything about me,” he rasps under his breath, leaning into you. “I don’t have to explain myself or any of my decisions to you. We’re done here.”

He jerks around, sweeping up into the cockpit of the ship

“And I’m- I’m sorry I ever assumed I could know you, trust you!” You shout from the base of the ladder, hands trembling against the rungs. “Y-you don’t deserve the light you have been given!”

You burst away from the ladder, racing straight into the sleeping quarters and slamming the doors closed. You slump down into the corner, clutching a pillow tightly against your chest.

The nightmares, the memories, the voices, echo- scream- in your ears…

“Mama!”

-------

You stare straight ahead.

Exhausted.

You’re… exhausted. Emotionally. Physically.

Just- exhausted.

Ever since the Mandalorian left with the child for Mos Pelgo, you’ve been stewing alone in the cockpit, trying to make sense of your tumultuous emotions.

You- you just don’t understand. How…?

You lean forward in the pilot’s seat, burying your face in your hands.

How could he-

“Mando?”

You gasp, tearing your head up. The blue hue of the holo-display showers the dark cockpit in twinkling light.

A man- a stranger- stands in the display.

“Answer the holo, Mando.” He places both hands on his hips. “It’s important.”

You blink.

Hesitantly, you reach forward, flicking on the switch.

“Hello?” you question.

The man stares at you, taking in your unexpected appearance.

“I need to speak with the Mandalorian.”

“He, uh, he’s not here, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.” You lean forward, raising an eyebrow. “Can I… give him a message?”

“I assume you’re the girl from Taek?”

You slowly nod.

Silence.

“I wasn’t going to talk with you about this-” he glances away, his voice lowering- “but it appears I have no choice… Do you know who I am?”

“Ah, no.” You lean back in the pilot’s seat. “Should I?”

“My name is Greef Karga-”

“Oh, yes!” you interrupt. “Cara’s spoken highly of you.”

“Then you know my line of business.” He takes a few steps to the side, as if considering his words. “I was just visited by three individuals that should be… of interest to the Mandalorian… and you.”

“Oh no,” you breathe. “Is this about Taek again? Stars! They- more trouble from Nar Shaddaa?”

Greef slowly crosses his arms. “Not exactly.”

You blink. “Then I don’t… understa-”

“They sought you.”

Your blood freezes.

You- you can’t breathe.

“I told them nothing, of course. I informed them the Guild had no files, no information whatsoever. That you had never been on our radar.” Greef leans forward, his voice falling low. “They left most displeased.”

“No- don’t tell me this.” You press your head down into your knees. “Don’t tell me this.”

“I suggest you tread carefully, my dear-”

You lift your head.

“-they were Mandalorian.”

-------

You slip around the corner of the stone building, sliding right past the dumpsters lining the Mos Eisley street. You tighten the scarf around your face as you tip-toe into an alley- jumping at any hint of movement like a Lothcat on spice.

“Stars,” you hiss, tightening your arms across your chest, collapsing in on yourself as you walk.

Your life-

-is a disaster.

But it’s your disaster, for you to face. You will not endanger the child, put anyone else in the line of fire.

With Mandalorians after you… Leaving- running away- it’s your only choice.

A sob erupts, and you slap a hand across the scarf covering your lips, pushing against the fabric.

You can’t give in. Not now. Not now.

You sink down into the dirt, pressed up against the wall tucked back behind a stack of boxes.

Trembling… You can’t stop trembling.

Something hard presses into your leg, and you glance down.

Your staff…

Din.

You take it off your belt, pressing it against your cheek. Groaning, you slide your eyes closed.

You’re- you’re going to miss him. All of them. You- you-

You part your lips, all the pent-up fear and heartbreak and pain and frustration bleeding out in in one long wail, the tears flooding, drowning your cheeks.

You’re all alone.

You’re all alone again.

You’re all fucking alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the comments)

a/n: I know what you’re thinking: OH NO! I forgot to get wille-zarr a Christmas gift!

No problem! You can leave me a comment instead lol!

But seriously, OH. MY. STARS. The comments on chapter 7- you have NO IDEA how that pushed me to write this. I’ll be honest, this chapter probably would have taken another 1-2 weeks to write if it wasn’t for the love and comments last chapter! I spent countless nights staying up till 3AM trying to get this done. Again, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me- your comments fuel my writing! I love hearing from my regular readers!

Special thanks for @sana-katarn, whose endless knowledge of Old Republic terminology I inquired of endlessly while writing… really this entire story! She’s actually the best.

Also, this story will NOT being following season two. At times (such as in this chapter), some events from chapter two may pop up. But not often at all. We’re going for an ✨original plot✨ here. ;)

One last thing before I move into season 2 finale spoilers: next chapter, the action/angst kicks up- AGAIN. Like wow, I am so excited for everyone to read it! Things are kicking into gear! (And don’t worry, we will see the Arvala family again very soon!)

SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS BELOW YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: ------- Okay, so W O W. That finale. Let’s talk.

I am 100% serious, I had this chapter, the scene where Din and reader fight over the child training to be a Jedi, planned out WELL before the finale! So, imagine my shock that this chapter and that particular scene in the finale happened to fall so close together! I felt a bit bad leaving chapter 8 on a sad note so soon after the finale, but it couldn’t be avoided. So, I’ll just say: trust where I’m going with things! It’s going to be surprising- in a good way! :)

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #willezarr #in fields of white #chapter 8 #ifow

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my-emotional-self · 4 years ago

Text

Toxic Love Chapter 10

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing. But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy), mentions of suicide, flashbacks of suicide, nightmares

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story! I apologize in advance!

Steve ripped his hand away from your throat and he took a large step backwards, far away from you. To say you were disappointment was an understatement. What did you do wrong? Why was he acting like your skin had burned him? You would give anything to feel his hands back on you.

As Bucky approached, you could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t stop looking at Steve. Your eyes bore into him, pleading, begging for him to touch you again. But it was no use. Fear flooding throughout you. He was going to leave you wasn’t he?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Steve commanded, “Open her door.”

The door to your room opened and Steve, much gentler this time, pulled you into your room. “You are to stay in here until I figure out what to do with you.”

As Steve left, he slammed the door shut. Your jaw clenched as you leaped forward and to your dismay, found the door locked.

“ARGH!” you screamed, fists pounding on the door. “FUCK YOU STEVE! I FUCKING HATE YOU! OPEN THE DOOR!! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR AND LET ME OUT!”

~~~

“What the hell is happening?” Bucky asked as he and Steve made their way into the living room. The sounds of your screaming getting quieter the farther they moved away.

Steve sat down on the couch, head in hands and elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t even know what to think of the last ten minutes that transpired. He felt the couch dip next to him, Bucky sitting down, worry etched in his eyes.

Steve let out a deep sigh, shaking his head as he turned to face Bucky. “We got into a fight upstairs in the kitchen. She had been awake all night working and didn’t even go to bed. I scolded her. Told her she needed to get to bed and get rest. She flipped her shit Buck,” Steve spoke. The anger he had was gone now, replaced with his own worry. “She threw a glass plate at my head.”

“What?” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, not even believing it himself.

The two of them sat there in silence for a few minutes. “What was with your hand on her neck then?”

Again, Steve shook his head. “She did that Buck. She put my hand on her neck. It’s like she wasn’t herself. There was something dark behind her eyes. It didn’t feel right.”

“I mean, she has seemed like she’s been a bit more agitated lately. Have you noticed that too?”

Steve nodded, agreeing with Bucky. You had seemed more irritably and agitated over the last few days when they called you to check in with you. But they didn’t think anything of it.

“Maybe there is something she’s not telling us,” Bucky spoke up, breaking the silence over the two men. “We can always have Stark try to look into things.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. He wanted to trust you and preferred not to check into your background. But at the same time, if this is something serious, he wanted to be able to help you. He wanted you, him and Bucky to be a solid trio together. He didn’t want any problems to come between you three.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to Tony about it.”

~~~

The carpet was beginning to wear down as you paced back and forth in your room. The door was still locked. You felt like a caged lion, ready to attack. Every few minutes you checked the door only to find it still locked. They couldn’t keep you locked in here forever, could they? No, you wouldn’t let that happen.

You were unsure of how long you had been locked up when there came a knock at your door.

“Y/N, can we come in?” Steve asked, voice firm but no hint of anger and that only pissed you off even more.

“Fuck you Steve!” you yelled as you kicked the door, hoping he heard it.

“Y/N,” Bucky began to say but you cut him off.

“Fuck you too Bucky!”

“Hey! What did I do?” Bucky asked, hurt in his voice.

You felt like you were spinning completely out of control. The last time it got this bad, you were with John and it was because he took your medications from you. He told you that you didn’t need to be on them. Sure enough, you began to act out and John didn’t like it one bit. When you were punished for acting out in front of him, the punishments were always physical in some way. Is that why you were pent up more than ever? Because John always beat the anger out of you when you acted this way?

“Just leave me alone!” you roared as tears streamed down your cheeks. So much anger and sadness and hate was swirling inside of you and you didn’t know how to cope or deal with it.

You needed to drown your sorrows, you needed to get out of your head, you needed to feel pain. It was in that moment, you knew what you had to do.

Marching into the bathroom, you pulled out your makeup bag from under the counter and dug through until you found silver box cutter.

Taking the blade out, you rolled your sleeve up. It had been years since you had cut. Because John always helped with the pain. He was the one that gave you the pain and that always helped ease the outburst.

Placing the silver metal to your skin, you pushed down. Blood seeped out of the cut as you dragged the blade across your skin, back and forth. Instantly you began to feel relief. Your mind was fixated on the burning pain of your wrist rather than being stuck in your head. Blood smeared across your delicate wrist by the time you were done. There wasn’t enough blood to be concerned about, no mass amount of blood loss or anything like that. But it was enough. Enough to get out of your head, even if it was briefly.

After washing off the blood, only deep red gashes were left on your skin and you pulled your sleeve back down; the razor blade going right back into your makeup bag and under the counter.

Now you were exhausted. Your bed was calling your name and you curled up into your silk sheets. You cried yourself to sleep.

~~~

It was dark when you woke up. You winced when you brushed your arm against your thigh; the pain a welcome feeling.

Looking at the clock, it was just after midnight. And you weren’t feeling much better. Sure, the pain helped with the anger, but now you just wanted to drown your feelings. And you wanted a cigarette. Lucky for you there was a 24/7 hour liquor store a few blocks away from the tower.

Changing into a pair of dark washed skinny jeans, you put a long black and gray flannel over your long sleeved shirt and slipped on a pair of shoes.

Grabbing your credit card and I.D., you headed to the door. Where you stopped dead in your tracks. They had locked you in here. Holding your breath, you turned the door knob and nearly jumped for joy at the fact that the door was now unlocked.

Walking down the hallway, you flipped off Steve’s door with your middle finger, pushed open the door to the stairs and ran like a bat out of hell.

~~~

That evening, Steve lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Bucky had been called on a last minute short mission with Natasha.

Steve couldn’t comprehend what had happened to you. Why were you acting out all of a sudden? Was he and Bucky not giving you enough attention? Was there something that you were hiding from them that they could possibly help you with? He had seen the anger in your eyes. Heard the anger in your voice. He didn’t know you could even have that kind of anger inside of you. From the short amount of time that he had known you, he just didn’t think it possible. You seemed perfect. Sure, everyone had flaws, but when he was being a total jerk to you that first night you met, you still forgave him. Not everyone would have done that.

As he lay in bed, his mind replayed memories of him and Bucky in the past during the war. He could understand the anger that you had, even though he didn’t know the reasoning behind it. When him and Bucky were in the war, they had so much anger in them too. It was because of the war. The war did things to them. They had been rough with women during the war because of it. At the time, they only had each other’s marks. They liked to share women together. Hell, Steve had to admit it was nice getting that anger out. They never once hit the women; that wasn’t in their nature. But god were they rough with them in bed. He found out that some women even liked it, which honestly surprised him for the 40’s.

But that was back then. When he woke up from the ice, he had noticed he had another new mark right below Bucky’s and he was delighted. He had another soulmate out there and he’d have a chance to be happy again since Bucky was gone. Or so he thought. When he found out Bucky was alive and well, he was even more ecstatic. To have his best friend, his brother back and to share a woman together was a dream for them.

He hadn’t had any of that anger recently, not like he had in the war. Until now. Now, he and the team kept going in circles trying to find the new leader of Hydra. But nothing was working. And now he had you to deal with. You acting out the way you were was making him furious.

Just then, Steve was alerted to an email. It was from Tony. Steve asked him if he could look into your past and Tony had come through.

He sat up and turned the lamp on, scrolling through the email Tony had sent you. It was police files about your ex John Smith. He kept scrolling through, reading the words at a quick glance until he came upon a video. He clicked play.

“And how often did he hit and rape you,” the police officer who sat across from you asked.

Steve noticed how small you looked, curled in on yourself. He could see bruises on your face, your lip split open.

“As often as he wanted to,” you replied with a soft shrug. “Mainly when I acted out though. If I did or said something he didn’t like, that’s when I would get it the worst.”

The cop spoke up. “So he thought that beating and raping you would turn your attitude around?”

“It did. It always did,” you whispered.

Steve jumped out of bed and marched to your door. He wanted nothing more than to talk to you about all of this. Right now.

“Open Y/N’s door F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Steve commanded as he waited in the hallway.

“I’m sorry Captain Rogers but I must say it is no use,” came the A.I’s voice.

Steve put his hands on his hips, looking at your door. He didn’t want to, but he would use force to open it. He and Bucky agreed to give you all the privacy you needed, but he really needed to talk to you.

“What do you mean F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Miss Y/N left her room and the building a half hour ago.”

Steve’s head snapped towards the elevator. “With who?” he barked out as he rushed into his room and grabbed a black hoodie, pulling it over his head.

“Nobody. She left alone.”

Steve stilled his movements. Not only had you been acting out, like a brat, a damn child and throwing a glass object at his head. Now you had left the tower, alone, in the middle of the night. His hands were balled into fists, his jaw clenched tight like a clamp. In this exact moment, Steve had enough. He punched the door to his room. The punch went clear through the door making a gaping hole. Steve had snapped.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #dark! steve rogers #dark!steve rogers

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emilia3546 · 4 years ago

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Shadowsinger Part 11 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

*****

Azriel's heart sank, and he shoved Nesta to the side, knocking both her and Cassian out of the way as a bolt of power shot down the stairs. A slow clap sounded while Azriel glanced around, another way out, there had to be one,

"It seems the bird got out of the cage. Such a shame it'll never fly free." Azriel waved a hand subtly at Nesta, and she froze, his brother's attention was still fixed on him, if she moved, Azriel didn't want to think what would happen if he decided to really use that killing power. Get back in your cage." The door to his cell swung open, and Azriel fixed his brother with a glare, shadows gathering around him,

"You know what, I don't think I will." He leaped forwards, pressing himself against the wall beside the staircase, green light rushing past moments later. The back exit, where was it?

Find another exit.

Shadows raced off in all directions, and Azriel waited, in a few moments his brother would lose his patience, and, shit. Footsteps on stone, he rolled forwards, shielding Cassian and Nesta, his wings spread wide to take the brunt of any attack. Weapon, he needed a weapon, or at least a shield of some sort. He had seconds before his brother located them, even with the shadows cloaking him from sight. A second set of footsteps joined the first, lighter, more cautious. Azriel sent shadows flying for that second figure, and dodged the immediate blast of power from his brother, letting it shoot over his head. The second guard stumbled backwards, and yelped when Azriel slammed into him, twisting the pommel of his sword out of his grip, and swiping the dagger from his belt.

At a glance, Nesta was trying to drag Cassian away, down the corridor,

Behind them, all the way down, there's a way out.

"Run!" He bellowed, and tossed Nesta the dagger, taking up a defensive position to slow the guards starting to return to the dungeons. Nesta grunted behind him, she was still too close, and Cassian said something, too quietly for Azriel to make out the words, but the urgency was obvious,

"No," Nesta sobbed, "I can't," she repeated over and over, she couldn't leave him, Azriel dared a glance over his shoulder, and cursed at the sight of more guards blocking their exit. If she were alone, Nesta could escape, but convincing her to leave Cassian, no, she would never do it.

Even armed, even with his shadows darting around, disorienting his enemies, attacking them, there were too many of them. This was it. He was going to die here.

Azriel was forced backwards, until he was stood back to back with Nesta, Cassian struggling to rise to his feet between them. Azriel dropped a hand onto his shoulder,

"It's been an honor, brother."

*****

Gwyn set the bedside table down, right where the old one had sat, and glanced around the room, the same, but different, altogether too new, unused. She sank onto the bed, and the shadow came to rest in her lap,

"I miss them," It shuffled and swirled up her arm, nestling against her cheek, "Do you miss him? Of course you do, thank you for staying with me." Even with him gone, a little part of Azriel would always be with her so long as the shadow remained. The room was exactly as it had been only a few days prior, but so different, so un-Azriel somehow, maybe it was just that he wasn't there any more, even his scent was fading with the old furniture having been removed. Gwyn squeezed his jacket tighter around herself, and closed her eyes.

"Someone's there!" Mor's voice echoed through the House, "Gwyn?"

"Here!"

"Nuala just got back, someone is at that old keep, we don't know who but-" Gwyn was already moving, already sprinting for her room, collecting her weapons on an instinct. She sighed as she switched Azriel's jacket for her own, his was way too big, she'd never be able to fight properly, let alone quietly in it, no, she had to wear her own. She left it on her bed as she ran back to Mor,

"When do we leave?"

Rhysand had winnowed her with him out to the keep, and Mor had complained bitterly at being left behind, but Gwyn could move and fight silently, and only one person was likely to be able to get in. Rhysand had brought her because he knew the layout of the keep, at least in theory, if it was anything like the others built at the same time, he knew the layout. But he would have to guide her from outside, mentally.

Gwyn took one final, shuddering breath, and let him in,

Breathe,

She did, slowing her breaths, stilling her mind, panic was no good now. She was the rock against which the surf crashes. She was a Valkyrie. She was Gwyneth Berdara, and she would not be afraid.

The keep itself was almost silent, only the echoing of far-off footsteps and the candles and torches along the wall proved that she wasn't alone.

Okay, go left here,

Gwyn pressed herself against the wall, and dared a quick glance down the corridor, one guard, facing away from her. She stepped into the corridor, keeping to the shadowy places along the wall, her footsteps muffled by her shadow, well, Azriel's shadow. The guard didn't turn around until she was right behind him, his eyes widening as he drew breath to shout. Gwyn slammed the hilt of her dagger into his temple, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed. Gwyn made sure to catch him, and lowered him slowly to the floor, avoiding the clatter of his armor on the stone.

Rhysand guided her deeper into the keep, she met few guards, too few, something was wrong.

How many guards should there be?

It depends, but you should have met at least ten by now.

There's been four.

Four?

Yeah.

He waited a while to respond, as if he were trying to decide something, probably whether to tell her to get out of there,

That's not normal, you know that?

I'm not leaving without them.

Be on your guard.

There were no more guards until Gwyn heard the clash of metal on metal, and almost launched into a run. The corridor she'd been walking down lit up more and more with each step, until she found a stairway,

That should take you to the dungeons, be careful.

I will.

She sent the shadow to check if it was safe, and it flew back to her almost immediately, both trying to go back down, and back the way she had come. It was torn between protecting her and Azriel, he was down there, he had to be. If the shadow wanted her to run, something was wrong, she had to move, now.

The dungeon was filled with guards, there were three at the base of the stairs, and too many to count beyond that. Gwyn couldn't fight her way through,

There's too many, I can't see them,

Wait.

I can't.

Gwyn. Wait. I'm on my way, the way you came is clear. Wait for me.

She should wait, but she couldn't, Azriel was there, Nesta was there, Cassian was there, if she waited, every lost second could spell their doom. She glanced around, torches, there were torches along the wall. She tugged experimentally on one, it didn't budge, she put more weight onto it, and pulled herself up, climbing over the guards' heads. She braced herself to fall, waiting for a few heartbeats, but the torch's stand held strong, she leaped to the next one, almost slipping, but the clashing of blades covered the sound. She scrambled up, moving to the next one, and the next. They were only a couple of feet apart, but each jump felt like forever. She paused on the next, catching her breath, and reassessed the situation. There, only a few more jumps away, Azriel was back to back with Nesta, guards coming from both sides. She thanked all the gods that the corridor was so narrow, only three guards could attack at once. Azriel stumbled, armed with a sword from one of the fallen guards, and Nesta braced against his weight, helping him regain his feet, her own sword looked heavy, she was tiring. Cassian, where was Cassian? There, on the floor, he blinked, trying to rise, and collapsed again, and Gwyn had to clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out at the sight of him.

Oh gods, there was so much blood, not all of it was his, of course, but his wings, oh gods, that was bone sticking out of one of them, and that glazed look in his eyes, Gwyn had seen that look before, how he was still trying to fight was beyond her. Even as he stumbled, he said something, and Nesta whirled, slamming her sword into a guard's gut, he was warning her, guiding her blade. That look in his eyes, he knew it, he was still fighting for her, even though, even though Cassian was dying.

Nesta turned, presumably to check on Cassian and Azriel, and let out a sob when she saw Cassian slumped against the wall, unmoving, silent. She was forced to turn away to block a blow from a guard, but Gwyn was close enough that she could just about make out her words,

"Cass, come on, please, you're gonna be okay, please," Her sword arm was shaking, and Azriel moved to cover her as she dropped to her knees beside her mate, holding his face, and begging him to hold on, just a bit longer. Azriel's strength was waning now, he couldn't hold off attacks from two sides for long. One last jump brought Gwyn close enough to finally help. Red misted her vision at the sight of a sword hurtling towards him, right for his exposed back as he handled another guard. Gwyn didn't think, didn't plan, she just moved.

That guard was dead before his sword got anywhere near Azriel, but close enough that Azriel realized how close it had been when he turned, surprise glimmering in his eyes,

"Gwyn? You have to go, leave us, go!"

"I can't." She moved again on an instinct, blocking another blow that Azriel had missed in his shock, "Rhysand's on his way, we just have to hold on until he gets here. We're getting out." Gwyn took up Nesta's position, her fear a metallic tang in the back of her mouth, especially at the rumble of power that rolled through the dungeons. She hardly noticed the shadows around her, darting forwards, helping her with each blow, each enemy, before darting away to Azriel.

They didn't need to speak, each move was together, as one, he moved, she moved, she moved, he moved. Gwyn rolled backwards, Azriel stepped around her to cover her, Azriel stepped sideways, Gwyn whirled to dispatch that enemy. Each movement was easy, fluid, unhurried, Gwyn fell into a familiar headspace, the same as it had been on Ramiel, but this time is wasn't her sisters she was protecting, it was her, whatever Azriel was.

Power rumbled through the dungeons again, and Azriel shoved her sideways against the wall, throwing his wings up around her as dark power tore through the remaining guards. Gwyn gasped, and hid her face against Azriel,

"It's Rhys, it's okay." He released her moments later, "He'll cover our escape, let's go," he looked around again and swore,

"What?"

"Their leader, my half-brother, he's gone, the coward." Azriel grunted as he hauled Cassian to his feet, with Nesta on his other side, half-dragging him the way they had come. Gwyn followed, keeping an eye out for danger, with Cassian almost completely unconscious, neither Azriel or Nesta would be able to carry him and fight, that was Gwyn's job.

"Is he -" Rhysand's eyes widened at the sight of them, of Cassian

"He's alive, just about." Cassian's head was hanging low, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged and shallow.

"Get him out of here." Gwyn ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, and nodded, desperately wishing that they would move faster, she had no idea how many guards there might be in total, more might show up at any moment. Adrenaline faded as they made their way out, movements becoming slower, injuries more crippling, so much so that by the time they had made it outside, into the fresh night air, Azriel was dragging a leg behind him, his breathing shallow as he hauled Cassian with him. They had to stop, if they didn't, he'd keel over, and Gwyn had no idea how to go about healing anything. There was a grassy bank a few hundred meters away,

"There, can you make it?" Azriel grunted in response, and Gwyn grabbed Cassian's arm from him, "I'll take over," together, she and Nesta just about managed to carry his unconscious weight to the cover of the bank. It was only when she set him down that Gwyn got a chance to really see the scope of Cassian's injuries. His face was pallid, and far too pale, pale from the blood seeping from his wings mostly, broken almost beyond recognition, a bone sticking out of the right one. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and Gwyn gently ran her hands along his ribs, three, no four, broken, another cracked, possibly more, and then there was the sword wound. Nesta was already pressing her hands against the ragged wound in his side, and Gwyn shrugged off her jacket, "Use this." Nesta nodded, her eyes unseeing, tears flooding down her face.

Azriel hung back, avoiding getting in the way probably, but he was injured too, it was just Nesta that had gotten off lightly, but that was probably why Cassian was as bad as he was, he'd undoubtedly protected her.

"Sit down, Az, honestly." Gwyn had no idea what she could do about Cassian's wings, and the bleeding was slowing, so she could at least do what she could for Azriel. "Is it just that?" She gestured to the wound on his leg, and he just stared straight at her,

"You came."

"Of course I did, did you think I was going to still tight and wait?"

"You shouldn't have. It was dangerous."

"Excuse you, why do you think I'm training?"

"Not to clear up my messes."

"Your mess?" Gwyn blinked in disbelief, "How is this your fault?" Azriel shrugged, and muttered something, just loud enough for her to hear, but no one else,

"It always is." Her heart broke a those words, and she froze,

"It is not." Tears threatened to fall, and she didn't stop them, "You are the bravest male, no, bravest person I've ever met, and you have saved countless lives, avoided countless disasters, the Night Court would be long destroyed without you." She knelt beside him, and cupped his face, "Don't for one second think that, okay?" For perhaps the first time ever, Azriel smiled and muttered,

"Okay."

"Now. Is it just that?" She pointed again at the leg wound,

"Oh. Yeah."A shadow danced around Gwyn's head,

"Liar," she crooned, "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" She raised an eyebrow, "Broken ribs," he admitted, and she groaned,

"Idiot. I can't do anything about the ribs though," She pressed the wound, the bloodflow already slowing with him being still.

Gwyn.

Rhysand's voice tapped against her mind, and she let him in,

Where did you go?

Grassy bank. Hurry up.

Moments later he crested the bank, and jogged the few steps to reach them, Gwyn had finished patching Azriel up, and turned back to Cassian, he still wasn't waking up, but at least the blood had stopped flowing from that sword wound. Nesta was still quietly crying and begging him not to leave her, Rhysand placed a hand on her shoulder, and said something quietly, and she let him pass, his hands hovering over Cassian's right wing, the one with the bone snapped in two. Gwyn moved to Nesta's side, cradling her head against her chest, she had to hold Nesta tight when Cassian screamed as Rhysand's magic forced the bone back to the right position, and sealed the wound,

"You're hurting him!" She screamed, trying to break free of Gwyn's grip,

"He's fixing the bone, he's helping, he's helping," Gwyn muttered, letting Nesta cling on to her as she cried,

"I can't, Gwyn, I can't, I - I need him," she broke off as another sob forced its way out,

"I know, I know, Nes, I know. You're not losing him, you're not, okay?" Nesta nodded, but tears were still streaming down her face, "He's gonna be okay." Cassian screamed again as Rhysand set the other dislocated or fractured bones to where they should sit, and Nesta cried harder with each cry of pain from Cassian, until her whole body was shaking with the sobs. She rushed towards him as soon as Rhysand stopped, cupping his face in her hands, running her gaze across his wings, checking that they were really okay,

"Thank you," she whispered, and noticed his ribs were untouched, but Rhysand pre-empted the question,

"I'm no good at ribs," he admitted, "But we should be able to move him now,"

"Why isn't he waking up?" Nesta demanded, and Rhysand threw his hands up,

"Because he'd be in a lot of pain, so I knocked him out."

"But he'll be okay?" Nesta's usually powerful, commanding voice had fallen quiet, shaky, and her shoulders were shaking as she brushed the hair out of Cassian's face, and softly kissed his brow. Azriel limped his way towards them, holding on to Gwyn as she held Rhysand's hand, while Nesta gripped the other, and braced herself to winnow.

*****

Rhys winnowed them directly into Madja's house, to the room she used to house patients, and shouted for her, apologizing for showing up this late, but she just waved him off, rushing to Cassian's side. Gwyn forced Azriel to sit on the second be in the room, fussing again now that they were safe,

"You're damn lucky, Rhysand, if you'd got this wrong," she gestured to Cassian's wings, "He might not have been able to fly again, as it is, it's not perfect, but I can fix it." She finished fixing his ribs, and bound his wound before crossing to Azriel, and he winced when she re-set his ribs, and bound his own wound, "You can sleep in your own room, Azriel, Cassian stays here, I need to keep an eye on him tonight."

"Will he be okay?" Madja's professional demeanor dropped for a moment as she took Nesta's hands,

"I hope so, he's lost a lot of blood but he's survived this far, so he should make a full recovery, you can stay with him if you like." Nesta nodded,

"Thank you." Madja squeezed her hands,

"Go get some sleep the rest of you, Mother knows you need it.

Rhys winnowed Azriel and Gwyn back to the House before wishing them goodnight and promising to see them in the morning. For a proper debrief is what he didn't need to add. Gwyn led Azriel straight back to his room, and pulled out a set of sleeping clothes for him, grabbing a spare shirt and turned around for him to change, she seemed to know that he needed quiet to sort through his own mind, but still wrapped her arms around him, reassuring herself that he was okay, and he held her against him. Azriel didn't miss the fact that she'd just changed into one of his spare shirts, that his scent was all over her, and hers all over him, but it was comforting somehow, just to have someone be that comfortable with him,

"You need to rest," she murmured, and guided him to the bed, pulling herself a chair over, he didn't miss the movement, tried not to think how he had slept in a chair beside her too many nights recently. She had slept in his bed before, but maybe after that nightmare was different than normal, he wouldn't ask her if she wanted to share, she'd probably go back to her bed anyway once he was asleep. Still, his mind emptied when she clasped his hands and brought them to her lips, before leaning against the bed and closing her eyes as he closed his.

Gwyn held his hands all night, and she was still leaning against the bed when Azriel woke the next morning, his head clearer than it had ever been the morning after a return home. She opened her eyes and looked across at him, her eyes full of hope, and leaned closer to brush her lips against his, smiling as she sat up,

"I missed you," she mumbled, "I was so worried, especially when we couldn't find you."

"How did you find us?"

"The shadow." Ah, he'd been wondering if it really had been able to sense the others,

"Thank you, for coming to find me."

"Always," she whispered.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #gwyn #gwyn acosf #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #azriel #nessian #nesta x cassian

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molluskwritesfic · 4 years ago

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Where the Roses Grow - Chapter Six

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

@kyjoraven @killtherandomness @nova646

This story can also be found on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

Masterlist - First Chapter - Previous Chapter - This Chapter

Chapter Six

Elsi wasn’t entirely sure if she was conscious or not.

It certainly didn’t feel like she was asleep, but she definitely wasn’t awake either. She could still feel her injuries; her spine, her head, and everything else - they hurt - but from far away, like remembering the pain of a childhood injury.

Then, all at once, she was absolutely awake.

Reality grabbed her in a burst of steam and light. Her legs weren’t prepared for the rest of her weight, so she crumpled straight to the ground - or at least she figured that it ought to be the ground, because she had absolutely no sense of up or down.

A soft noise, a panicked half-gasp half-cry burst from her unbidden as she fought to regain her bearings. It was hard though, because she really couldn’t see much of anything. Her vision was fogged over like window panes on a cold morning. She tried squinting through it, but it didn’t help.

Her heart was pounding wildly, but she swallowed down her panic, recalling what she knew about Carbonite and the accompanying sickness. Her sight would clear soon. She just had to be patient.

But patience wasn't exactly something she could afford. The heavy binders that were being snapped around her wrists were evidence enough of that.

Elsi stopped struggling when a pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders and shifted her bodily out of the carbonite harness. She slumped against the wall, resting her head against the cool metal of the Razor Crest’s hull and closing her eyes. Through the metal, she could still feel the hum of the engines - still in flight, then. But not for long, according to the subtle jolts and rumbles that made her stomach twist. Flying through a planet’s atmosphere was never as smooth as the emptiness of space.

Tiny hands clutched at the hem of her dress. Elsi opened her eyes to see the muddled green and brown shape of the child standing by her legs. He cooed. Concerned.

No matter the situation, Elsi always had a smile for him. With shaky hands, she picked him up and brought him to her chest - albeit awkwardly, on account of the cuffs. His fuzzy little head bumped against her chin. He hid his face against her neck, purring to let her know that he was alright.

Elsi sighed and held him close, savoring these precious few minutes she had left with him.

The baby chirped happily, oblivious to - or perhaps uncomprehending - her despair.

By the time the Mandalorian came for them in the hold, Elsi’s vision had returned. She was peeved to see that the bounty hunter seemed none the worse for wear. Where she was bruised and trembling, he stood steady. But then again, only he knew just how much damage the armor hid.

“It’s time to go.”

The baby laughed when the Mandalorian plucked him out of her arms and placed him back in his bassinet. The hunter then took Elsi by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. Although she had no choice in the matter, he was careful not to hurt her, holding her steady while she reacquainted herself with her balance and not urging her forward until he was sure she wasn’t going to pitch back over.

The hatch opened to reveal a planet of volcanic rock and black sand. The shipyard where the Crest had landed was just beyond the gates of a rough looking town of stone. The other ships in the shipyard were much like the Mandalorian’s - tough, but broken and cobbled back together so many times that they looked as if a well-aimed kick would knock them down.

The Mandalorian nudged her onto the ramp, keeping a firm hold on her upper arm.

“You don’t want to do this,” Elsi urged. It was the closest she would ever come to pleading. “They’ve wanted him for a long time. His life means nothing to them. They’ll kill him if it suits them.”

The black visor stayed fixed on the town ahead. She didn’t think it was because he didn’t sympathize with her - if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have insisted on the removal of her collar - but she also knew that sympathy wasn’t enough. The Outer Rim was hard and unforgiving, and so were the people who lived there. Elsi was a survivor, and it had driven her to try and take the Mandalorian’s life. The Mandalorian was another survivor, and it was driving him to turn them in.

She tripped on the rough ground, her weakened body overbalanced and she nearly collapsed. The Mandalorian paused, arm snaking around her waist to prevent her from hitting the ground.

Elsi went for the knife in his boot. The vibroblade slashed upwards, biting viciously into the Mandalorian’s side. In a perfect world, it would’ve been a clean stab, and the bounty hunter would’ve bled out fairly quickly, but the awkwardness of the binders caused the angle to be bad, so it only left behind a shallow gash.

With a grunt of pain, the Mandalorian shoved her away before she could inflict more damage. Elsi hit the ground hard. The Mandalorian was quick to wrest the knife from her hands.

Elsi gasped when he grabbed her by her bound wrists and dragged her back to her feet. By now, there was no doubt that whatever sympathy he’d harbored for her was gone; and Elsi was done pretending to ask for it.

When he tried to urge her forward once more, she fought. She threw her weight backwards, trying to catch him off balance; she tried to bite the arm that held her, with moderate success. By the time they made it to the gate, Elsi had dragged what should’ve taken maybe two minutes into almost ten, and she really and truly was on what she thought might be her last legs.

She was exhausted. The side of her face that had been smashed by the Mandalorian’s helmet was swelling, and thus throbbing and hot. The back of her head felt even worse. Not to mention the mild carbonite sickness that swirled in her stomach, unhelped by the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to eat or drink. Still, she fought on.

The Mandalorian managed to keep his composure, sticking with the tactic of impassively tugging her forward while she struggled, but Elsi could feel his patience wearing thin. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he just went ahead and shot her to save himself the trouble. Hell, she wouldn’t have blamed him. But he didn’t. He didn’t draw his blaster. He didn’t try to hurt her - quite the opposite, in fact.

When she stumbled, he caught her every time.

The baby watched all this with wide eyed bemusement, ears flapping in the wind, not knowing what to make of it all.

In town, she continued to struggle, making the Mandalorian battle for every step. It was pointless, she knew. Even if she managed to slip him, she wouldn’t be able to get the baby, too. And if somehow she did, he’d catch up with them before they made it off world, but she’d be damned if she was going to make it easy.

Finally, Elsi found the end of the hunter’s patience.

“Stop it!“ the Mandalorian snarled. The hand that was curled around her upper arm tightened like a steel band and jerked her roughly to the side.

A soft grunt escaped her as her back collided with one of the stone walls. The Mandalorian’s free hand pressed firmly against her sternum, holding her in place. He towered over her, menacing, crowding, cornering. A wall of beskar hiding her from the rest of the town - from the baby.

She could hear the child twittering nervously from somewhere over the Mandalorian’s shoulder.

Elsi tried to break his grip by ducking sideways. The hand on her sternum relocated to the base of her throat.

“Will you just - ”

The other people passing through the narrow street gave the pair a wide berth. The slave didn’t bother calling out to them for help. She knew how it worked. If anyone cared about a battered woman getting manhandled, they weren’t about to challenge a Mandalorian on her behalf.

Instead she scrabbled angrily at the hand that was putting just a bit too much pressure on her neck and fought to twist out of his hold on her arm.

“Hey!” The Mandalorian gave her a rough shake to remind her that he could make her stop struggling if he wanted. When her gaze finally snapped up to meet his visor, he continued.

“You keep this up in there, they’ll kill you,” he warned, modulated voice lowering so that only she could hear. “They’ll off you as soon as you're more trouble than you’re worth. You cooperate, you’ve got a shot at walking away.”

Elsi curled her lip in disdain, eyes flashing.

“Your concern is touching,” she sneered. “They’re going to kill me either way. I’m a slave. My life is nothing. What are they going to do with the baby?”

He might’ve opened his mouth to respond, but whatever explanation or retort he might’ve had was cut off with a pained groan. Something gripped at his back, rippling unnaturally up his spine from hip to neck, and dragged him backwards.

The Mandalorian staggered back a few steps, struggling to whirl around to face his attacker. When he managed it, he found the space behind him empty, save for a floating pram. The pram’s inhabitant was reaching towards them with a chubby, three-fingered hand, large eyes narrowed in concentration.

The Mandalorian gasped as the invisible hand tightened its grip, testing the hold. As his spine creaked, both adults were suddenly hyper-aware that the child could snap his back like a twig, vertebrae by vertebrae.“Hey! Don’t - ”

The baby had taken to the Mandalorian quickly, but now the tiny green creature didn’t seem so sure. He released his hold upon hearing the fear in the Mandalorian’s tone, but then turned his expectant gaze towards his surrogate mother. The child’s ears were flattened against his shoulders when he reached in her direction with a frightened squeak.

Elsi, now free from their captor’s grasp, made a beeline for the baby. She smoothed the fuzz on his head and pressed a kiss to his wrinkled brow. The baby patted her cheek in reciprocation and responded to her reassuring murmurs with soft chirps.

Guilt washed over her like a wave. It wasn’t the first time the child had used his abilities to protect her, and every instance signified a failure on her part. She was supposed to protect him, not the other way around. Even when she couldn’t, it was up to her to make him feel safe and secure. What had she been thinking, flailing around like that? Doing so had done nothing to change their situation, and now the baby knew that they were in trouble.

She didn’t want him to be afraid. Didn’t want him to worry. That was her job.

The nanny nuzzled the top of his little head and breathed deeply, relishing in his familiar earthy smell combined with the stiff soap from his last bath. She let it wash over her senses. Drawing strength from it and committing it to memory. They would be saying goodbye soon, if they weren’t already saying it now. Probably for good. No matter which of them died or which survived, she didn’t want him to remember her by her fear.

Her dignity - especially in the eyes of the child - was all she had left.

So when the Mandalorian, seemingly unshaken by the baby’s actions, prodded her in the back to get her moving, she did so with her head held high.

She didn’t beg or plead when they arrived at the thick steel door sequestered away in an alley - the Mandalorian had made it clear that this delivery was non-negotiable, and she wasn’t in the habit of repeating an action if it wasn’t sensible. She didn’t flinch when the sensor shot out from the wall. Didn’t cower when the shabby stormtroopers crowded around the trio and herded them into the dark corridor beyond.

The corridor was hot. Oppressive. The air stale. Heavy boots clunked on the dirty floor, stirring up dust that tickled Elsi’s nose and threatened to make her sneeze.

The baby squeaked for her, dark eyes wide and nervous. She leaned forward slightly to catch his attention and offered him a soft smile - which he returned.

The trooper behind her jabbed his blaster none-too-gently into her back, causing her to stumble a step.

“Take it easy,” the Mandalorian warned, voice low and imposing in the stifling air.

“You take it easy,” the Stormtrooper snapped in reply.

They were led to a brighter, but equally dingy room that looked to be a repurposed warehouse. An old man hunched at a desk, ignorant to the smell of mildew and rust. The man’s face sagged with age, sullying what probably had once been proud, angular features. The only hair he had left was stiff and white, plastered to the sides of his head, leaving the top wrinkled and bald. He first surveyed the entourage with the disdain born of false superiority until his sharp, beady eyes picked out the green baby floating at the Stormtrooper’s hip. Despite his advanced years, the old man immediately stood and hurried over to the pram, waving a blinking tracking fob around in front of the bewildered child.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” the man muttered to himself with an excitement that - based on the curious tilt of a nearby stormtrooper’s helmet - Elsi assumed was uncharacteristic of him.

Elsi came to stand beside the cradle, flanked by the Mandalorian - something she was momentarily grateful for. She resisted the urge to fiddle with her cuffs as another man - younger than the first, with tinted glasses and dark, decently groomed facial fair - crossed the room to hover by the old man’s shoulder.

The baby whined when the younger man scanned him, squinting when the bright red light shined directly in his eyes. Neither man took notice of his discomfort.

“Very healthy,” the younger man commented, voice soft with fascination.

Elsi’s insides shivered when the old man fixed her with his cold, watery gaze.

“Its caretaker is to be commended, then.” Although the words themselves were not unkind, they made her skin crawl. The old man’s presence alone invoked a visceral emotion, the same she might feel seeing a snake in the grass. “I imagine it has not been easy… caring for a child in these trying times. And even more trying circumstances.”

She fixed the Imp with her best pleasantly-blank gaze, and said nothing.

Thankfully, the man’s attention turned to the Mandalorian. “Your reputation was not unwarranted.”

“How many fobs did you give out?” The Mandalorian’s voice was as soft as ever, but the irritation in it was anything but.

The tension in the room thickened. The baby whined.

A sneer twisted the old man’s thin lips. “This asset was of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure its delivery. But to the winner…”

The old man paced back to his desk. He reached around the back and extracted a large white, cylindrical case. It was set on the desk with an impressive clunk, showcasing the weight of its contents.

“... go the spoils.”

The Mandalorian’s head ticked minutely to the side, betraying his anticipation. The press of a few buttons and a twist of the handle caused the case to beep and hiss, and the sides fell away to reveal bars of metal, neatly arranged in dual stacks that gleamed brightly in the murky light.

The bounty hunter left her side with slow, measured steps, leaving Elsi with the baby, a Stormtrooper, and the scientist that was still hovering over the bassinet. He picked up two of the bars carefully and examined them with a sort of reverence that didn’t seem entirely justified for any currency.

Elsi made the connection. Beskar. No wonder the Mandalorian had been so bent on the exchange. She didn’t know much about Mandalorians, but she wasn’t oblivious to the importance of Beskar. Even without taking the cultural value of the steel into consideration, it was a massive amount of credits. A small fortune, at the least.

I was right, Elsi mused. The payment in its entirety was clearly for the baby. Her value had been bartered and exchanged before her eyes a number of times, and she doubted it was equitable to a single bar.

“Such a large bounty for such a small package,” the old man confirmed.

The scientist wrapped his hand around the edge of the baby’s bassinet and urged it into motion. Elsi tensed, ready to follow, but was halted by a threatening prod from the Stormtrooper to her left. The Mandalorian turned his head and watched the baby as he was carted through a side door leading deeper into the facility. The child was looking anxiously over the edge of its crib, to Elsi.

She hated that she had no way to reassure him.

When the scientist and baby were safely out of sight, the old man flicked his fingers toward the Stormtrooper. The trooper nodded and took Elsi’s arm in an iron grip. He shoved her forward and she had no choice but to comply as she was steered towards another door, one different to the one the baby had disappeared through.

The Mandalorian’s visor glinted in the artificial light. Fixed on her, now. She didn’t try to find the meaning behind the set of his shoulders and tilt of his head, though she passively registered that it might be regret. As far as she was concerned, he was no longer a part of the equation. So whatever amount of guilt he was or wasn’t feeling was of no consequence to her. Guilt might be a bit much to expect. Maybe he was just thinking about how good it felt to fuck her and disappointed that he wouldn’t get to do it again.

The thought didn’t amuse her.

Not that her opinions mattered, anyway. She was ushered out of the room and into a slightly better lit hall. The door slid closed behind her, heralding the end of her brief, almost-freedom.

Not that she had expected anything else.

~0~0~0~ .

#the mandalorian #Mandalorian #themandalorian #mandalorian x oc #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin x reader #din djarin #grogu #baby yoda #star wars #starwars #mando x reader #mando x oc

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peaches-writes · 5 years ago

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how to appease your asian aunties ch. 1 - christmas

description: in the immortal words of wine aunts and aunts you’re not even related to but forced to call your aunt at gatherings, ‘do you have a boyfriend?’ member: jisung / han genre: fluff, fake dating au, implied rich kids au, eventual childhood / best friends to lovers au, college au, implied fem reader (but i still used they/them pronouns) word count: 7.5k chapter warning: food, drinking, explicit language, one comment about weight note: insp by a twt meme + this is my first attempt at making a story with parents having a bigger role in them omg

ch. 2 // ch. 3 // series masterlist

Though you’re a semester away from graduating college, with your own circles of friends, clubmates, and close classmates, you still can’t understand why your mom and her sorority batchmates feel the need to have reunion parties every single year. Maybe it’s the product of growing connectivity in this modern age or just simply your wide age gap preventing you from having the same nostalgic feelings attending these dinners; nevertheless, ever since your mom started bringing you to these parties to socialize with her friends’ children when you were four, you've always personally found it a bit troublesome.

They see each other at mall sales, weekend brunches, weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries all the time—a lot of them even work closely with each other. For as long as you can remember, you can’t help but endlessly wonder in this time of year: will they ever get tired of each other?

As you adjust your coat over your semi-formal attire for this year’s dinner party, you sigh in front of the full-length mirror by your house’s front doors and mentally conclude that they probably never will. This is your 19th reunion dinner now and even from meters away in the kitchen, you can hear your mom fuss to your dad and the helpers either worriedly about the desserts that everyone in the house (and your nearest restaurant branch) was forced to bake two nights ago; or excitedly about seeing her college best friend, Mrs. Hwang, even if they literally just dragged their respective families to the monthly brunch last weekend—like she always does minutes before you leave. She always sounds like a crazed woman but you know deep inside that she’s excited to see her friends again and reminisce about the same old college memories you’ve even memorized by heart now.

It’s cute and all, maybe you’ll even end up the same in a decade or so but you swear at present on the dinner menu tonight that the more you spend your first day of Christmas break attending these dinners, the more you’ll slowly lose your mind over this unofficial holiday tradition: from your mom’s dramatic ramblings at the start of the night to the prospect of spending the rest of the evening laughing off your unofficial aunts and godmothers’ unnecessary backhanded comments and trying not to get caught in the trouble the younger children make.

It really just isn’t exactly your type of scene. It’s like family Christmas parties but with more passive-aggressive internalized drama since you’re not related to any of the guests by blood.

“Y/N, dear, come along now, we’re running late!” Your mom scolds you as she approaches your direction to the double doors, carrying cupcake caddies and cake boxes with your dad and your six house helpers. She’s wearing the dress you helped pick out last month, you observe, which is another tradition of hers. Rich people and not wanting to be seen wearing the same clothes twice, you guess. “Oh dear, I need to fix my hair in the car!”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror before sprinting to the doors and helping your dad open them. You also take a couple of boxes from one of the helpers as you all pile outside, letting everyone pass through before closing the doors behind you.

The nine of you then head to your dad’s Ford you parked outside the house gates earlier this afternoon, loading the everything in the back of the car without much difficulty before parting ways with the helpers for tonight with the same house instructions from your mom to not wait up for the three of you.

“Bye!” Your mom waves at your helpers through the rolled down windows on the front passenger seat as your dad begins to drive away from the house.

Once your house begins growing smaller in the distance behind you, only then does your mom attend to her hair while your dad closes all the windows and locks the doors.

You, on the other hand, lean back in your own seat, taking out your phone to pass the ten minutes travel time to one of your godmothers, Mrs. Kim’s house in the adjacent subdivision.

“Y/M/N! Y/F/N! Welcome!” Mrs. Kim greets you at her house gates with her own mini army of house helpers, kindly helping you and your parents unload your party contributions and transfer them inside her recently renovated kitchen. “Oh, Y/N! Look at you, you look so beautiful tonight!”

You smile politely through the wave of compliments and ‘oh you gained a bit of weight’ comments that follow as you try your best to not to trip over the slippery marble steps leading to the house. Contrary to what your mom has been worrying about earlier at home, you eventually discover that you’re fairly early to the party for the 19th year in a row with only half of the families already in attendance to greet you when you entered the house.

“Y/N, all the teenagers are upstairs on the second floor, by the way.” Mrs. Kim informs you once your cupcakes have been neatly organized in the caddies at the very end of the buffet table, making you cringe internally at her preferred term for you and the other older kids in the house. “Dinner is at 7:30.”

“Thank you, auntie.” You smile one last time at her before excusing yourself to go upstairs, sighing internally in relief that her son, Seungmin, has smartly gathered everyone upstairs for the third year in a row to avoid the aunts and uncles for as much as possible.

You’re not completely fond of the parties, sure, but you can’t deny that there are little parts that have unconsciously grown on you—like your unlikely band of childhood friends and your shared hatred for this particular party.

Climbing up the slippery staircase as fast as you can with a death grip on the railings, you reach the second floor in no time to be greeted by six out of the eight people you’ve sort of grown up with in these parties occupying the common area: Felix and Hyunjin having a Wii dance battle in front of the television, Seungmin and Minho having a violent game of UNO on the coffee table, and Ryujin and Yeji scrolling through their phones on the sofa before abandoning them to approach you at noticing your presence by the staircase.

“Y/N!” Ryujin calls you in as she reaches you first for a brief hug and a short exchange of compliments on each other’s outfits, as if you didn’t just meet at one of your shared class’ Christmas parties yesterday. Though all of you attend the same university, you see Ryujin the most since you’re in the same college, just in different departments. “So nice to see you again!”

“Yeah, yeah, hello to you too again.” You chuckle, more genuinely now in the company of party guests you’re actually comfortable with, before waving hello at Yeji who trails behind.

Yeji then naturally hugs you next, pulling you a few steps away from the staircase so the two of you don’t topple over when she leans her weight on you. “Y/N, took you long enough!” She says next to your ear. “Hyunjin and I were starting to make bets if the aunties suddenly trapped you downstairs like Chan and Miyoung.”

You hug her back with equal force, a little more than you did with Ryujin, pulling away after to playfully slap her arm for the teasing comment. “I’d sell my arm first before I let that happen.” You retort as the two of you laugh. “I just helped set up desserts—mom made us do an extra two boxes of brownies and cookies this year so you better get a lot later!”

“Of course, but only if you eat a lot of the spaghetti my mom made!” She reminds, kindly fixing your hair for you. “I missed you! You look so pretty tonight!”

Behind the two girls, the boys also greet you in scattered casual ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s before going back to their own activities. You greet them back as they acknowledge you (and even reciprocate Felix’s long-distance high five mid-dance), crossing off everyone’s names in your mental attendance list as your gaze wanders around the room.

Since Chan is busy being a grown-up and showing off his fiance downstairs, you conclude that only one person is missing among your eight friends.

“Ya, Han Jisung!” As if on cue, the missing eighth person in your list emerges from the staircase behind you as Minho calls his name. “Welcome back!”

Jisung greets everyone back in their second wave of scattered greetings as he walks to Minho and Seungmin’s direction, purposely acknowledging you last by suddenly turning around and walking backwards to send a wave and wink your way. He almost trips over the long ruffles of the big accent carpet as he does this, making you, Yeji, and Ryujin laugh as the only witnesses.

“Oh my God.” You place a hand to your forehead in secondhand embarrassment, stifling your laughs as your best friend regains his balance and looks behind him in case anyone else saw (which, unfortunately for you, they didn’t). You can’t believe that despite missing last year’s party because of his study abroad program’s strict schedule, he still manages to do his ritual clumsy carpet accident somehow. “This dumbass, I swear.”

In front of you, Jisung only laughs it off as well. “You didn’t see that!” He adjusts his coat with one hand and scratches the nape of his neck with the other in between laughs, walking forward to you properly after with his arms extended for a hug. “Stop laughing and come here, ugly. I missed you.”

You feign a scowl but hug him back anyway, Yeji and Ryujin slyly stepping away with knowing smiles that only you can see with Jisung’s eyes turned away. You stick your tongue out at the two girls as they abandon you and walk back to the sofa before slapping Jisung’s back harshly for the familiar insult. “Speak for yourself, you ugly. I missed you too.” You reply to his latter comment with an amused chuckle of your own. “How are you?”

“Better now that I’m seeing you in person again.” He pulls away after with his signature flirty smirk, visibly eyeing you up and down now while his hands are still on your upper arms. Though he knows such gesture irks you, especially when it comes to the aunts and uncles downstairs, Jisung is the only one among your friends confident enough to tease you this way. Knowing each other a bit longer than everyone else has its perks, he’s come to realize over the years. “Look at you, all dressed up tonight. For me?”

“Of course I’m all dressed up tonight, it’s Chan’s engagement announcement later.” You retort, swatting his hand away to adjust your now wrinkled clothes. “You’ve known me for twenty years, already; I think it’s time to stop assuming I’ll ever dress up for you now.”

He only shakes his head, his teasing and lighthearted mood unwavering in front of you. “Nah, I really think you dressed up for me tonight.” He insists jokingly, a hand lingering over the fabric of your coat. “If I get welcome back parties like this from you in the end, should I just do more one-year study abroad programs?”

“And leave me to fend off the aunties every other year? I don’t think so.” You’re quick to turn down, walking pass him to rejoin your group now. Jisung naturally follows along like a lost puppy, suddenly changing his mind on joining Minho and Seungmin to follow you around now that you’ve started conversation. “You owe me for leaving me to take all the ‘I can set you up on a blind date with my godchild’ and ‘are you dating anyone’ comments last year.”

The two of you sit next to Ryujin and Yeji who, without even looking up from their phones, quickly scoot away to the other end of the big sofa which makes you send pleading looks their way while Jisung laughs and gains enough confidence to sling an arm on the sofa behind your shoulders.

Another annoying thing from this yearly reunion party is how it’s an unspoken rule in your group to leave you and Jisung alone whenever you’re engaging in your usual banter. You and Jisung are the enemies type of best friend, for God’s sake. You don’t understand how everyone (yes, even Seungmin) thinks the two of you are being cute.

“I keep telling you, you wouldn’t get all those comments if you just tell them you’re dating someone, dummy.” Jisung returns to your conversation once you’re settled, purposely placing a suggestive emphasis on the pet name. “That’s just the most natural thing to do in front of the aunties.”

“And who would I show them if they ask who?”

“Try me.” Jisung answers smugly, earning him an eye roll from you.

“As if.” You deadpan, leaning to his arm anyway as you take out your phone and connect to the wifi. “Given your new fuckboy look to the aunties, I’m pretty sure they’ll see past that kind of bullshit, especially Yeji and Hyunjin’s mom and Minho’s mom. They’d be more convinced if I tell them I’m dating Seungmin instead and he’s already in a relationship.”

You don’t even have to look to your side to see Jisung pouting as he whines in complaint, his free hand going up to your side to shake your arm. “That hurts.” He dramatically points to his chest when you show the slightest hint of turning his way. “And having Bumble on your phone isn’t being a fuckboy, I don’t even use it to get dates.”

“That’s not what the aunties think.” You point out, knowing just how much your aunts and uncles easily misunderstand concepts from your generation like social and dating apps. “I’m telling you, I prefer you swaying the conversation for me over you pretending to be my boyfriend.”

Jisung is quiet for a moment and you’re convinced that he’s decided on ending the conversation at this point until he suddenly twists his body towards you and challenges, "Do you wanna bet? Test out that theory?” He smirks again. “It’d really spice up this party, besides Chan’s announcement, of course.”

Only then do you look up at him since you sat down, deadpanning, “No.”

“Come on, it’d be really interesting!” He taps you on your shoulders with a laugh, a combination of habits he always does whenever he’s trying to involve you in his usual trouble-making antics. “My mom will finally get off my back for always nagging me as a ‘fuckboy’ and our mom’s sorority friends will finally get off yours for not dating.”

“You’re crazy.” You comment, crossing your arms in front of him. “I think I’ll just re-download Bumble too and bring someone to the party next year.”

“You’re really taking too much jabs at my heart right now,” He sighs with a contrasting smirk. “and we’re not even past dinner yet.”

“Because you deserve it,” You chuckle back at him, pretending to punch him on his stomach which he reacts to dramatically. “I’ve always known you’re a dumbass but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard from you.”

Stubborn, he shakes his head in disagreement as you speak. “Nah, nah, we’ll see about that.”

And as if on cue, Mrs. Kim emerges from the staircase and announces that dinner is ready, luring everyone out of the second floor before you can even ask Jisung what he means with his words.

“Ya, Han Jisung!” You call for him when he sprints to Seungmin’s side when the latter begins leading everyone downstairs.

You try catching up to him but the staircase becomes too narrow for you to squeeze past everyone, forcing you to walk with Minho and Ryujin at the back of the group. With this, Jisung then takes this as an opportunity to look up at you from the turn on the staircase and send you another wink, a more confident one this time since he doesn’t trip after.

Your ‘age group,’ as the aunts differentiate you from the younger children, hogs the extensive buffet and steals the best table in the backyard, near the karaoke machine so you can stop the uncles from singing too much of ‘My Way’ once they get drunk later on and as far away from the children’s table as possible so you don’t have to be obligated to take care of them later on. Chan, the eldest among you now, joins your table with his fiance, Miyoung, after they’ve officially declared their engagement before the buffet opened, happily handing out their save the date cards for their May wedding.

“Just remember, Miyoung, that you can literally get all your wedding needs from us, okay?” Yeji comments amidst all the talk about the wedding, gesturing to everyone as you eat and drink champagne. “Like Y/N and Seungmin for catering, Ryujin for the attires, Felix for your honeymoon trip, me and Hyunjin for the flowers and documentation, and Jisung can dress up as a clown for your reception.”

“Ya!” Jisung protests to your left, cheeks full of steak and spaghetti that makes the whole table erupt in laughter. “Chan’s and Minho’s studios can arrange the music and the decor; my mom will probably argue with Miyoung’s mom for the locations and hotels.”

“I can just tell my dad to hire you as a clown, though.” Minho shrugs nonchalantly, further fueling your laughter. To your right, you can even see Miyoung giggling through her glass of champagne, having given up on stifling her laughs. “It’d make good entertainment.”

Jisung then leans over to you to turn to Miyoung on your other side with a pout and a pleading look to her and Chan. “You two are just letting them drag me like this?” He whines dramatically before turning to you. “Y/N, back me up here.”

“No!” You press a finger up to his forehead and playfully push him back on his seat. “It’s a great idea, what are you talking about?” You tease as you do so, much to more whines from him. “There’s like five months before the wedding, think about it.”

Next to you, Miyoung forces herself to stop laughing, teasingly asking Chan, “Babe, what do you think? Should we just demote Jisung from groomsman to clown?”

“I’d very much prefer being a groomsman, please.” Jisung asks over Chan, leaning over the table. “I can’t compete with Changbin for best man but as long as I’m not dressing up as a clown I’m good!”

“Hey, how come Jisung’s a groomsman?” Seungmin complains from across you, frowning cutely at the couple. “Miyoung, I’m your cousin! I introduced you and Chan in university!”

“You’re a groomsman too, Minnie, don’t worry.” Miyoung reassures with a warm smile before elbowing her fiance. “As long as you can get your parents to cater with Y/N’s family.”

The offer makes Seungmin’s ear perk up in interest. “Okay, call!”

“Can we all be in the wedding party at this point? I’m seriously pushing it now, I want to dress up really cute!” Yeji, who sits on Chan’s other side, pleads.

“Me too! I second that!” Felix backs her up immediately, the two now leaning over the table expectantly in Chan’s direction. “Though I’m not so keen on designing things.”

“Ah, but we have to make more room for actual relatives.” The groom-to-be in question laughs sheepishly. “Though, knowing our parents, I’ll try to squeeze everyone in somewhere in the program. Just let us iron out everyone’s contributions first.”

“Yeji, I’ll take note of your suggestion, though.” Miyoung points at the younger girl with an appreciative grin. “I’ll message the groupchat once Chan and I meet up again with the planner.”

Meanwhile, Chan’s last comment gives you and Minho an idea and the two of you suggest in chorus, “Get Seungmin to sing!”

“Jinx!” You and Minho exchange winks and long distance-high fives from Jisung’s two sides after while Chan and Miyoung ask Seungmin about said idea, making Jisung pout at you.

The general table conversation then naturally flows to other matters, mostly about the famous names you might be expecting at the wedding, but Jisung doesn’t participate much anymore, turning to you instead and asking, “Ya, are you cheating on me with Minho now? You sacrifice me as entertainment then back Minho up but not me!” He rambles in between mouthfuls of food, making you and even Minho chuckle in amusement despite the latter being in another conversation with Ryujin and Seungmin. “I just left for one year and you’re already doing this to me!”

“What are you on about again, dumbass?” You roll your eyes with a scoff, stealing a piece of steak from his plate for the third time this dinner. “Finish your food, everyone’s done and you’re so slow!”

Jisung then belatedly swats your chopsticks away, “I’m almost done, dumbass, stop mooching off my plate!”

"Then hurry up, you still have to accompany me to the dessert table.” You point out, referring to your least favorite part of this reunion parties: getting attacked by invasive questions on your return trip to the buffet table. “Remember, you owe me. I’m not going in there alone again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He replies on his last two bites of food, eating one then handing the other one to you. “Have the other one, then.”

He pokes your lips with the last piece of steak and you instinctively lean your head away, catching the food with your own chopsticks instead. “Thanks.” You bring the food to your mouth before carefully patting the oil he ended up smearing on your lips with your table napkin.

Across the table and out of your earshot, Yeji elbows Hyunjin and points to the two of you. “They’re at it again.”

Without you or Jisung looking, Hyunjin looks at the two of you in feign disgust. “I know, every damn year.”

On Hyunjin’s other side, Seungmin nods frustratingly in agreement which makes Yeji laugh. “We shouldn’t have taken last year for granted, 'no?” He sighs. “Last year was so peaceful without them together.”

“Agreed.” The Hwang cousins agree in chorus before listening to the table’s general conversation again.

Meanwhile, Jisung finally finishes his food and excuses the two of you from the table to get dessert. Miyoung waves at you politely and Felix playfully orders that you two get him cupcakes but the rest only acknowledge you with simple nods as they’re completely engrossed in betting on whose dad will be singing My Way on the karaoke machine first (everyone’s in the middle of betting on Mr. Bang). With that, you and your best friend then take your leave, going back inside the house and making a beeline to the kitchen.

Unfortunately for you, you catch your mom, Mrs. Han, and Mrs. Hwang gossiping by the punch bowls once you reach the kitchen’s open doorway—literally the worst combination of sorority aunts to be bombarded with invasive questions.

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath loud enough for only Jisung to hear, the two of you still out of the three women’s sights. Looking up at Jisung with pleading eyes, you ask, “Should we just go back later?”

Quickly seeing this as an opportunity to get back at you, Jisung only smiles evilly and links his hands with yours, dragging a hesitant you inside the kitchen and towards the direction of the dessert table. “No, let’s get dessert now, baby.” He dismisses your silent pleas teasingly, making sure his voice is loud enough to get your worst nightmare of trio’s attentions. “Felix also asked us to get cupcakes too, remember?”

And like vultures, the three women immediately turn to you and Jisung as you head in their line of vision, three different shades of questioning looks on their faces. You especially catch your mom’s face, a mixture of surprise, amusement, and genuine curiosity for some reason, which sets all the gears in your head into panic mode while Jisung only gains more confidence from this.

You swear at that moment on Jisung’s sort of untied shoelaces that you just want Mrs. Kim’s new kitchen floor tiles to swallow you up right there and then.

“Hey, mom!” Jisung greets his own mom with a wave, coming off as sweet to her but mocking to you. He then bows politely to your mom and Mrs. Hwang and you’re forced to follow along for the sake of courtesy. “Mrs. Y/L/N, Mrs. Hwang.”

The three women look at each other curiously, as if in a silent debate on what they’ve just heard, while Jisung pretends to be unfazed, passing you a dessert plate and examining tonight’s dessert options.

“Jisung, I swear to God,” You hiss at him as you take a slice of chocolate cake for him. “I’m going to kill you after this party.”

He leans close to your ear while gathering cupcakes on a separate dessert plate, whispering, “I think it’s too late for that, though.” before your mom, Mrs. Han, and Mrs. Hwang suddenly appear in front of the two of you on the other side of the buffet table with sickeningly sweet smiles, and a million questions.

You especially fear Jisung’s mom. Mrs. Han and your mom often go to the mall together, especially when there’s an ongoing sale, and you’ve been forced to carry all their shopping bags over the years because Jisung and his older brother usually bail on you. Though she’s very sweet, you’ve always known her to be very picky on some things and it just makes you think that she’s picky on who Jisung dates too.

“Mom,” You call for your mom with wide eyes. “Do you need anything?”

But she waves her hand dismissively with a reassuring smile at your question. “Oh, nothing, Y/N dear,” She answers, eyes darting almost threateningly between you and Jisung. It makes your hand shaky as you now complete your tower of dessert plates. “your aunties and I were just talking and we didn’t mean to but we saw you and Jisung so we just got curious and thought we’d ask how the two of you are.”

“Oh, just ask them already!” Mrs. Hwang exclaims excitedly, slapping your mom’s arm like a school girl. “If you won’t, I will.”

But Mrs. Han is already leaning over the table with a knowing smile, straightforwardly asking, “Are you two kids dating?” which immediately makes your mom and Mrs. Hwang erupt into fits of giggles. “Come on, the aunties want to know!”

“Oh, um—” You stammer out before Jisung beats you to it.

For the second time tonight, you feel Jisung’s arm on your shoulder as he speaks over you confidently, “Y-Yeah, we’ve been for a while now!” He then places his dessert plate back on the table and boyishly rubs the nape of his neck which only elicits swooning reactions from the three women, a complete contrast from your expectations a while back. “Just some time before my program ended so it’s been a bit long-distance for the most part.”

“Oh? But how?” Mrs. Hwang asks curiously. “I didn’t hear of you going to Malaysia this year, Y/N, and Jisung, your mom told me you didn’t have time to go home!”

“You could’ve just told me, Sungie! Then, I would’ve had you sent home earlier if you wanted to see Y/N!” Mrs. Han adds as well, clasping her hands in satisfaction. “I knew this was coming! You two have always been so cute together!”

Your mom agrees, “Luckily, I refused Mrs. Park’s offer to set Y/N up with another one of her nephews a while back. Had I known you two were dating, I wouldn’t have talked to her tonight at all!”

You open your mouth to try and speak but Jisung beats you to it again. “We’ve been in touch: message, calls, and video calls, you know.” He half-shrugs casually, as if he’s been rehearsing the line for a while now. “It’s our first time meeting since we started seeing each other so telling you guys just kind of flew past us.”

You groan internally but you also can’t help but sigh in relief at the prospect that you avoided getting set up by Mrs. Park again because of Jisung. Though this doesn’t completely erase your annoyance over him for putting you in this situation, you still owe him a ‘thank you’ after somehow.

So, you conclude that you should just follow along. It’s fake dating your best friend over another pointless blind date at this point now, after all. “You’re okay with this, right?” You decide to ask in a follow-up, pretending to not know that they’ll agree anyway. Next to you, Jisung’s eyes visibly widen and, seeing it from the corner of your eyes, you quickly elbow him in response before giving your most innocent look to your mom. “I mean, Jisung won’t be studying abroad now and we’re graduating, anyway, so it’s cool, right?”

Judging by their softened reactions, you feel like you could challenge Hyunjin to acting now.

“Of course we’re okay with it!” Your mom answers first, Mrs. Han nodding along happily. “I’m glad that it’s someone I know at least and I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind.”

You hear Jisung gulp nervously at the last comment. If you’re afraid of his mom, he’s afraid of your dad because of the one time he helped you practice for your driver’s license and the two of you almost ended up crashing the Ford on your subdivision’s club house. You allow yourself to relax and laugh at this, making him tighten his grip on your shoulder.

“Me too, sis.” Mrs. Han agrees, gesturing over to her son. “My Jisung here’s been going on dates with strangers online before this so I’m glad he’s finally stopped and settled for your kid! Modern love, huh?”

“Oh my God, mom!” Jisung whines, his free hand coming up to his face in embarrassment. “I’ve told you before, I use them to meet friends! Not in front of Mrs. Y/L/N and Y/N please!”

“Ay, it’s the same thing!” His mom insists to him before turning to Mrs. Hwang and your mom. “Social apps, dating apps, they’re all the same. Why do you even use them if you’re just going to fall in love with the person right in front of you? I taught you better than that, Sungie.”

“Mom!” Jisung hisses, cheeks tinted pink. “This is so embarrassing!”

You snicker next to him, catching his attention. “Your mom’s right, you know. Tsk, dating people from miles away and you just end up confessing to me on FaceTime.”

He scowls at you in a way that scolds you for suddenly turning this situation in your favor. You only smile triumphantly at him which the three aunties take as a really sweet moment.

“Aw, look at them! So cute!” Mrs. Hwang gushes before turning to her two best friends. “Should we just leave them alone now? We’re intruding!”

“Right! It’s especially embarrassing since we’re both here, Mrs. Han.” Your mom agrees, leading the three out now. She then turns to you and Jisung, “I guess we’ll be off now, then? Don’t want to intrude to you two lovebirds anymore!”

You smile up to your mom, making sure Jisung does too. “It’s fine, mom, we’re going back to our table now too, anyway.”

But Mrs. Han waves her hand dismissively at you. “No, no, we’ll run along now first! See you later, okay?”

You and Jisung bid your moms and Mrs. Hwang goodbye, overhearing your mom bragging that she’ll share this new information to Mrs. Park while Mrs. Han and Mrs. Hwang agree before the three completely exited the kitchen.

Once they’re out of earshot, you sigh in relief and elbow Jisung harshly who responds by dramatically taking a step back and massaging his side. “Ow!” He winces, careful not to hit the dessert table. “What was that for?”

“I told you to drop the fake dating thing a while back.” You protest, threatening to hit him with your plate of chocolate slices. “Now I have to have you at home more often. I’ve already had enough of you at campus, here, and when your mom visits at home.”

“Ya, but you played along!”

“That’s because I was put on the spot! And they did mention another blind date from Mrs. Park’s army of nephews.” You explain. “It was between you and another blind date.”

“At least I got you out of another potential blind date, right?” He points out defensively, proceeding to put your hand with the chocolate slices down on the table with caution. “And more effectively now than before, too! So why’d you hit me?”

“Yeah, I know but still, that doesn’t cancel out how you got me out of that.” You frown in disappointment, taking both of your dessert plates now. When he holds his hand up defensively, as if expecting you to throw them to his face, you only roll your eyes and walk past him to the direction of the second kitchen exit. “Now, I have to fake date you for real either until Mrs. Park lays off the blind dates or until I actually date someone.”

Jisung immediately follows you suit, genuinely rubbing the nape of his neck in a bashful way now. “We don’t have to, maybe they’ll forget about it.” But when you give him a pointed look, as if suggesting that what he just said seems unlikely, he ends up suggesting, “Okay, fine, should we break up after Chan’s wedding, then?”

He then glances over at you to see you contemplating and calming yourself down so he instinctively insists on carrying the dessert plates for you, walking a little bit ahead as well and opening the screen door leading back to the backyard.

When you’ve made yourself calm down and think more rationally, you firstly point out, “That’s too far away and wouldn’t that be too scandalous? It’s a big event so it could become gossip.”

Passing the entire length of the backyard now, you receive a few congratulations and questions confirming your relationship from some of your mom’s sorority friends and their husbands, forcing Jisung to hold his thought until you’re not being swarmed again.

“But if we do it before, it’d be too suspicious since we’d only be dating for less than 6 months.” He counters once the adults have left you alone, glancing ahead and seeing your entire table looking at you with quirked up eyebrows and comically intimidating looks. “Remember when my older brother did that as a joke to the aunties and got caught because they only did it for 3 weeks? They smell fear and deceit, Y/N.”

You sigh in defeat, “Let’s just figure it out later.” With that, you reach your table, setting your plates down and asking, “What did we miss?”

Judging by the way they eye you, your mom has probably told Mrs. Kim who’s gone table to table.

“It’s fake, isn’t it?” Ryujin speaks up once you’ve settled back in your seat, making the table break character and laugh. “It can’t be a coincidence since you two were just talking about that a while ago inside!”

“Please be fake.” Seungmin adds, gesturing to you and Jisung. “It’d be more annoying for all of us next year if it’s true.”

You and Jisung, having the same thought and trust for your friends, nod simultaneously at Ryujin’s question, eventually joining in on the laughter.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’d actually try that!” Ryujin cackles, a clear giveaway that she and Yeji were eavesdropping on you and Jisung a while back to a degree.

“To be clear, though, it’s his fault!” You add in between laughs for clarification, pointing to Jisung with your dessert spoon. “He started it!”

“And they were about to get set up on a blind date by Mrs. Park again.” Jisung gestures to you back, completing the thought. “I was being a good Samaritan.”

“Ooh, and what did they say?” Felix asks curiously, one elbow propped up on the table as he listens intently.

Jisung groans in exasperation as he eats his chocolate cake. “We bumped into my mom, Y/N’s mom, and Mrs. Hwang so you can imagine how they reacted.”

“I can imagine, especially our mom.” Hyunjin sighs with his hands carding through his hair in secondhand embarrassment.

“At least now we know where you inherited certain qualities from.” Chan teases, making the younger boy exclaim ‘ya!’ at him.

“This is good, though isn’t it?” Yeji asks curiously over her iced tea. “I mean, Mrs. Park’s wouldn’t set you up on blind dates now.”

“Yeah, but that leaves me as Ms. Park’s only target!” Ryujin moans in frustration. “You know Mrs. Park doesn’t get convinced with dating people online!”

You shake your head at Ryujin’s complaint. “Yeji can fake date you, though.” You point out, much to the girl’s annoyance. “Or ask out that girl from our lab.”

“So, does this mean we’re getting a dramatic break-up at Chan and Miyoung’s wedding?” Hyunjin interjects, having moved from playing with his now long hair to his glass of champagne. “Because if so, then you better tell us now so we won’t get too drunk at the reception until it happens!”

“I honestly want to see that happen too.” Seungmin agrees, the two high-fiving at the thought.

“That’d be interesting, breaking up at weddings.” Minho chuckles along now too. “People usually propose or hook-up so this is new.”

“Hey, no stealing my spotlight on my wedding!” Miyoung complains playfully to you and Jisung this time. “We’re all supposed to have a good time there!”

Chan nods in agreement. “If you break up at our wedding, you’re getting kicked out.”

So you shake your head reassuringly in between eating cupcakes. “We aren’t planning to.”

“You’re going to date for real?” Felix asks teasingly, earning him a glare form you.

“Gross, no.” You and Jisung turn down the thought in chorus.

“Jinx.” Jisung adds, stealing a spoonful of cake from your plate.

“So when are you breaking up?” Chan asks, leading the whole round table to look back to you.

“Whenever, I guess.” You shrug casually, belatedly swatting Jisung’s hand from your plate this time. “Until Mrs. Park gets off my back and Jisung actually stops fucking around on Bumble.”

“I don’t fuck around on Bumble!” Jisung complains over a mouthful of chocolate cake.

“Well, that’s going to take a long time.” Chan dismisses. “At least let us all know so we can schedule faking a whole drama in this group.”

“Anyway, it’ll die down soon, surely.” Jisung assures with a half-shrug. “Also, our parents only meet up constantly during this reunion party. If anything, we just have to fake date in front of our moms since they meet up more often.”

“And Mrs. Hwang.” You point to Hyunjin and Yeji. “Since we all go to brunch once a month.”

At the mention of the monthly brunch, Yeji’s eyes widen. “Does that mean Jisung has to be at our monthly brunch?!”

“Oh, ew!” Hyunjin adds in disgust. “I’ve had enough seeing you at campus already!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?!” Jisung exclaims back in complain. “I doubt I’d get invited to that, we’re supposed to be dating not getting married!”

Jisung turns to you expectantly, sighing in relief when you say, “That seems unlikely, it’s my mom and Mrs. Hwang’s thing, anyway. It’s not the Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner brunch.”

“It better be!” Hyunjin says with crossed arms. “Hopefully our moms don’t get that kind of idea.”

You quietly agree. Having Jisung on your monthly brunch with the Hwangs would just cause so much trouble and cement him in your mom’s good graces—but as your boyfriend, this time.

That’s probably not good.

The party officially ends some time around 3 AM, when most of the parents with elementary school children have gone home hours earlier and, besides the Kims, it’s just your family, the Hwangs, the Hans, Chan, and Miyoung left at the front gates, bidding each other goodnight.

“Thank you for having us again, Mrs. Kim.” You bid Seungmin’s family last since they’re the hosts, bowing politely to Seungmin’s parents before giving Seungmin a high-five.

“See you after break.” Seungmin greets you after your high-five. “Have fun in Japan.”

“And you enjoy your trip to New York.” You reply with an enthusiastic smile. “I do hope your mom reconsiders staying longer so you can spend the New Year there.”

He nods with a sigh, “Yeah, I know. Still, I’ll try my best to convince her.”

Your mom then approaches the two of you, bidding Seungmin and his parents goodnight before taking you away by the arm then turning you towards the direction of Jisung and his family. “Goodnight, Seungmin, Mr. and Mrs. Kim!” She smiles warmly to them before turning to you. “Y/N, aren’t you going to say goodnight to Jisung?”

“I already did.”

“Ah, but go to him anyway! Your dad still has to start the car.”

You groan internally. After a whole night of drinking, singing, and gossiping with her friends, you’d think that she would’ve forgotten about earlier.

Yet you oblige anyway, excusing yourself from your parents and approaching Jisung whose parents are busy having last-minute small talk with Chan and Miyoung, probably endorsing their chain of hotels as early as now for the wedding.

“Hey, ugly.” You greet him casually as you approach, both your parents out of earshot so the old nickname naturally comes out. At this, Jisung immediately turns from scrolling through his phone to looking up at you with wide eyes. “My mom didn’t see us say goodnight a while ago so I’m here.”

“Oh,” He muses, eyes flitting to your mom behind you once. When he sees her glancing expectantly, he turns to you and suggests, “Should we hug?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You sigh, going straight into his extended arms. “‘Night.”

“’Night, baby.” Jisung hums gently, too sleepy now to throw more witty comebacks besides the cheesy pet name that originally got you in trouble tonight. “See you after the break.”

“No, see you on our moms’ next shopping spree.” You correct firmly, pulling away from his warmth before you could accidentally fall asleep on him. “Since we’re ‘dating’ now, you’re morally obligated to attend shopping bag duty now, too.”

This makes Jisung sigh in defeat, “Fine, fair enough. See you on our moms’ next shopping spree, then.” He pauses for a moment then asks, “The day after New Year, right?”

“Yeah.” You confirm with a nod when you catch him pouting, “You started this so don’t pout now.”

“I know, I’m regretting it now.” He rolls his eyes with a scoff, only making you chuckle. “I suppose it’s different when we hang out as friends and when our moms think we’re dating.”

You continue laughing anyway until a thought crosses your mind and softens your gaze up at Jisung. “Anyway, thanks for saving me from another date—I almost forgot. The means is still annoying but I have to appreciate it somehow, right?”

This time, it’s him chuckling, “Now you appreciate my efforts. See, I told you, something good comes up with this.”

“Whatever.” You dismiss before you hear your mom calling for you as your dad pulls up in front of the Kim’s gates. “Okay, that’s me. Bye, ugly!”

“Hm, bye!” With a final wave, Jisung then sees you off before joining his parents who he didn’t even realize have already gone to their car.

Seating himself at the backseat of his mom’s car a moment later, Jisung accidentally glances over to his mom from the rear view mirror only to see her wiggling her eyebrows at him.

“So,” Mrs. Han says. “you and Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Jisung response with a questioning tone. “Me and Y/N, what about it?”

Mrs. Han only shrugs from the driver’s seat as she now drives away from the Kim’s house. “Nothing, you’re just both really cute.” She comments casually with a proud smile. “I like it. Though it is too bad we can’t invite them to dinner since they’re going to Japan for Christmas this year.”

“How about next year?” Jisung’s dad suggests. “We can go on one of our hotels abroad.”

“Ah, but—” Jisung stammers, only to be interrupted by his dad again.

“Or, honey, when you and Mrs. Y/L/N go to the mall again.” Mr. Han quickly quips in to Mrs. Han before turning to their son in the back seat. “I expect you’d stop bailing on your mom when she goes to the mall now since Y/N’s always at these shopping trips.”

At this, Jisung shakes his head, “I won’t. I’m ‘morally obligated’ now, apparently.”

“That’s good.” Mr. Han says, turning back to the road ahead and relaxing into the front passenger seat. “You better.”

Jisung sleepily props his elbow up by the window and sighs, letting his parents enjoy this new prospect of him seriously dating someone now. “Yup.” He ends the conversation, closing his eyes and getting a few minutes of sleep before arriving back home.

Suddenly, this is probably not a good idea—lying to his already hyped parents.

ch. 2 // ch. 3 // series masterlist

tag: @t-toodumbtocare @sandaigdigan-reads @pwarkhans @ruellelix @malai-barfi @mahalau @milkywayfelix @qweens-stuff

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omgrachwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Tell a Tale of You and Me - Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You knew that making a bet with Sirius Black was like making a deal with the devil but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had never been a heavenly woman.

Warnings: mentions of sex, fluff, angst

Words: 2263

Disclaimer: These gifs don’t belong to me!

A/N: I would say that I’m sorry for the angst but I’m not 😂 I hope you guys enjoy this part, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Fifteen

Y/N’s musical laughter filled Sirius’ ears as he pulled her down the corridor in the dead of night, they were using James’ invisibility cloak – with his permission of course – Sirius smiled at the sound of her laugh, it was quickly becoming his favourite sound. They had been seeing each other for a few weeks now and Sirius was so scared that it would end soon so they agreed to take risks together. The couple didn’t want to regret the time that they could have been spending together.

What alarmed Sirius was the fact that he didn’t even feel bad for his brother, even though Sirius was essentially sneaking around with Regulus’ future wife. Sirius had gotten so used to holding her in his arms as the morning light shined through the sheer linen curtains of the boy’s dormitory.

“I can’t believe Remus gave us the key to the Prefect’s bathroom!” she giggled, whispering excitedly into his ear.

“I think that he’s just tired of us having sex in the dormitories all the time,” he chuckled and turned his head to kiss Y/N’s lips. He smiled as he tasted her strawberry lip balm.

Finally, they reached the Prefect’s bathroom without getting into any incidents, well, they had narrowly avoided Peeves who was singing and cackling maniacally to himself. Sirius had to cover Y/N’s mouth to stifle her nervous laughter. Y/N gasped in awe as they stepped into the cathedral sized room and she began taking off her clothes.

Sirius sighed happily as he watched her, she was a vision, beautiful to behold and Sirius would be happy if she walked around naked 24/7. Y/N smirked as she caught his eye and removed her clothes even slower as she raised an eyebrow at him, she didn’t seem the least bit shy, “you’d better get that bath filled, lover boy.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head and licking his bottom lip as he carded a hand through his tangled hair, “but, why would I do that when I can spend my time gazing at you, angel?” he winked and was pleased when Y/N’s cheeks flushed and she rolled her eyes. As Sirius began to fill the huge bath with hot water he made sure to fill it with the multi coloured bubbles that he knew Y/N would simply love to see.

When the bath was half full, Sirius helped Y/N down the slippery steps, “oh what a gentleman!” Y/N cooed jokingly as she rewarded him with a kiss, and she looked him up and down appreciatively, enough to make Sirius flush.

“Only for you my darling,” he smiled and sighed happily as the hot water enveloped him and he watched his girl swim a couple of lengths before she swam up to him, splashing him lightly. He grinned as she settled herself in his lap and kissed him so gently that it was just a whisper of a kiss.

Their love making during the past few weeks had been quick and passionate, like they didn’t have enough time together. However, this time it was different, it was like they had all the time in the world to explore and caress each other’s bodies. It was loving and slow, and perfect, Sirius wished that it could always be like this.

Y/N huffed out a happy sigh as she smiled at him as her fingers trailed across his hollowed cheekbones and over his plump lips, it was like she was trying to remember every inch of his body. One of her hands was in his hair and the other one was running down his neck, soft fingers running over that circular scar on his collarbone. He had received that when his dear mother had decided to use him as an ash tray.

Y/N was gazing at him with such beautiful intensity that it almost made Sirius shy away from her, “Merlin,” she breathed, “you are so breath taking, you’re so beautiful Sirius.”

Sirius shivered and almost gasped at her words, whenever they were together he felt so loved. He hid his blushing face in her neck, kissing the skin he found there, “Y/N, I,” he swallowed, he couldn’t quite articulate what he was trying to say but he didn’t need to.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” she cooed in his ear as she held him close. In that moment, they both knew that words didn’t have to be spoken. No words could ever articulate what they felt.

The following day, Sirius was in Defence against the Dark Arts, nervously fiddling with his fingers as he stood next to James. They would be reviewing the spell needed to get rid of a Boggart and to make things worse, they’d be performing it in front of the whole class. A Boggart would take the form of whatever the victim was afraid of and the spell transformed it into something funny.

Sirius knew what form his Boggart would take – his mother – but now there was a new fear and he was terrified that the Boggart would take that shape instead. He pushed the fear right into the back of his mind and he hoped that it would stay there. Unfortunately, Sirius was the first of his classmates to perform the spell and he stepped up to face his Boggart.

Thankfully – he never thought he would be thankful - the Boggart turned into his mother and as she reached a clawed hand out towards his face, Sirius raised his wand. Before he could utter the spell, his Boggart transformed with a crack. Sirius’ mouth went dry as he fought the urge to cry.

It was a woman, in a gorgeous champagne coloured wedding dress with a snow white veil cascading from her elegantly styled hair. Even though the shape of the woman had her back to him, Sirius knew that it was supposed to be Y/N. The shape was the same height as her and it had the same hair colour. Blood rushed and pounded in his ears, and he forgot why he was there.

The Boggart began stepping backwards in jerky motions, like something from a muggle horror film. Someone – it sounded like James – cleared their throat and he remembered what he was meant to be doing.

“Riddikulus!” he shouted in a shaky voice and the shape suddenly stumbled on its wedding dress before it fell over and the next person stepped forward to tackle their Boggart.

Sirius scurried to the back of the classroom, not daring to look at Y/N. He stood in silence as he watched his friends face their Boggarts with much more grace than Sirius had. He still couldn’t believe that James was scared of mermaids. Sirius tried to ignore all the strange looks that his classmates were giving him but it was easier said than done. Especially when people looked sorry for him.

At the end of the lesson, the Professor gave Sirius a worried look – which he ignored – as she dismissed the class. He managed to quickly escape from the room with his friends before Y/N could corner him. There was deafening silence as the marauders walked down the corridor but out of the corner of his eye, Sirius could see Remus glancing at him every so often.

“So,” Remus started delicately, “that Boggart was wild, I’ve never seen one shift like that before. I’m really sorry Sirius.”

Sirius shrugged as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, “it wasn’t just a Boggart though was it?” he mumbled, he hated to be such a downer but maybe he would feel better when his feelings were all out in the open, “in a few months, she’ll actually be getting married. To my baby brother, and I don’t think that I’ll be able to go,” he was beginning to panic but James and Remus nodded understandingly.

However, Peter’s face twisted and he looked very confused, “but Regulus is your brother! Won’t you regret it if you refuse to go to his wedding?”

Sirius knew that he meant well but it was so hard to hear right now, he scowled over at his friend as they entered The Great Hall, “no. I don’t have to go, not when he’s getting married to the girl I care about, and besides, my mother will be there,” he chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

Though, his words would surely betray him and he’d probably end up going, to support Y/N. No matter how bad it would make him feel, he had promised that he’d be there for her.

—————

All the way through dinner that evening, Sirius refused to look at you, let alone talk to you – it was like you were right back to square one – even though Peter was the only person who separated the two of you. You knew exactly why Sirius refused to interact with you, he didn’t want to see the blatant sympathy in your eyes after what you – and half of your classmates – had witnessed earlier that day.

However, you weren’t going to give him sympathy, for one you knew how much he hated it and second, what he feared was going to come to pass, it wasn’t going to be just an irrational fear of his, it was real. It was going to happen, no matter how much it hurt the two of you. You didn’t want to give him the sympathy he hated, you wanted to give him the affection he craved, you wanted to talk to the beautiful young man.

You wanted to be real with him and tell him how much he meant to you. Until you could tell him all of that you knew that your heart would hurt.

Peter stood up to talk to one of his other friends so you took your chance and held Sirius’ bigger hand under the table, squeezing it gently. Still, he didn’t even grace you with a look but when you glanced at his profile you thought that you saw a flicker of a smile. You grinned to yourself as you played with your food, he was still holding your hand.

About ten minutes later, James kissed Lily goodbye and the boys stood from the table. Sirius slowly let go of your hand and walked right out of the hall without so much as a backwards glance. You sighed sadly as you watched his retreating back and Lily gave you a worried look.

“Is everything okay between you two?” she asked gently as her soft fingers fiddled with the ends of your hair.

You smiled at your best friend as you shook your head, you didn’t want to lie to her, “not really but I’m working on it,” you just hoped that he’d listen.

When you had decided that you had given your lover his space, you swallowed back your nerves as you crossed the common room where he was talking with the boys. They all laughed as they finalised the plans for their latest prank and you took a deep breath as you gathered your courage.

“Sirius, can I please talk to you?” you started and he looked up at you, his pretty grey eyes were wide, he looked like a lost little boy. You were sure that he was going to say no, “it’s important,” you added and he nodded, though a muscle fluttered in his jaw.

“Sure,” he shrugged and led you up to the boy’s dormitory. You perched on the end of his bed, trying to figure out how to start the conversation but before you could even open your mouth, he was talking, “don’t feel sorry for me Y/N, if that’s what this is then I don’t want to know.”

You bit into your bottom lip as you considered his words, “I just want to know why your Boggart changed, I didn’t even know it could do that,” you wrapped your arms around yourself and Sirius rolled his eyes though he didn’t look angry, he just looked scared. He looked so scared.

“Oh, I don’t know Y/N, maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that I’m so scared about you getting married to my brother. Merlin, Y/N!” he snapped and you winced at his words, causing him to sigh and cup your cheek, moving closer to you on the comfortable bed, “no, I’m sorry darling. None of this is your fault. I’m so terrified to lose you because I know it’s only a matter of time. Wherever you go, you’ll always have my heart, forever. But I can never have yours. I never expected to feel this strongly about you” his eyes dropped to his hands.

His words broke your heart and you gently tilted his chin so he could look up at you. There were so many emotions swimming in his eyes, guilt, vulnerability and sadness, “oh sweetheart,” you stroked his hair, “don’t you see? If I hold your heart then you’ll never lose me, I might be getting married to Regulus, but it’s you who I really want. Sirius, I-“you began but trailed off as his face grew angry and he shook his head.

“No, Y/N don’t! Don’t you dare say it,” he huffed, his eyes growing glassy, “please don’t say it. I don’t want to hear you say because I know that I can’t keep you.”

You wished that he would let you say it, you leaned forward to kiss him so passionately that he’d remember it in years to come, he’d remember it when he was grew and old, “okay, I won’t say it. But that will never change how I feel. It’s you Sirius. It will always be you.”

@approved-by-dentists @thefuturelawyer @a-miserable-hufflepunk @firelordmillie @seriouslysiriuss @sleep-i-ness @play-morezeppelin @pregnant-piggy @sleepingalaska @smiithys @blisfvll @rexorangecouny @findzelda @wangmangagavroche @the-moon-and-the-book @hxrgreeves @ghostofstudentspast @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @my-unique-mind @im-an-angel-of-the-lord-you-ass @acciovisio @obsessedwithrandomthings @kashishwrites @fific7 @blackbirddaredevil23 @siriusblackspam

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cheri-translates · 5 years ago

Text

[CN] S2 Gavin and MC’s Main Storyline Meeting (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for the Season 2 main storyline, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

If you don’t know anything about Season 2, do check out this post first!

Chronology: Throbbing Date -> Chapter 1 -> Chapter 2

[Note: I won’t be doing other main storyline translations 😅 I translated this for a future analysis]

[Brief context you need to know prior to Ch 1-9]

Kiro is working as an artiste in MC’s company

MC is a successful producer and a member of Black Swan

Lucien is a neuroscientist, professor in Loveland University, and an advisor in STF for confidential R&D

Anna informs MC that a clip of Kiro announcing he’s an Evolver has appeared in the news and there are rumours of Kiro hurting someone. At present, he’s uncontactable

The STF is going to investigate the matter (they maintain the peace between normal humans and Evolvers), but MC doesn’t want it to blow up

She sneaks into Lucien’s office in STF and tries to persuade him to stop STF from investigating, but he says there’s nothing he can do

After she leaves, she gets spotted by a detective, and she alters his memories with her new Evol

It’s revealed that her Evol only worked on normal humans at first, but she’s been able to use it on weak Evolvers after training it

She overhears two STF officers talking about a new captain on the Special Operations Team, and prepares to plant a tracker on them:

[End of Chapter 1-8]

Before I take a step forward, there’s a sudden tightening on my wrist.

My hands are firmly clasped behind me. Before I can get a proper look at the person’s face, my whole body is pressed against the glass behind me.

[Chapter 1-9]

??: What are you doing here?

A familiar voice enters my ears, reminiscent of wind from the past awakening my memories.

I turn my head, looking at the person behind me in disbelief.

As compared to in high school, his eyebrows have become sharper. Yet, there seems to be more substance in that sharpness.

The brief encounter in front of the school gate, the inadvertent meeting of eyes after class...

Scenes from six years ago flash before my eyes, along with an even more distant time, leaving me slightly lost.

He came back after all.

This reunion after six years catches me off guard.

In the days before this reunion, I frequently thought about it.

As though waiting for the first bloom after the snow melts - slightly restless, and slightly anticipating.

Even though he said it was all right to arrive a little late, from what I see now... neither of us were late.

[Note: She’s making reference to her farewell with Gavin in Ch 37]

The hard, small tracker is in the palm of my hand. My thoughts whirl around in countless circles. In the end, I say the most normal words.

MC: ...Gavin, it’s been a while.

Gavin: What are you doing here?

Without waiting for my response, a soft and faint voice enters my ears.

Gavin: Someone’s coming. You don’t plan to say anything?

MC: ...

Gavin turns his head slightly. He doesn’t loosen his grip. The light remains on me.

To prevent myself from being discovered, I lean backwards against him, using his body to cover my existence.

Vaguely, I seem to hear a soft chuckle. I turn my head to its source.

Gavin maintains a straight face, but his slightly arched eyebrows betray a certain emotion.

Gavin: You still have one last chance.

MC: I’m really just surveying the place.

Warmth from his body travels to my back, like a wordless greeting.

He exerts more pressure, and I turn my head involuntarily.

At this moment, I seem to feel something leaning against my back gently.

A bird flies past the window, and Gavin releases my wrist.

The feeling of being shackled earlier disappears.

MC: No one was even around just now!

His expression is light, and his eyes crinkle upwards for a moment. He immediately turns his head to the side.

Gavin: Come with me.

My earlier shock settles, and I follow behind him as he walks along a corridor.

Away from the hall with passers-by, Gavin and I stand face-to-face near the corridor window. Neither of us speak.

Seeing the face illuminated by the sunlight from the window, I take a light breath and focus my attention on the matters at hand.

Gavin... has been transferred back to Loveland City? Could he be the new Captain of the Special Operations Team?

My line of sight sweeps over his white uniform and the badges on his chest. My speculation becomes more certain.

Considering how much attention this case has gotten, it should be handed over to him.

Gavin: You didn’t finish speaking just now. What exactly are you surveying here?

I regain my senses, trying my best to smile.

MC: I’ve been collecting solved Evol cases for a program recently, so I thought to come to STF and have a first-hand look.

Gavin purses his lip slightly, his gaze on my face. I calmly place my hands behind my back.

MC: I was looking for those two special officers to understand the process of how STF handles cases. I didn’t think I’d meet you here. Since you should be very busy, I shall not be a nuisance...

Gavin: You can be a nuisance. What program is making you go through so much effort? Tell me about it.

Facing Gavin’s straightforward gaze, I can only thicken my skin and continue speaking.

MC: The... name is tentatively “The Ins-and-Outs of STF’s Unknowns”.

Gavin: The name of the program isn’t bad, it sounds ambitious. Let’s talk about it in detail.

MC: ...wait! You’re newly promoted, so go and celebrate. It’s important to meet your subordinates. I can wait for you to be free before taking up your precious time.

I lower my head to avoid his eyes. I decide to rush off, but Gavin blocks my way.

Unable to withdraw my foot in time, I crash into his chest, and hit against the badges painfully.

I rub my cheek, slightly aggrieved, and look up to Gavin.

Seeing this, Gavin simply knits his brows slightly. His eyes are clear, as though waiting for another answer from me.

He doesn’t speak, but quietly gives me one last chance. Faced with such a Gavin, my heart sighs silently.

MC: I’m here because of a matter involving an Evolver artiste working under me.

...perhaps it’s my misperception, but his expression is no longer as cold as it was before.

With that, I meet his eyes, and no longer beat around the bush.

MC: STF’s intervention will only delay the matter. If he’s being used by some Evol organisation... it will just worsen the divide between normal people and Evolvers.

Gavin: After saying so much, what are you trying to say? Persuading me not to investigate?

I shake my head.

MC: No. If it were someone else, I might think of another way to handle the investigation. Seeing that you’re the one in charge of the investigation, I have nothing to worry about now.

Gavin: Why are you so confident?

I’m stunned for a moment. Only when I see his eyebrows furrowed questioningly, do I realise that my entire answer left my lips.

MC: It’s mostly because... I know what kind of a person you are. I don’t need to explain further, and I didn’t think of making an excuse, because lies can never become truths. I believe you’d use your method to find a true ending to this issue. You’ll give me, Kiro, and all the innocent people in this issue a true answer.

I believe every bullet from you resounds in the name of justice.

His amber eyes freeze for a while.

Gavin’s eyes flicker faintly, and looks like he’s about to speak.

The sound of footsteps draw near, and someone calls Gavin’s name from afar.

Gavin watches me, and there’s a change in the look in his eyes. After a while, he lowers his voice.

Gavin: This isn’t a place you should be in.

MC: Got it.

I understand that, at least right now, he wouldn’t probe further on the reason for my appearance in STF.

...after all, given Gavin’s identity and his investigative abilities, he definitely already knows that I’m in Black Swan.

No matter what my attitude was, we have been standing on opposite positions from the start.

MC: Gavin, I...

Gavin: Whether it’s your company, or the other people behind you, don’t interfere in this matter. The STF will handle everything.

Young Special Officer: Captain Gavin, Captain Eli is looking for you...

Gavin: Got it.

Gavin walks towards the special officer who called him. After giving him some instructions, he turns his head to look at me again.

The young special officer nods, then walks to my side.

Young Special Officer: Miss Reporter, the exit is over here.

I stare at Gavin’s retreating form and take a deep breath. I affectionately pat the young special officer’s shoulder.

MC: All right, I’ll leave now.

The miniature tracker hidden in my sleeves sticks to his body. Flushing red, the special officer takes a few steps, completely unaware.

Saying a “sorry” in my heart, I retract my hand and quietly follow behind the special officer.

The bracelet on my wrist dangles along with my action. The thin ginkgo leaf falls quietly against my wrist.

I grip my wrist lightly, my palm overlapping with the place Gavin had clamped earlier.

He didn’t use any force. It isn’t painful at all.

[Chapter 1-10]

The STF training grounds.

Special police: A! Warm! Welcome! To! Our! New! Captain!

Gavin: ...

Seeing Gavin’s expression cracking slightly, Eli desperately suppresses the urge to gloat.

Eli: The famous Special Police Officer B-7. Every new kid here has memorised your deeds back then by heart.

Gavin: When did you have so much nonsense?

Gavin arches his brows. Eli could have sworn that on Gavin’s face is a look of ridicule which he hasn’t seen in a long time.

The inauguration ceremony, which was originally meant to continue for the entire afternoon, ends quickly in ten minutes on Gavin’s request.

The special police officers on the training grounds disperse after looking at each other. The two of them leave the training ground, heading to the Administration Building.

Eli: How is it, are you able to adapt well?

Gavin: Not bad.

Eli: Need me to celebrate with you?

Gavin: No need.

Eli: ...you’re still the same as always.

Eli releases a soft sigh and catches up with Gavin.

Eli: You suddenly transferred to Loveland City - even I was a little surprised. From how you looked just now, it seems you were already prepared for it.

Eli looks at the comrade who once escaped death with him, and only one thought is in his heart-

Whoever is in the Special Operations Team next time is going to suffer.

Eli: Oh right, I have a question.

Gavin hears the hesitance in Eli’s voice. He pauses.

Eli: Why aren’t you willing to announce your identity as the Commander-in-chief of STF?

Gavin: You should know why I returned to Loveland City.

Initially startled, Eli quickly understands the meaning behind Gavin’s words.

Eli: Don’t worry. Since you’re the Captain of the Special Operations Team now, we’ll cooperate with you fully. The mission you’re referring to is still considered “top secret” in STF. There have already been some initial developments, so you can rest assured.

Watching Gavin nod inattentively, Eli suddenly thinks of something very important.

Eli: Also, was the person you met just now...

Gavin: What are the results of the investigation?

Eli freezes for a moment after Gavin cuts him off. He smiles and nods.

Eli: We’ve got them. The report should already be on your desk.

Gavin: Let’s go quickly then.

Seeing Gavin walk towards his office without a turn of his head, Eli sighs in his heart, speeding up his pace to catch up.

There are no traces of the office being used. On the table rests a stack of newly sent documents.

Gavin flips through the documents briefly, pursing his lips.

Gavin: This isn’t everything.

Eli: Should I contact the general advisor of the confidential R&D department?

Gavin: No need. How much we have here represents how much he’s willing to disclose. We’ll find the rest ourselves.

Gavin locks the documents in a drawer. Casting a glance at the window, his lips move slightly.

Gavin: We’ll take action tonight.

Eli: Such a hurry?

Gavin: We can’t?

Eli: We can, but are you hurrying to settle work, or hurrying to settle work to meet someone?

Gavin: I already have.

Eli: I didn’t mention who it was.

Gavin: ...

Eli: What are your thoughts? Do you find the change very large?

Gavin: ...

Seeing that Gavin isn’t speaking, Eli knowingly remains silent.

In the room, there is only the faint sound of the computer running.

The thread of memory is pulled, one end holding that figure disappearing in the opposite direction, and the other gently tugging on his emotions.

Gavin: She has never changed.

Although the morning trip to STF was alarming and dangerous, I managed to confirm one thing.

Since this matter has fallen into Gavin’s hands, there's nothing to worry about on the media level.

But whether he will use this as a chance to keep an eye on Black Swan is a different issue.

I remember Gavin’s resolute attitude, letting out a sigh.

Since I’m a member of Black Swan, he might not be willing to be associated with me...

The sun shines through the gaps of the leaves, bringing with it a melting warmth on every corner of the street.

I narrow my eyes slightly, thinking about that eternal night of the earth - it’s so distant, just like an illusion.

The comet cluster X1917 and the doomsday which really occurred, had brought everything back to seventeen years ago.

In the seventeen years I’ve experienced again, there have been many dramatic changes.

But under the surface of this seemingly balanced society resides the friction and disputes between two groups of people, like a dormant volcano.

Perhaps this peace can be maintained, or perhaps it would explode in the next second...

There’s suddenly an earth-shattering cry behind me.

I turn and see a five or six year old girl crying as her balloon floats in the sky.

In the next second, the balloon which almost disappeared floats back.

The passing teenager grabs the string, bends over, and ties it onto the girl’s wrist. The girl quickly breaks into a smile.

Looking at the two of them waving at each other and going off in opposite directions, I applaud in my hand and sigh softly at the same time.

To maintain such a balance, and also find “that thing” - it’s an immense challenge to me.

...forget it, I’ll take it one step at a time.

I rub my deflated tummy, deciding to resolve the problem of hunger in front of me.

For the sake of completion: MC goes into the convenience store and meets Kiro. He didn’t hurt anyone - the guy slipped and fell on his own LOL

Wondering why MC has a ginkgo bracelet? Fan speculation here. [Update: This question is answered in Chapter 2]

Phone call: here

🌸 MOMENTS 🌸

Gavin’s Post: It’s windy.

MC: The wind today seems colder.

Gavin: Because the next season is coming.

Minor: Bro Gavin, where are you? I’m treating you to a congratulatory meal right now!

Gavin’s Post: It’s windy.

MC: Probably because you’ve returned.

Gavin: Do you think so?

Minor: Bro Gavin, where are you? I’m treating you to a congratulatory meal right now!

Gavin’s Post: It’s windy.

MC: It’s very common for it to be windy in Loveland City during this season. Have you forgotten?

Gavin: I haven’t forgotten anything related to this place.

Minor: Bro Gavin, where are you? I’m treating you to a congratulatory meal right now!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin

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teenwolffanclub-me · 5 years ago

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Season 1, Episode 7: Night School (Part One)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: Okay, so. I’m updating two nights in a row because I couldn’t help but write this. Buckle up. This one’s a lot. It’s probably my favorite episode from the whole season and was super fun to write!

P.S. There’s a kiss. There’s a kiss. Guys, THERES FINALLY A REAL KISS! I hope you’re as excited as I am, otherwise this is kinda awkward...

————————

I pulled the sides of Stiles’ jacket tighter around myself, trying to warm up. He’d practically shoved the thing into my hands when he noticed that I was shivering in just my t-shirt and shorts. The school was kept absolutely freezing at night, apparently.

After locking the door with plyers and deciding that it definitely wouldn’t hold a damn thing back, we ran into the nearest classroom. That’s where we all stood now, Scott and Stiles trying to move a huge desk in front of the door.

They only managed to move it about an inch before it squealed against the tiles. I cringed at the loud noise, my heart falling into my stomach as a feeling of dread washed over me.

“Wait. Stop, stop.” Stiles whispered. “The door’s not gonna keep it out.”

“I know—” Scott started, but Stiles quickly interrupted him, twitching with anxiety.

“It’s your boss.”

“What?” Scott sounded utterly offended by that theory.

“Deaton? The alpha? Your boss.” Stiles pointed an accusatory finger at Scott from across the desk.

“No.” Scott insisted with a shake of his head.

“Yes. A murdering psycho werewolf!” His voice grew harsh at the end, as if it was Scott’s fault. If it were even true.

I’d never met his boss, so I had no idea why Stiles would suspect him of being the alpha. To be honest, I was still ridiculously confused about what was going on at all.

“Why would it be him?” I prodded, crossing my arms in an attempt at containing some of my body heat.

They both sent a quick glance my way, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge my existence. My jaw clenched involuntarily as my chest tightened with frustration. I was so beyond over their stupid looks and stupid secrets.

“It can’t be.” Scott insisted again.

“Oh, come on. He disappears and ten seconds later that thing shows up to toss Derek twenty feet through the air? That’s not convenient timing?” Stiles threw his hands up in disbelief.

I mean, he had a point.

“It’s. Not. Him.” Scott said slowly, agitated that Stiles wouldn’t relent.

“He killed Derek.”

“Guys.” I interrupted, but they continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Derek’s not dead...” Scott began hyperventilating at the thought. “He-he can’t be dead.”

“Blood spurted out of his mouth, okay? That doesn’t exactly qualify as a minor injury. He’s dead. And we’re next.” Stiles rubbed at his forehead, pacing back and forth with worry.

“Guys.” I tried again, my hands tightening into fists at my sides as a surge of anger moved through me.

“Okay! Just. What do we do?”

“Get to my Jeep. We get out of here. You seriously think about quitting your job. Alright? Good?”

“Guys!” Both of their heads whipped in my direction at my outburst, as if just then hearing me for the first time. “One of you tell me what the hell is going on. Right now.”

Stiles scoffed and wagged an angry finger at me. “You shouldn’t be making any demands right now. You are not supposed to be here. I mean, how insane can you be, hanging around the school at night? What the hell were you thinking?”

I just stared at him with a quirked eyebrow, waiting for him to process what he’d said. When he realized a moment later, he dropped his hand back to his side with a grimace.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here now.” Scott shook his head, looking defeated. “Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

“Or let’s focus on answering my questions.” I snapped, not ready to change the subject. “Because, right now, it’s not looking too hot for you guys. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you kidnapped—then lost—Scott’s boss. Had a secret meeting with Derek and summoned the alpha for some god forsaken reason!”

“That’s exactly what we did.” Stiles snarked with a swivel of his head.

I stared at him in stunned silence, my mouth hanging open. They must’ve lost their fucking minds if they thought any of that was a good idea. This is why they needed to keep me in the loop, so I could stop them from doing dumb shit like this.

Suddenly, frantic rattling sounded from behind me. I turned to see Scott trying to pry open one of the windows and rushed to his side. Stiles and I had been too busy fighting to notice him walk over there.

I put a hand on his, stopping him. “They don’t open. The school’s climate controlled.”

“Then we break it.” He chest was heaving up and down quickly as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

“That’ll make too much noise.” Stiles declared, joining us at my other side.

“We’ll run fast. Really fast.” His wide eyes moved from the two of us to the parking lot outside, and he stiffened. “Stiles, what’s wrong with the hood of your Jeep?”

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.” He leaned closer to get a better look despite his dismissive tone.

“It’s bent.” Scott huffed, still staring out the window.

“What? You mean, like, dented?” Stiles jerked forward, pressing his chest into my back harshly.

I stumbled from the force of it, but caught myself on the windowsill before I could actually fall down. As we stood there, way too close together, I tried to ignore how good his body heat felt against me.

“No! I-I mean bent.”

“Well, what the hell happen—”

The window just above our heads shattered without warning, the sound deafeningly loud.

A pair of arms instantly wrapped around my waist and dragged me to the floor. I fell down between Stiles’ legs and felt one of his arms move up to shield our heads from the thousands of tiny glass shards that came twinkling to the tiles around us.

Something boxy and heavy clunked to the floor before sliding a few feet away. One of Stiles’ hands left me to pick up the flashlight he’d dropped. He shakily illuminated whatever had come through the window, breathing erratically against me. My chest swelled with warmth at the way he’d instinctively protected me from the impact, but I didn't have much time to dwell on it.

“That’s my battery.” He fumbled around behind me, trying to get to his feet.

I rose onto my knees, mostly wanting to get out of his way, but part of me found our close proximity a little jarring and needed to create some space between us.

Scott slapped a hand on his shoulder before pulling him back down. “Don’t!”

“We have to move.” He snapped, shaking his arm free.

“He could be right outside.” Scott whispered harshly.

“Uh, I think he is right outside.” I huffed. There was no way that thing flew in here by itself, which meant whoever—or whatever—threw it couldn’t be far.

“Just let me take a look.” He tentatively moved into a crouch and just barely lifted his head high enough to see past the windowsill.

“Nothing?” Stiles asked, his voice light with hope.

Scott shook his head and Stiles immediately sprang to his feet. We quickly followed suit, walking briskly out of the classroom. The guys came up with the bright idea to get Derek’s keys off of his body—which was beyond gross—and take his car. We knew our best bet was to go through the boys locker room, because it has the least amount of windows in the building.

Once there, I quickly realized we’d walked ourselves into one of the furthest locations from an exit. If the alpha was in the school with us, we were pretty much trapped.

I really needed to stop letting them make the plans.

Just before I reached for the doorknob that would take us into the next hall, Scott grabbed my elbow. “Wait. I hear something.”

My breath stilled and I froze. That wasn’t a good sign. There shouldn’t be anyone here this late, including us. We stood there for a few seconds while he tried to figure it out, before his eyes widened and he moved a step away.

“Hide.” His voice quivered with fear as he continued walking backwards.

I turned on my heel, trying to find the closest place to conceal myself. Stiles almost immediately stepped into my path as he did the same and I huffed in annoyance. He was a few inches taller than me and completely blocked my view. We didn’t have time to fumble around, so I gripped his broad shoulders and shoved him into one of the lockers beside me.

Without thinking, I stepped in after him.

I only realized what I’d done once the door closed with a snap. His wide caramel eyes found mine in the low lighting, several intense emotions swirling inside them. My hands slid away from his shoulders until they rested on his heaving chest. It was a tight fit, so there were only about two inches of space between us.

My bottom lip rolled between my teeth as my face exploded with heat. We hadn’t been this close since the almost kiss that I will never be speaking of out loud. His gaze moved down to my mouth and I swallowed, my heart jumping into my throat.

Fear shot down my spine at the sound of slow footsteps outside the locker, all flustered Stiles-related thoughts leaving my mind instantly.

We both held our breath as whoever it was walked right past us. One of his arms snaked around my back before pulling me against him gently. My eyes flickered up to his in question, but his attention was firmly planted on the room outside the locker. I realized with a flutter deep in my stomach that the protective motion had been mostly absentminded.

When the room fell silent I relaxed slightly, thinking we were in the clear, until our locker door was ripped open harshly. I stumbled out a step at the sudden loss of support at my back, Stiles tripping out after me. Scott bolted from his own locker, eyes wide with fear.

After a few seconds of unintelligible yelling, we realized it was just the overnight janitor. I let out a shaky sigh of relief and put a hand on my chest to calm my racing heart. That was so close.

“Wait, wait.” Stiles folded over and rested his hands on his knees as he tried to steady his breathing. “Be quiet!”

“Quiet my ass! What the hell are you trying to do, kill me?” The janitor yelled, clearly angry at our unauthorized presence. “All of you, get the hell out.”

He fisted both Stiles and Scott’s shirts and began pulling them toward the exit.

“Just listen for half a second, okay?” Stiles tried to reason with him, but he was pretty shaken up.

“Not okay! Get the hell out of here right now.” I followed close behind as he shoved them back out into the hallway, chewing on my lip nervously.

This was so not good. Now we’d all end up with detention for the rest of the year, or worse, if we didn’t die first.

“Just give us one second to explain—”

“Shut up and go!” He’d barely finished barking the order before he was violently yanked backwards.

I gasped in shock and took a huge step back, pulling the boys with me. The locker room door slammed shut, and the janitor was thrown against it, blood splattering against the small window all around him. He let out a pained scream and fought against whatever was attacking him.

Scott ran to the door and tried opening it, only to find that it was somehow locked. The janitor continued struggling for a few seconds before being pulled away again, a low growl sounding from the room. Stiles jerked forward and forced Scott away from the door before grabbing me with his free hand and bolting down the hall.

We didn’t stop running until we reached the closest exit, but quickly realized that one of the huge dumpsters outside had been pushed against it. So not only was the alpha a bloodthirsty monster, but it was smart enough to trap us. Awesome.

“I’m not dying here.” Stiles said shakily as we started walking down the hall to find another exit. “I’m not dying at school.”

“We’re not going to die.” Scott tried to reasure, not sounding all that confident himself.

“God, what is it doing? What does it want?” Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation, momentarily blinding me with his flashlight.

“Me! Derek said it’s stronger with a pack.”

“Great.” I scoffed, wrapping my arms tighter around myself as I walked between them. “A psychotic werewolf that’s into teamwork. That’s just beautiful.”

Scott suddenly stopped and looked out one of the windows beside us. His head tilted as he squinted into the night. He took a tentative step forward, as if trying to get a better view, but almost immediately jumped backward.

“What? What is it?” I breathed, a jolt of fear shooting through me at his reaction.

My eyes practically bulged out of my head as I caught sight of the alpha on the roof. It started barreling our way and we took off down the hall, the wall of windows shattering behind us. My heart was pounding painfully in my chest as I ran as fast as humanly possible. The sounds of the monster’s grunting and growling behind us made my stomach churn painfully.

We made our way down a flight of stairs, which took us into the boiler room. I put a hand over my mouth to silence my ragged breathing as we stood with our backs pressed tightly against a wall of lockers. I could still hear the alpha growling from around the corner and pinched my eyes shut tightly.

There was no way we weren’t about to die.

Scott silently gestured for us to move, so we quickly bolted around the corner toward an open area in the room.

“Alright, we have to do something.” Stiles jerked the flashlight in the direction of the growling.

“Like what?” I asked incredulously. What could any of us do? Even Scott, who has werewolf abilities, would be no match for this thing.

“I don’t know. Kill it? Hurt it? Inflict mental anguish on it? Something.” A sound from the other side of the room had Stiles twitching in fear, but he sighed and rubbed a hand down his face when he realized it was only the furnace kicking on.

We all tiptoed back past the lockers, terrified that the alpha could be anywhere. Stiles shined his flashlight across the room, and my anxiety skyrocketed as I realized that the exit was a good fifteen feet away. To make matters worse, another growl echoed through the space, and it sounded close.

Stiles suddenly walked around to my other side and dug one of his hands into the pocket of his jacket that I was still wearing. My eyes followed his movements as he fished out his car keys and held them up, looking determined. He and Scott shared a quick glance before he chucked the keys through a nearby doorway.

Instantly, the alpha charged forward from the shadows, going straight into the closet. The guys rushed toward the door before slamming it shut and dragging a random desk in front of it. I ended up standing on one side of the desk, with Scott and Stiles on the other. It slammed against the discarded cabinets on the other side of the narrow hall when the alpha tried getting out.

Okay, that worked a little too well.

It slammed once, twice, three more times.

Then, nothing.

We all looked at each other in amazed silence. There was no way it was actually stuck. We’d done it? Just like that?

Stiles started leaning over the desk, toward the small window in the closet door, until Scott roughly slapped his shoulder. “What are you doing?!”

“I just want to get a look at it.” He put his hands up defensively.

“Are you crazy?” I whispered, shocked that his first instinct wasn't to run far away. But Stiles was nothing if not curious.

His eyes met mine over the desk. “Look, it’s trapped. Okay? It’s not gonna get out.”

While his confidence was slightly reassuring, I knew in my gut that it was too good to be true. There was no way catching this thing would be that easy. Stiles jumped up onto the desk, landing on his knees easily. He leaned forward, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip in concentration.

“Yeah, that's right.” He muttered, shining the flashlight into the makeshift cage.

“Dude. Shut up!” Scott hissed desperately, still freaking out.

“I’m not scared of this thing.” Stiles insisted with a glare, but frantically scrambled to the floor when a clawed hand slammed against the window.

Yeah. Liar.

“Y/N, get across.” He breathed hastily. “Come on!”

I was about to do just that, one leg already propped up on the desk, when a few ceiling tiles in the closet came tumbling down. I froze, fear licking up my spine, and turned my head slowly to peer inside the small room. The tiles above me started denting, one by one, with every heave of my chest.

It was in the ceiling.

The alpha was in the ceiling.

“Y/N.” Scott pleaded, one hand outstretched toward me. His head was tilted up as he watched the alpha’s path.

Metal and wood groaned above me from it’s added weight as it continued moving at an agonizingly slow pace. I held my breath in anticipation, my body beginning to tremble with terror.

Then, it broke through. I let out a startled scream at the sight of the alpha only a few feet away. It was on my side of the desk, staring right at me. I looked into its glowing red eyes and felt nothing but complete and utter dread.

I was going to die.

My mind could find no other alternative as the beast huffed and growled in place.

“Y/N.” Stiles’ voice quivered from behind me. “You need to get over here. Right now.”

“I don't really think that's an option.” I muttered through clenched teeth, trying to be as still and quiet as possible.

The alpha suddenly sprang forward, a hand clamping down on my shoulder at the same moment. I was pulled across the desk harshly, my feet barely landing on the floor before I was being yanked away. The three of us sprinted down the hall before ducking into a nearby classroom. Scott slammed the door behind us and I tried desperately to catch my breath.

“Oh, thank God.” Stiles huffed from beside me, his tone seeping with relief.

Before I knew what was happening, his hands were cradling either side of my face. He jerked me toward him gently and crashed his lips against mine. I stiffened in shock at the unexpected move and he took a step forward, causing my back to slam into the wall behind me. My eyes fluttered shut when his chest pressed against mine firmly as he closed every possible distance between us.

My body responded with a mind of its own, my lips moving fluidly with his. My fingers came up to wrap around his wrists as his hands slid down to the sides of my neck.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, his skin was gone from mine. I leaned forward, not fully processing that he wasn't kissing me anymore. My eyes popped open and they locked onto his, which were wide with realization.

Holy shit.

Did that just happen?

Heat crawled up my neck. Stiles stammered silently, his eyes twitching. He suddenly walked to Scott’s side who, to be fair, looked equally as speechless about what he had just witnessed. Stiles put a hand around Scott’s head and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

“Th-thank God you’re okay. Both of you. Yeah. Just. Doing the totally normal thing where you kiss your friends after they almost die. Yep.”

“Totally.” Scott quipped, a smirk pulling at the side of his lips.

Before I could even begin to fathom an appropriate response, my phone started ringing loudly in my pocket. I hastily yanked it free and answered it without even looking at the caller I.D. I just needed the noise to stop.

“Y/N, are you busy?” Any other time I would’ve been relieved to hear Allison’s voice, but not right now, while the alpha could be outside waiting to kill us.

“Uh.” I tried to steady my breathing so she wouldn't become suspicious. “Kinda.”

“What are you doing?” She sounded slightly scared herself, and I wondered the same thing.

“Just...what’s up?” Scott and Stiles both glared at me and I put a hand up dismissively.

“Um. Well. You know how I was supposed to see Scott tonight? He never showed. Then I got this strange text from him and now I’m at the school and—”

“You’re at the school?” I tried to keep the panic from my voice, but it was still easily detectable even to my own ears.

“I know, I know. But Lydia and Jackson insisted—”

“They’re here too?” I practically shrieked. This could not be happening.

I knew Scott was listening to the whole thing, because his eyes were growing wider and wider with each of Allison’s responses.

“Wait. Did you say here? Are you at the school too?”

I just shook my head, needing this conversation to speed up exponentially. “Where are you right now?”

“On the first floor.” She said slowly, catching on that something was wrong.

“Where? Where exactly?” I pressed, my voice growing urgent.

“The swimming pools...?” She trailed off, clearly curious about my sudden pushiness.

That wasn't far from here. We could probably make it to her quickly if we all met up somewhere in the middle.

“Get to the lobby. You have to go now.” I tried to keep my voice down, still very aware that the alpha could be right outside the classroom door.

She hesitated for a moment, and I worried she would ask more questions. We did not have time for that. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

We hung up and I let my arm fall down to my side slowly, my attention moving to the crestfallen expression on Scott’s face. I was pretty sure we were all thinking the same thing.

This just got so, so much worse.

Episode 6 Episode 7, Part Two

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leftnotright · 2 years ago

Text

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

CHAPTER 7: ...ICARUS IS FLYING TOWARDS AN EARLY GRAVE

They were going to raid the Vindice. The ghoulish wardens of the Mafia. The boogeymen to Dons and freelance alike.

The Vindice. The very name could stop a man in his tracks.

Reborn should have known they were going into this without a plan.

“Repeat that for me, Ryohei,” Reborn asked, staring at the man who smiled unabashed.

They were standing on the edge of a gravel and dirt road, vineyards all around the rolling hills, ripe with sweet grapes. In the distance, cradled between two crests, Reborn saw a building, a cellar door and bistro, with a handful of tourists wining and dining on the balcony.

“We,” Ryohei said, sounding so excited that Reborn nearly forgot what the man had spouted not moments ago. “Are you going to stage a fight and draw the Vindice to us. Then, when a portal—” Reborn blinked. “Opens up, we just push our way through and bam! Vindice raided!”

Reborn stared at Ryohei, an eyesore target in his sky blue, lime green, and lemon yellow print shirt. Then Reborn shrugged.

They were going to raid the Vindice, a plan would just make them inflexible.

“Very well,” Reborn agreed, and Ryohei stared bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright, an utterly live wire full of energy.

“Extreme! So, hit hard and make it a show! We wanna bring the Vindice before the police!”

Reborn shot him without further prompt.

Ryohei leapt to the side, eyes wide and alert. There had been fire in those bullets.

Far off in the bistro, Reborn could hear the crowd forming, shouting and chaos taking over that cellar door. They had an audience. A direct breach of Omerta.

Ryohei spun around and slammed his fist just short of Reborn’s shoulder, hands hot and alight with yellow and gold. He punched left, right, hard and fast. Reborn ducked and weaved, a fedora-donned blur.

Ryohei stepped forward, Reborn moved to meet him, gunmetal all but at melting point in his hands. Reborn dodged another one of those bone-breaking punches— but didn’t dodge the second, nor the shockwave that erupted from those fists.

Reborn gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the rattle in his chest, through the heat in his nose and throat. Ryohei grinned, utterly exhilarated, raring to go and ready to be alight with fire and Will. Reborn took a breath through his lips and tasted sunlight and wine.

He smelt dirt and rot.

The Vindice had come.

A spot, a portal, made of condensed shadow and night swirled into existence in that summertime vineyard, bountiful grape vines bowed away as if to hide. Chains, one and then two, lashed out and anchored into the soft earth. They pulled taut, links clinked and clanked.

A gust of air cut through the vineyard, cold, wet and laced with the sour stench of weeping wounds and decay.

A pair of hands reached through, clad in gloves, white and dotted in yellow. They clutched at the chains and dragged a body through. A head, then shoulders, covered in tattered and tarnished bandages—

Ryohei shoved his hand in that mummified face, “Scuse me! Pardon me! Extreme raid in progress!”

Reborn gave a sharp laugh of shock before he saw Ryohei turn to look at him. Ryohei stood, one leg already in that writhing mass of darkness, and reached to Reborn, offering his hand, still alight with the last remnants of his Flame.

“Come on!” He urged, grinning with teeth and eyes so bright against the backdrop of the hellish portal.

Reborn reached out and grasped that searing hand, squeezing tight until he could feel every bone under sunkissed skin. Ryohei laughed and hauled Reborn up into the portal.

The ghoul gave a muffled scream into Ryohei’s smothering hand as Ryohei shoved his way through, the two men trampling over that bandaged body and into the halls of the Vindice.

“Sorry!” Ryohei called over their shoulders, and Reborn caught a glance of their doorman miserably rolling onto his belly.

Almost immediately, the two men came to a stop before a large iron and stone door. It looked hefty and solid, far heavier than Reborn could move—

Ryohei barrelled forward without pause, reeled his fist back and in a blaze of gold and sunlight smashed his fist into the door. It gave a boom that resounded through the room, and Reborn felt his eardrums flex under the force. A crack ripped up the centre of that door and Ryohei twisted and swung again, Flames crawling out from between his clenched fingers.

The door gave a great groan before Reborn threw his arms up and covered his face as rocks and gravel showered the entryway. He huffed and dusted himself off.

Ryohei stood in the empty doorway, his hands clenched at his sides with fire and light crawling up his arms. He let out a breath through his teeth, bared in a grin as the last of the dust settled and rocks scattered the floor.

Ryohei took off and Reborn didn’t waste a moment to follow.

Reborn looked around as they ran through the maze of halls almost Roman in structure, tall, looming ceilings and stone pillars that towered so high they almost seemed to curve. It was dark, and damp, and reeked of rot and something he could only describe as centuries of condensed resentment.

Reborn took it all in with lavish and glory.

Reborn had raided the Vindice. Who the fuck did that?

He nearly crashed into Ryohei’s back as they came to a sharp stop, shoes kicking up water from the shallow puddles that pooled between the old bricks on the floor. Reborn looked around Ryohei to see two members of Vindice, floating like wraiths in their way, chains hanging from their hands and writhing like snakes.

“Hi!” Ryohei greeted and Reborn was utterly enthused. “Long time no see! It’s me, Ryohei, good to see you! You guys know where Bermuda is? There’s no, like, signs or anything around.”

Reborn scoffed hard enough to hurt his throat, and then stepped around Ryohei to join him at his side. “Yes, I would recommend a directory or at least plaques on the doors. Does wonders for efficiency.”

Ryohei beamed at Reborn, “See!”

The Vindice continued to look at the two men who stood before them. One turned their head to the ghoul beside them, “Could we—”

“No,” the second said and chains lashed forth.

“I think we’re getting through to them!” Ryohei cheered as they broke apart and dove from those chains.

Reborn shot twice, the thought of holding back not even crossing his mind as the wraiths dashed toward them. He jumped and danced around the chains that snapped at his ankles and snatched at his waist, trying to bind him up and tie him down.

A Vindice reached for Reborn and he spun around, gun out and ready and sent a Sun-laced bullet directly at the wraith’s chest. The ghoul dropped to the wet floor, bandages soaking in the brown, gritty water.

Reborn ran around the body and joined Ryohei as the man ducked and weaved the chains sent at him. Ryohei laughed, grabbed a chain and yanked the Vindice towards him. The wraith grunted as Ryohei’s Flaming fist caught him in the stomach, folding over the man’s arm — it almost looked like the wraith didn’t have bones, just a bundle of bandages shaped as a man.

Reborn raised his pistol and aimed for that top-hat-donned head— He whipped around and shot three times, deflecting the chains that had lashed out towards him.

The Vindice ghoul with soaking bandages lurched toward him, a bullet hole still blazing in his chest.

“Oh yeah! The Vindice are kind of undead!” Ryohei called out over the sound of gunfire and metal clangs.

“Excellent timing, Ryohei,” Reborn hummed, and continued to unload his pistol into his target, staggering them over and over as he backed into Ryohei. “So, what’s the plan? We can’t kill them.”

“Just gotta find Bermuda! Or Jaeger, he works too!” Ryohei answered simply.

“You still haven’t told me who Bermuda is.”

“Who are you to speak his name—” Ryohei slammed his fist into the Vindice’s jaw and sent that bedraggled body careening into a pillar.

“Their Boss! He’s here somewhere, keep going!”

“We’re trying to find the Vindice Boss?” Reborn asked as they took off down the winding halls again, leaving behind their assailants.

“Yeah!” Ryohei nodded and they came to another door, locked shut.

Reborn raised his pistol and shot the lock, fire and Sun making the metal burn red hot and malleable as Ryohei barrelled into the door and bashed it open. The lock went skittering across the floor as the two men continued on their path.

“Stop where you are,” a Vindice rumbled, standing in their path, chains lying on the floor all around.

“You know where Bermuda’s office is!?” Ryohei called out, still running full speed.

“You will not go further—”

“So sorry, very busy, you understand,” Reborn chimed and shot at the ghoul’s head.

Ryohei leapt at the stumbling Vindice and slammed his fist down over their head. They hit the ground and bounced, and Reborn followed as Ryohei continued to rip and tear a path for them through those ominous halls.

“Fuck,” Ryohei cursed as they reached the end of a route.

The wall was tall and solid, heavy with interlocking bricks of solid stone lashed with ancient chisel marks. The structure was reinforced by hefty metal bars and bolts the size of fists. A single brick alone looked like too much for one man to move, let alone break.

Reborn heard the clank of chains behind them.

They were close.

“Dead end,” Reborn frowned, gazing upon that towering wall.

Then Reborn looked to Ryohei beside him. Reborn’s watch told him they had been running for over half an hour. Half an hour of sprinting, fighting and breathing that stagnant, chilled air. Ryohei looked ready for more.

“A dead end,” Reborn said again, “Since when had that stopped you, dear Ryohei?”

Ryohei turned his eyes upon Reborn, and in an instant, Reborn was flush with heat. Those eyes were aglow in the abyss, fire in the dark — like he was a flame incarnate, Ryohei blazed from the inside out. A solar flare wrapped in skin.

Then Ryohei grinned with teeth and cheeks, and like a match to gasoline, his Flames erupted .

“You’re right! Who cares about walls!?”

Ryohei turned to face the imposing wall before them. Reborn could hear the clink and grind of chains from behind.

Ryohei bounced on the balls of his feet, his Flames rushed through his veins, a fire lit in his belly. He reeled his fist back, and with an almighty boom that impossible wall came crashing down.

“Extreme!”

Reborn looked through the dust and debris, and for a moment he was blinded. For a moment, it was as if Ryohei had cracked open the walls of the Vindice and let in the Summer sun.

Then Reborn’s eyes adjusted, and the scene came into focus. That searing light gave way to the figure atop the rubble of the walls of the Vindice, Ryohei alight and brilliant as his Flame lit the halls — and lit the legion of bodies bound in bandages.

“Sasagawa Ryohei,” a man, gnarled and slumped, said slowly.

His voice was gravel and ash. His vocal cords longed for the comfort of grave dirt.

“Hi Jaeger,” Ryohei greeted, “Have you seen Bermuda?”

“You will leave now,” Jaeger said, then turned his head in Reborn’s direction. “You and your fellow.”

Reborn smiled as he dusted himself off and joined Ryohei atop his pedestal of rubble and stone.

“And after we came all this way? You even let us in yourself, so kind with that portal,” Reborn laid his hand on Ryohei’s shoulder and felt his palm burn. “Surely you can afford us a quick audience with your ‘Bermuda .’”

There was a ripple of discontent in that mass of bandage and rot. Reborn grinned further.

“You have no room to speak, boy,” Jaeger rumbled, “You do not even know why you are here. Blindly following.”

Reborn hummed down at the man and moved to rest his elbow on Ryohei’s shoulder, leaning his weight. Ryohei took it without complaint.

“He was going to raid the Vindice. No way was I not coming.”

Ryohei let out a laugh and Jaeger’s shoulders raised in frustration.

“Indeed,” a young, small voice said.

Then the crowd split in a swift motion as all made way — For a child. An infant, no more than maybe three years old, floated through the divide.

“Indeed, you’ve raided the Vindice, a neutral territory dedicated to upholding the law of the Mafia,” the child continued, unhurried as they made their way to the front. “You’ve also broken the sacred vow of Omerta. Two unforgivable transgressions, within minutes of each other.”

Chains rose up from the crowd, tens of them clashing and thrashing and catching the light. Neither Reborn nor Ryohei moved.

“All for what, Ryohei?” The child, Bermuda , asked.

“An Arcobaleno,” Reborn murmured to himself.

He had never seen one in person before.

There was no noise. No telltale sound. No gracious warning.

Just an absolute heat that drenched the room and scorched everyone inside. The puddles of murky water on the floor hissed away with a white noise sizzle, the stone walls creaked and cracked, the metal bars groaned.

Reborn refused to remove his elbow, even as he felt his skin scald. He refused to look away. To miss this man made of sun and fire and glory. The Coming of Apollo in mortal flesh, donned in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. This Apollo, this Ryohei , let his Flames surge until Reborn could taste sunlight and cinder on his tongue.

“For what?” Ryohei repeated, and there was brimstone in his voice. “For what!?”

Reborn felt his collar go damp with sweat. The Vindice did not move.

“For the world as we know it!” Ryohei bellowed. “For the future we have left! For the day my nephew takes his first steps! I am here to see this through , Bermuda!”

Ryohei stormed forward, sandals clapping on the dry stone as he marched towards those Vindice figures. Reborn stood and watched, eyes wide and taking in everything without pause. He couldn’t look away; he couldn’t miss a thing.

“It has been months , Bermuda, and the Machine has not been built!” Ryohei continued, “The Tri-Ni-Sette has not been fixed! What are you doing with it!? With my family’s future!?”

Again, the Vindice was hit with a wave of oppressive heat and that stench of rot was thick in the air. Bermuda stood at the forefront and took the brunt, the pin on his hat began to warp.

“This world will not end!” Ryohei roared, and his Flames were still growing , eating the air and all but clawing at those Flames of Night, burning the ends of those black cloaks and curling those feathered collars. “Not on my watch and I will be watching.”

Ryohei stood straight and his Flames soared high with him. He stood there and like a God of Prophecy and Light, he imposed his Will and branded it into the very walls of the Vindice’s halls.

“The Machine will be built!” Ryohei declared, eye to eye with Bermuda and just an arm’s reach away. “And I will be there to watch it happen! I will carry out my family’s final Will, and I will see it to the end!”

Fuck.

Reborn wanted to kiss him.

Bermuda’s pin plopped onto the stone, melted and mottled.

“Fine,” he said, a short, bitter statement. “It’s more trouble than it’s worth to keep you out.”

Ryohei settled at those words and slowly, like a candle at the end of its wick, those Flames that scorched their air hushed away. He took a step back, sandals scuffing the floor. Then Ryohei grinned, put his hands on his hips, and let out a booming laugh.

“Hell yeah, no way were you keeping me out, not with Reborn here to help!” Ryohei agreed before he looked over his shoulder to look at Reborn. “Right!?”

Reborn walked towards that man, dressed in that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. The debris rocked under his shoes; bits of broken metal cracked as they cooled down. He reached Ryohei's side, and without hesitation, Ryohei threw his arm around Reborn’s shoulders.

Reborn swallowed, his throat parched, his head dizzy. He took a breath and said, “Right.”

“Boss—” Jaeger started, but Bermuda waved him off.

“We weren’t making progress anyway,” he scolded and floated down to scoop up the remnants of his hat’s pin. “You should know, Sasagawa Ryohei, we’ve reached a roadblock. The instructions you gave us are…disorderly, to say the least.”

Ryohei’s smile went tight, his jaw clenched.

Reborn watched from the corner of his eye.

Then Ryohei took a long breath, the kind that swelled in his belly and raised his shoulders. He let it out slowly. Reborn felt every moment of it, pressed so close to that searing side.

“Well,” Ryohei said finally, his grin still in place — even if just as an excuse to bare his teeth at the Vindice. “I know just the dude! We’ll need to convince him though, he’s a stubborn guy.”

Reborn stood straight, bright and eager beside this man of sunlight. Reborn was ready. Wings waxed and set and ready to follow this Sun over the next horizon, for the drama and stakes of their next mission.

They had just successfully raided the Vindice . What could top that? Where would they go next? Pyramids and pagodas? Mountains and canyons, the depths of the Mariana Trench? What high hell and great chaos awaited them—

“Does anyone have Verde’s number? Or address?” Ryohei asked the room. “I think he’s working with a university’s funding right now, but I can’t remember which one.”

Reborn turned his head to face Ryohei, his expression utterly serene.

“Verde?” Reborn repeated, hoping he had heard wrong. Hoping that that little green annoyance of a man hadn’t been mentioned.

“Verde,” Ryohei nodded. Then his face lit up like sun through the clouds, realisation dawning upon him. “Reborn, my man, you know where Verde is, right!?”

Reborn thinned his lips.

“Why would I know where Verde is?” He asked, more than a little petty.

They were only on the tail end of their first adventure, and Ryohei was already talking about bringing in another man! The still dizzy part of Reborn’s mind lingered on the excited gasp of ‘my man’ and the way it made his skin feel like it was on fire.

Ryohei blinked at Reborn with those same eyes so full of unwavering faith and some kind of deep-rooted trust — like Reborn was somehow everything right and sure in Ryohei’s world, a God-given truth.

“You do, don’t you?”

Reborn stared at Ryohei.

“I do,” Reborn relented.

Ryohei beamed, “I knew it.”

Bermuda gave a short scoff and rose up to rest on Jaeger’s shoulder.

“Then I will leave the footwork to you,” he said, then looked to the Vindice. “In the meantime, the rest of you, clean up this mess.”

A Vindice ghoul floated over and landed beside Bermuda and Jaeger.

“Boss, can we talk about plaques on doors?”

Reborn glanced at Ryohei. They grinned.

☀

“Get in,” said a Vindice ghoul.

Ryohei smiled in thanks and walked into the office of Bermuda Von Veckenschtein, Reborn in tow.

Reborn looked around the office. Ancient and weathered, this office did not receive the care and upkeep of a ‘Don’s, but just by its contents, the room could easily rival that of Vongola.

“Hi Bermuda!” Ryohei cheered as he sat himself down on an antique chair.

Reborn sat in the one next to it, not convinced the upholstery wouldn’t give out from underneath him. Nonetheless, he reclined and raised his chin as Bermuda finally looked up, bandaged face riddled with irk.

On his desk sat a damage report. Reborn looked directly at Bermuda and smiled.

Bermuda sighed and pushed away the report.

“So,” Reborn began before either man or ghoul could speak. “I believe it's high time I’m filled in on some of the details, no?”

Reborn crossed one knee over the other and threaded his fingers together, looking between Bermuda and Ryohei. Bermuda frowned at Reborn and said nothing.

“You have no room to speak, boy. You do not even know why you are here. Blindly following.”

Jaeger had said that to his face. Had called Reborn ‘boy’. ‘Little Icarus’ — Reborn was livid. He was in the dark, the fun was burning off — he wanted to bask in the light and seize this circumstance he found himself in.

Reborn knew this was going to be like pulling teeth. He had walked into something much bigger than he could have guessed by following Ryohei. The Vindice barely wanted Ryohei, a key player, here. Reborn would have to fight for his place at the table—

“Sure!”

Reborn blinked. Bermuda's head snapped around.

“Sorry for skipping the details. Kinda got caught up in the rush,” Ryohei said and turned in his seat to see Reborn better. “So, we’re trying to save the world! There’s this thing called the Tri-Ni-Sette System that kind of powers the Earth. Like the gears inside a clock, or something. But it’s falling apart, like a rusty clock! So! I was sent to help the Vindice here make a Machine that’ll help make the world not explode! …Or stop turning. Or something — don’t really know what happens if the Tri-Ni-Sette breaks. Don’t wanna know, you know?”

Bermuda stared at Ryohei.

Reborn smiled.

“Why is the System failing?” Reborn asked, and Bermuda's hands clenched on his desk.

“Oh, so, the fuel being fed to the System was wrong. It was stripping it or something.”

“Fuel,” Reborn urged.

“Sky Flames,” Ryohei answered. “Strong Sky Flames.”

Reborn turned his gaze to Bermuda. The Boss of the Vindice, the Head Warden of the Mafia — condensed down into the form of a child. Drained. Consumed.

“The Arcobaleno.”

Bermuda frowned.

“ Retired Arcobaleno,” he corrected, “The chewed up leftovers of the men we used to be.”

Ryohei smiled thinly at Bermuda, a kind of gentle grief lacing that expression.

“Sky Flames are too light and rough for the System,” Ryohei said.

“Then what's left?” Reborn frowned.

Bermuda sat back in his chair, booster cushions teetering under him.

“The Simone,” he said, “The last of the Earth Flames.”

Reborn raised his eyebrows in interest and Ryohei leant forward. Reborn had never heard of ‘Earth Flames’ before. Yet another secret of the Mafia, hidden deep in the underbelly — which brought about the question: who was Ryohei, and how did he know?

“How have you gone with contacting them?” Ryohei asked, hope laced in his tone. He was privy to the Vindice’s progress now, and he was going to know everything.

Bermuda regarded Ryohei for a moment before reclining in his seat and said, “The Vindice have established a base on Simone Island, and have a dedicated guard protecting the Family.”

The Earth Flames had their own island . And island Reborn had never heard of . He had memorised every lateral line on the map years ago, nearly every naut of sea. And yet here Reborn sat, hearing the new utterance of ‘Simone Island’ like it was common.

Reborn glanced at Ryohei out of the corner of his eye. He could tell just by looking: Ryohei had been to Simone Island before.

Ryohei gave a sigh of relief. “At least we have that.”

Bermuda gave Ryohei a long, annoyed look.

“So, can I see the Machine so far?” He asked.

Bermuda shook his head, “The Machine is at the Simone Base — but rest assured, you will see it once we relocate you. So you can ‘watch’ .”

“Relocate,” Reborn repeated, displeasure thick in his tone.

“Relocate,” Bermuda agreed, seeming pleased to have finally gotten under his skin.

“Relocate?” Ryohei asked, looking between the two men.

“You want to be closely involved in the Machine’s progress? Fine, I will allow it. The Vindice will provide you room and lodging within the Simone Base for the foreseeable future,” Bermuda told him. “It is easier for us if we have all the relevant pieces in the same place.”

Ryohei blinked and tilted his head.

“I have an apartment.”

“Get rid of it,” Bermuda said.

Reborn twitched. He thought of the vase of sunflowers and barley. He thought of the dining table with two chairs. He thought of the bed that smelt like herbs and sunshine. He thought of that window, aglow in the night, that called to him with its warm yellow.

“Sure,” Ryohei nodded. “I can be packed by tomorrow morning.”

“Good.”

☀

Ryohei knelt in front of his closet and shoved away his collection of exactly two pairs of khaki shorts in a cardboard box. Socks, and underwear all suffered the same fate as he rushed about the apartment, stripping it bare.

A vase, two placemats, his favourite mug and an assortment of what Ryohei had decided to be ‘good’ pillowcases were packed. His suitcase sat upright against the wall, two small boxes stacked next to it.

His neighbours had agreed to take on his bulkier items. The bed to the couple fostering a teen. The dining table to the old lady looking for a replacement. They would come to take their share in the morning. Ryohei would leave the door unlocked.

Reborn watched all of this with dark eyes that followed him throughout the room.

Ryohei started taking down his Hawaiian shirts from their hangers, one at a time, and folded them up sloppily.

Reborn spoke.

“So you’re leaving then.”

Ryohei looked at the man sitting on his bed, “Yeah? I mean, I need to be with the Machine.”

Reborn hummed lowly. Reborn didn’t look away. He didn’t want to — To let go of this man and this burning feeling he brought with him. To see this moment fizzle out, to see the sun set on this chapter of his story. Reborn wasn’t ready to see it end before it even truly began —

“An island so well hidden will be difficult to find,” Reborn said.

Ryohei smiled, “I’ll see you there.”

(Happy Birthday Reborn -- 13/10/23)

#fanfiction #khr #leftnotright #ao3 #reborn #sasagawa ryohei #fix it fic #khr rare pair #proof apollo wear hawaiian shirts #katekyo hitman reborn #time travel fic #time travel

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foursideharmony · 4 years ago

Text

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 7)

Summary: The final confrontation with the wicked White Warlock!

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: More Remus being Remus. Violence and threats of violence. Someone slowly being covered in ice.

Word Count: 3,675

Read on AO3: here

“Huh,” Remus said, apparently lost for words (which was unusual in itself). “So now what?”

Janus blinked. “I'm not sure.”

“Which means you are sure, right?” Remus said with a great big wink.

Before Janus could explain for the umpteenth time that it wasn't that simple (and never had been), there came a loud growling sound from nearby, and something huge and brown came crashing out of the brush and charged them. Janus barely managed to dive out of the way of what he quickly realized was an entire bear. Remus, always a big believer in the principle that the best defense is a good offense, dodged it by leaping straight up, and used the momentum of his downward arc to add force to a massive swing of his morningstar. The blow knocked the beast off its feet, and it threw great arcs of snow into the air as it skidded to a stop.

“That was fun!” Remus declared, resting the weapon on his shoulder. “Hey, want me to skin it for you? A nice bearskin rug will keep you warm so you don't have to crawl under a rotting log to hibernate!”

Janus had no time to muse upon how accurately he had predicted Remus's behavior, because a motion at the corner of his eye told him that the bear was not totally out of play yet. It was made of far sterner stuff than the dwarf had been and had only been stunned by the blow, and was now shaking itself awake. But rather than lunging at them again, or even fleeing back into the trees, it hoisted itself into a sitting position, clutched at its head with its paws, and began to whimper.

“Oh, stop it!” Remus said petulantly. “You attacked us, remember? Roman calls me violent, but I would just like to point out that so far, 100% of the creatures from this winter wonderland of his have tried to kill us!”

Much to Janus's surprise (though perhaps it shouldn't have been), the bear pivoted on its rump and said: “I was only protecting Mr. Logan!”

Janus smiled...now this was a situation he could deal with. He stepped forward, made Remus silence himself just to be on the safe side, and said, “Why, we would never harm Logan! We're some of his closest friends, after all!”

Still rubbing its—his—head with one paw, the bear rolled around until it was standing on the other three. “Then sirs, you must be the help he sent for!”

“We are! We got his message! But alas, it seems we were too late to prevent this.” Janus gestured at the crystallized Logan.

“It's not your fault, sir,” said the bear. “I was supposed to protect him from the White Warlock. And now I've got to go back and tell the others what happened.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. But first, why don't you tell...” Janus trailed off, realizing the Remus—still silenced—was jumping up and down behind him and frantically waving his free hand. He released him. “Yes, what is it?”

“I know what this is!” Remus said gleefully. “Roman's gone and recreated the first Narnia book!”

“I never realized you were...into that sort of thing.”

“Are you kidding? With all the descriptions of war and violence and disturbing religious subtext? Not to mention a happy ending where everyone dies! What's not to love?”

“Even after all these years, you still retain the capacity to surprise me, Remus. However, I doubt the same aspects are what holds appeal for your brother, so try not to get too excited.” Janus turned back to the bear. “As I was saying, I think it might be a good idea for you to tell us what happened here. Who did this to Logan?”

“The White Warlock, of course, sir!”

“A warlock instead of a witch?” said Remus. “That's a new one...Roman usually loves fighting witches. He has this one recurring antagonist, the Dra—”

“Yes, Remus, we are all aware of the Dragon Witch.”

“Begging your pardon, sirs, but I think this Roman of yours is the White Warlock. That's the name the others called him back at the Stone Table.”

Remus did a spit-take. He hadn't been drinking anything, of course, but it was hardly beyond his capabilities (or his inclination) to generate something within his mouth entirely for the purpose of spitting it out. It looked like used motor oil. “Roman made himself the bad guy? That's definitely a new one!” He was grinning, but it was a rather fixed grin, and his eyes darted around under a furrowed brow.

“You said you were going back to the others,” Janus said to the bear. “Take us with you.”

Virgil, for once, felt genuinely useful: He had volunteered for the first watch of the night. Hushwing the Owl had shown him a tree he could climb from which he could scan the entire western and southern approach to the hill. It was a clear night and the moon was pretty close to full, and its light turned the snow into a stark bluish canvas against which any sort of moving shadow was plainly visible. Thus, as the ten o'clock hour approached and a large shuffling shape emerged from the trees to the west, Virgil looked not directly at it but at the silhouette it cast on the ground. It was definitely a bear and definitely had riders, one of whom was wearing a bowler hat. Good enough, even with the odd distortion of light and shade that seemed to sit between the forms of the two humans. He made the hooting call Hushwing had taught him which meant “Friendly approaching” and clambered down from his perch in order to go glower at Janus.

The climb took longer than he would have liked in the dark, and by the time he got back to the crown of the hill, the party had already arrived and was being greeted and offered blankets and a bit of warmed-over stew. Stoutpaws had apparently collapsed and fallen asleep right there on the hilltop...as Virgil supposed he would, after an entire day of running. Janus (ugh) was being helped over to the rebuilt campfire. And Logan...

Someone lunged at Virgil. Flight won, as it usually did, and he skittered backward several steps, only to realize that it was Patton he was flinching away from, and Patton was crying. “Shit...sorry...startled...” he mumbled, opening his arms and letting the Moral Side fling himself into them. He was shaking with sobs. “Patton...what happened?”

“R-R-Roman d-did something awful t-to Logan!”

The cluster of Narnians seeing to the arriving group parted. At first, Virgil couldn't tell what he was looking it—the object was translucent and oddly shaped, and moonlight and torchlight played over its surface and through its interior in ways that prevented him from focusing on its edges...until a chance flicker brought the details into clarity.

His head swimming, his thoughts useless, Virgil slipped from Patton's arms and dropped to his knees. He couldn't stop staring at it.

At Logan, frozen in crystal.

A murder . He was looking at a murder.

“Hell of a thing, isn't it?” said a screeching voice behind him. It was the sort of thing that ordinarily would provoke an instant reaction in Virgil (and that voice in particular would give a huge boost to Fight), but he was just too stunned. “As soon as Janus warms up enough that he's not going to drop off into a snake-coma, we'll all sit down and work out what to do about it. I can't wait to tell all of you my idea!”

Something in Virgil's brain finally lurched into motion, but all he could manage was a half-hearted glare back over his shoulder and a mumbled “What are you doing here?”

“Well, la-dee-dah, Panic-Depressive, I didn't know Thomas's Creativity needed permission to visit the Imagination.”

Virgil decided—to the extent that he was capable of deciding anything in the moment—that he could only cope with one atrocity at a time. He brushed Remus off and turned back to Patton. “Are you okay?” Patton shook his head emphatically. “Yeah, okay, dumb question.” In a way, Virgil was grateful for Remus's presence, since severe annoyance was usually a pretty strong barrier between himself and panic. “Let's...just...gather around the fire, so we can get our discussion going the instant De—Janus is up to it.”

They did. Janus sat on a boulder less than a yard from the fire, gazing rather glassily at it. The Narnians had given him a dark woolen cloak, and he had been engaged in an unsettlingly animalistic ritual: alternately spreading the cloth wide like wings, catching heat from the flames, and then wrapping it around himself to absorb the warmth. He glanced up, more or less, as the others approached. “So I assume you've all been made aware of the depths of depravity to which our dear Roman has sunk in his quest for...whatever it is he's questing for these days.”

“Roman's not depraved!” Patton said in a tone that suggested he had expected the accusation. He took his own seat across from Janus. “He's just...I don't know what exactly is going on with him right now, but he's not depraved!”

“Patton...” Virgil said, choosing to remain standing for the time being, “...he turned Logan into stone. There's no way to sugar-coat that.”

“It could have been an accident!”

“Patton...”

“It could have! He made a point of sparing Muricata's tree! I can't square that with the idea of him doing that to one of us on purpose!”

“Pat, listen. This?” Virgil mimicked the Logan-statue's outflung arm. “Is a defensive posture.” He started pacing. “Which means he saw it coming. Which means Roman telegraphed that he was going to do it, which means it was on purpose.”

Patton's eyes started to well up again. “I just wish I knew why,” he said.

“We'll be sure to ask him when he comes here to kill the rest of us in the morning,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Who knows? He might even answer. The more important question is what to do about it. Can we change Logan back?”

“Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! I have an idea!” said Remus, who had been watching the argument between Patton and Virgil with the glee of an obsessive tennis fan. “When he shows up tomorrow to kill us all, I sneak up behind him and clonk him on the head! Once he's knocked out, primary control of the Imagination will automatically pass to me! Then I can make this story go my way, and I guess you can hash out your issues with Roman afterward or whatever.”

There was dead silence for a moment. Then Janus shifted in his cloak. “Let's make that Plan...” He started counting silently on his fingers, and manifested a few more hands to get to the number he wanted. “X. Plan X.”

“Can we make it Plan Triple-X?” Remus said, waggling his eyebrows.

“If we reach that level of desperation, I'm sure we'll be happy to let you do just whatever you want,” said the Dishonest Side. “In the meantime...something less drastic first, perhaps?”

“Logan's original plan,” Virgil said cautiously, “was to let Roman catch sight of you, hoping that it would shock him out of this downward villainy spiral he's stuck in.”

Janus looked taken aback for a split second, almost like a micro-flinch. “Well...” he said after a beat, “...far be it from me to question the soundness of one of Logan's ideas...” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air like an icicle.

Remus lost interest in the conversation and began searching the area for things to put in the fire.

“If it makes you feel any better, Scales, I was against the whole thing,” said Virgil. “But you're here now, and it's not like we have any other ideas.”

“Well, as long as I have your vote of confidence I know we'll do just swimmingly.”

Remus dropped a pine cone on the fire and giggled as it ignited with a series of explosive pops.

“H-hey, guys,” Patton said with a slight quaver. “Stop sniping at each other. This isn't about you two. It's about...well, all of us, really.” He swallowed, and when he continued his voice was stronger, more authoritative. “It's about Roman, and because it's about him it's about our whole family. We have to cooperate. Now then, Janus, if you're skeptical of Logan's plan, why don't you tell us why so we can figure out something else?”

Janus did his very best impression of a deer in headlights for a moment. Then he recovered his composure, cleared his throat, and said “I may have been exaggerating. Am I correct in thinking that the idea is to show Roman his idea of a villain so he presumably stops trying to be one?”

“Something like that,” Virgil mumbled.

Emboldened, Remus stuck a twiggy branch in the fire until it lit up and waved it in the air like a pennant.

“That's hardly a kind view of me,” Janus continued, “but I've heard of worse stratagems. Might I suggest a few...refinements?”

“Guess we can't stop you.”

“Virgil, be nice! We'd love to get your input, Janus.”

“Thank you, Patton. Remus! Pay attention; this concerns you as well.”

Remus, who had been on the point of touching the burning branch to his own hair, tossed it aside and plunked down onto a log, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupping his face. “Fire away, Jay-jay!”

Janus took a medium-long look at the ensorceled Logan, and began.

Dawn came all too early and with it, the bellow of a war horn. Startled awake, the Sides lurched to pull on clothes and scrambled out of the hillside shelter to see what they were up against.

At their previous meeting, Roman had been accompanied by an entourage. This time...he had brought an army. Perhaps five thousand strong, they massed around the foot of the hill, blocking off any retreat except by air...and the presence of Dwarven archers among the ranks ensured that any creature attempting to escape via flight would fail as well. The good Narnians, outnumbered nearly two hundred to one, clustered at the crown of the hill, facing grimly outward and wondering when the charge would come. The Sides stayed near the middle of the group at first, protected and almost entirely screened from view.

Roman, almost too brilliant to look at in his snow-white suit and icy jewels, detached himself from his throng and marched up toward them. “Showtime,” Janus muttered.

“Yesterday,” the self-styled King of Narnia proclaimed, “we issued an ultimatum to this company here assembled. Now we return to hear your decision and respond to it. Do you or do you not swear fealty to the Crown of Narnia?”

The Narnians, per the plan, stood firm and did not speak.

“We asked for your reply!” Roman snarled. “Where are my fellows? Have they abandoned you?”

“No, we haven't!” Patton said. The Narnians stood aside to let him through, followed by Virgil...and Logan. “And we're not surrendering either! You've taken things way too far, Roman, and it is not okay!”

Roman said nothing, staring dumbfounded at Logan. “You seem surprised to see me in my current condition,” said the Logical Side. “Your enchantment wore off after what I have calculated to be two hours, forty-seven minutes, and eleven point three four seconds.”

“That's impossible!” Roman shouted. “The transformation is permanent until counteracted!”

“Perhaps your control over the Imagination is not as absolute as you have heretofore assumed. Patton believes...actually, I will allow him to explain. Patton?”

“It's because you're abandoning your calling, Roman! Thomas doesn't want a wicked Creativity! Hurting your own creations for the sake of a story is one thing, but hurting us? You're turning into something that Thomas would never allow to be in charge of his Imagination!”

“Yeah, and it's really throwing a wrench into my plans!” said Remus, suddenly springing out of the crowd to Roman's shock. “What are you doing , bro? You can't be the evil twin! Because then I have to be the good twin, and I can't go shaving my mustache now! I just got it the way I want it! I don't even know how to be good!”

“You—! What are you all playing at?” Roman said, backing away slightly. He leveled a scandalized finger at Remus. “Working with him ...this is exactly why...but never mind. You will surrender to me—all of you!—or none of these foolish creatures you have befriended will survive the day!”

“I know you don't mean that,” Patton said softly “You didn't even really kill the Dryad's tree yesterday. You want to be the hero, Roman. So be the hero . Take off that crown, put down the wand, and let's talk.”

Roman's face became pensive. He was considering...no, he was listening for something, and then he stepped forward again. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” he said. The wand swished through the air. The other Sides shouted in alarm, but no one turned to stone. Patton, however, wobbled, his feet literally frozen to the ground in a thick coating of ice.

The ice began to creep up his legs.

“Surrender,” Roman hissed. “Swear fealty to your King. Or watch him freeze.”

“Guys...” Virgil said.

Someone began to clap slowly, but the claps were muffled as if by gloves. Which was exactly the case. “Oh, bra-vo, Roman,” said Janus, dropping the Logan illusion. “You're finally doing for yourself. Using your power to take what you want. I couldn't be prouder.”

“You!” Roman gawked, even more appalled than he had been at Remus's presence. Then his face split in a grin of triumph. “Ha! I knew my enchantment hadn't worn off! Now will you yield to me, or stand by while Patton suffers a similar fate?”

“Yes!” Janus said with the merest hint of a hiss. “That's just the way! Show them all what you are capable of when slighted!”

“Shut up!” Roman said, and for the first time, his rapidly twitching expressions lighted on uncertainty . “Your input is not welcome here!”

“Clearly not; why I daresay you've supplanted me and Remus both with your villainy.”

“I said shut up!”

“Roman...” said Patton as the ice slithered up toward his hips, “...why are you doing this?”

“BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO!” Roman wailed. “Because you and Thomas lost all perspective...you invited him to the table...and all I wanted was a simple adventure where I knew who the bad guy was...and then it turned out to be me ! Even the Imagination started pushing me out of the hero role!”

“Pushing you!” Patton repeated. “So you don't want this!”

“And now you're even working with Remus! You'd rather have him on your side than...than...”

Remus made a loud scoffing noise. “Dream on, bro! For your information, I invited myself! They wouldn't have let me stick around if you weren't acting worse than me! Think about that , why don't you!”

“Roman, darling,” said Janus, approaching slowly with his hands up in a gesture of appeasement, “what makes you think anyone has to be the villain?”

“Every story needs a bad guy,” Roman insisted, backing away.

“That's not true,” said Patton, a mite breathlessly as the ice began to squeeze his chest. “What about all those stories where the conflict comes from misunderstanding? I think that's what's happening here. You're not understanding us or we're not understanding you or both.”

“Look, man, I get it,” Virgil offered, though his calm tone was belied by the constant reverberation of the Tempest Tongue. “I know what it feels like to think you have to be the bad guy. This is me, right? But we got over that, and we can get through this too. Take the enchantments off Patton and Logan and let's all figure it out together. You said yourself stories in the Imagination can take on a life of their own. That doesn't mean they're always telling the truth.”

“But, you know,” said Janus, examining his fingertips. “Your choice, Your Majesty.”

Roman looked from Virgil, to Patton (iced up to his neck) to Remus and Janus, to the whole of Narnia around them. His face twisted up into a terrifying snarl and he stalked forward once again. He raised his wand. Virgil put himself between Roman and Patton (not that there was much more that could be done to the Moral Side), but when he was only feet away from them, Roman suddenly flung his crown to the ground with a shrieking sob and brought the wand down on it. And in an instant, the wand was his sword (and always had been, they realized) and the blade struck the large diamond, shattering it into a thousand shards of ice.

Golden mist rose out of the splintered gem, coiling and flowing, and washed over Roman from his feet up. As it went, it dragged a second mist, bluish-silver, out of him as if plucking hairs by the roots. Roman cried out in pain as the power of the White Witch was scrubbed out of him by the power of Aslan. Both mists spun around each other until they reached a height of several yards, at which point there was a soft explosion and they rocketed away from each other. The Witch's power soared off in a northerly direction, while the Lion's made an arc and landed in the woods nearby.

The ice covering Patton fractured away, and he sagged in relief. “Roman...?” he said.

The Prince turned a plaintive look on him before collapsing to the snow.

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #platonic lamp/calm #dlampr #platonic dlampr #narnia #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #villainous roman

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teacupfulofstarshine · 5 years ago

Text

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 8

cw: mild angst, injury mention, vivisection mention, human experimentation mention, boatloads of unethical science

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // read it on ao3!!

wordcount: 7086

“This is a terrible idea,” Thomas says. It is far from the first time he has said this to Virgil, generally speaking. It is also far from the first time he has said this to Virgil regarding this specific situation. This does not deter Virgil in the slightest. Logan looks up at Virgil from where he’s curled on the lab table, newly-human legs tucked up underneath his newly-human butt.

“I would like to learn to walk,” he says. “I think it is a valuable skill to have, even if I do not intend to live on the land for the rest of my life. If I am to return to visit, and -” Logan’s eyes flicker away from Virgil’s face and rest on his shoulder, face heating up. “- and I would very much like to, it would benefit me to be able to masquerade as a human. I find walking essential to this charade.”

“There are plenty of humans who don’t walk,” Virgil says. “Babies can’t walk, and elderly people sometimes can’t walk, and there’s any number of disabilities that might prevent someone from walking. Walking isn’t what makes us human.”

Logan’s eyes meet his, and Virgil fights the blush rising on his cheeks with every fiber of his being. “What is it, then?”

“Walking?”

“No. What is it that makes you human that I do not have?”

“Jesus, Lo, I don’t think ten thousand years of human philosophy has managed to answer that, and you want me to give you an answer now?” Logan tilts his head, confused and adorable, and Virgil is talking before he realizes it, rambling and spilling words out of his mouth like tap water cascading down a sink.

“Being human isn’t about walking like a human or talking like a human or anything like that. Humans are so vast and diverse, and - and it’s like the ocean, you know? All those creatures are so different, with different methods of eating and sleeping and breathing and living and dying, and it’s - it’s not like you can just put one label over them that will encompass the spirit of what makes the sea the sea, or what makes a human a human. It’s - it’s -”

He pushes his fingers through his hair, greasy from two days without a shower. “It’s about your capacity to care . It’s about your ability to look at someone else, anyone else, and acknowledge that they deserve everything you do. They deserve to live, they deserve to love and grow and thrive and be . Being human, it’s - it’s about looking at someone else and knowing that inside them is a person just as complex and mysterious and weird and wild and wonderful as you are, and they’ve got just as much depth and personhood and emotion and life as you do, even though they might be your polar opposite.”

“So being human,” Logan says quietly, “is about being able to recognize your own complexities in another?”

“If you wanna put it like that? Yeah, I guess.”

“I suppose I am more human than I ever realized before, then.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Virgil says, and he takes a step towards Logan. Logan looks up at him, eyes wide and trusting and open, and Virgil holds a hand out. “I don’t think it’s bad at all. I know you’re all scared of us, because of what we could do to you, but - but I hope you can trust that the Doc and I, we - we don’t want to hurt you. We don’t want to let anything happen to you. You deserve security and stability, and if we can help give you that, we will.”

Logan studies him for a moment with bright, critical eyes, and Virgil finds that he’s unconsciously holding his breath. Slowly, cautiously, Logan lifts his hand and places it into Virgil’s, and Virgil smiles, and Logan’s face breaks into a gentle smile, and Virgil has to fight very hard not to lean in and kiss him. (He pretends that he doesn’t see Thomas standing behind Logan, making very obvious mocking heart noises.)

He holds out his other hand for Logan to take, and Logan doesn’t hesitate to place his hand in Virgil’s. They were scaled, before, but now every place a midnight blue scale used to live has, instead, a freckle. Virgil wonders how long it would take to count them all.

(He definitely doesn’t think about laying in bed with Logan, holding him close, breath mingling in the space between their faces, sleepily trailing his index finger over the freckles covering Logan’s entire body, connecting them like constellations. He doesn’t think about trading stories with Logan, sleepily explaining his world’s constellations and heroes and myths as Logan does the same. He doesn’t think about Logan, laying on the bed and looking up at Virgil with the same open trust he’s displaying now as Virgil takes out a paintbrush and lovingly, painstakingly, connects each and every freckle into a beautiful portrait that, even in full glory, could never hope to match or even rival the splendor that is Logan himself, masterpiece untainted.)

(Virgil does not think about any of these things.)

Carefully, he steps backward, holding Logan’s hands and pulling gently so that Logan rises into a standing position. He’s wobbly and unsure, like a newborn fawn, and Virgil quickly shifts so that he’s gripping Logan’s forearms instead of holding his hands. “Whoa, careful!”

“I will never get used to these useless fins,” Logan mutters, glaring at his legs. “They are so unwieldy, and I have to concentrate on moving both of them instead of just one! I do not like it. I have decided.”

Roman snickers from his touch tank, and music rises from Patton’s. “It’s hard for baby humans to learn to walk, too,” Virgil says, ignoring the other mer and focusing on Logan. “Kids fall all the time. It’s not about never falling. It’s about getting back up and trying again. Besides, I’m right here the whole time. You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you fall.”

“I trust you,” Logan says, simply and honest and open, and Virgil feels a little something inside of him shift at such a plain display of trust. “I cannot see you very well, but I trust you.”

“What do you mean, you can’t see me?”

“I find that anything not directly in front of my face is very . . . blurry at the moment. I have lived with this my entire life. I had my electricity to compensate for this in the water, but now I have nothing.”

“So what you’re telling me is you need glasses?”

“What is ‘glasses’?”

“How are we supposed to get him those?” Thomas says. “He can barely walk, and he doesn’t know enough about human culture to pass for one. As far as the government’s concerned, he doesn’t even exist!”

“Yeah, I know that, but he needs to be able to see, Doc.”

“You’re gonna jeopardize his existence for that?”

“Of course not!” Virgil snaps. “I’m just saying, it’s something we have to think about if he’s gonna be spending any sustained amount of time in a human form!” He takes a careful, slow step backwards, then another, then another. Logan mirrors him with an unsteady, slow step forwards, then another, then another.

“I just want you two to be safe,” Thomas sighs.

“I’m not a child,” Virgil mutters rebelliously. Before Thomas can retort, Roman drapes himself over the side of his tank and offers a spine about the length of his forearm to Thomas.

“Do you still want this?”

“Did you fire that at the tank?”

“Nah. I just kinda wiggled it around for a while until it popped out. They get loose and fall out sometimes, it’s not a new thing or anything.” Thomas takes the red-and-white spine and steps to the nearest lab table. He pulls out a scalpel and starts to carefully dissect the spine, looking for the poison inside it.

Virgil turns his focus back to helping Logan. “I know it’s hard,” he says, holding his hands. “The amount of injury small humans sustain when they’re first learning how to walk is truly staggering. Hold on to me, okay? I won’t let you fall too far.”

Logan looks at him with wide eyes. “What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t, Lo. Trust me.”

They practice walking back and forth across the lab floor for almost an hour. Roman makes unhelpful comments from his tank, and Virgil makes rude gestures at him. The gestures are somewhat less effective than normal, because Roman doesn’t understand what “flipping someone off” means, but it makes Virgil feel better, so he keeps doing it. Logan slowly improves as they keep practicing.

“You know what would make you better at this?” Virgil asks. Logan shakes his head. “Being able to see properly.”

“We are not taking the newly-humanoid merman to the optometrist,” Thomas says firmly.

“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do with him? We can’t just let him be on land half blind, Doc!” Virgil protests.

“We can’t just let him get captured by the local cryptid hunter because you drag him into town, either.”

“First of all, I’m the local cryptid hunter, so Logan will be fine. Second of all, he needs to be able to see!” Virgil squeezes Logan’s hands tightly before he can consciously process what he’s doing, as though intending to reassure him. Before he can panic too hard about what he’s just done, Logan squeezes back.

“I appreciate your concern,” Logan says softly. “I think your mentor may be right. It may be too dangerous to bring me into town and expose me to copious amounts of humans. I cannot say that I am not nervous about the idea of being exposed to more of them.”

“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” Virgil says, and immediately he’s swarmed with a surge of guilt. He’s basically been talking about Logan like he’s not even here, like his own opinions on what they do with him doesn’t matter, and God, how shitty does Virgil have to be?

“I know you did not mean to,” Logan says. Virgil barely restrains a wince.

“But I did,” he says. “And I didn’t mean to. I - I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean to make it sound like we were making arbitrary decisions about you like you’re not conscious and opinionated.”

“I am not mad,” Logan says. He looks puzzled that Virgil thinks he is. “I did not think you were maliciously attempting to control me.” He tilts his head adorably. It takes every ounce of self-control Virgil possesses (which isn’t much) not to gently squish his cheeks and kiss him senseless. (He’s not even sure if mermen know what kissing is.)

“Well this is . . . concerning.”

For a split, horrible second, Virgil thinks that Thomas is referring to him and the way he is very obviously ogling over Logan. His mind races to come up with some sort of defense, some explanation, but when he lifts his head he realizes that is not the case. Thomas is frowning at his laptop.

“What is it, Doc?”

“Get Logan somewhere he can sit and come over here. The results are back from the toxins in Logan’s net.” Roman’s entire body bristles like a sea urchin in his tank at the mention of the tank Logan was in; the color drains from Logan’s face and he goes perfectly ramrod-still. His hands are shaking, and Virgil smooths his thumb over Logan’s bandaged knuckles before he can stop himself.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, carefully guiding Logan back to the lab table. He slips an arm under Logan to hoist him up onto the table. Logan curls his hands in the hem of his shirt and very deliberately breathes deeply. “We won’t let you or your pod get hurt.”

Logan still looks terrible, and before Virgil can stop himself, he says, “Do you want a hug?”

“A . . . hug?”

“Yeah, it’s - Christ, how do I - you put your arms around someone and squeeze, it’s a comfort thing, I -”

“I know what a hug is,” Logan interrupts. “I receive them from my dad and brother frequently.” Virgil’s face burns bright with shame. “What I meant was . . . was why?”

Virgil blinks. “Because you’re upset. And that makes me upset, cause I don’t like it when the people I care about are upset. Hugs make people feel less upset.”

“You care about me?” Virgil thinks about how nice it would be if the earth swallowed him whole in this exact moment.

“Yeah. We . . . we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Logan stares at him for a moment, and then his eyes soften and crinkle and he smiles. “Yes,” he says softly. “We are. I think I would like a hug.”

Virgil leans forward, carefully wrapping his arms around Logan’s chest and hugging him close. Logan loops his arms around Virgil’s neck. He’s trembling, and he smells like fish and saltwater and seaweed. Virgil’s smelled some variation of this combination for the past several years, being a marine biologist and all that, and he’s largely desensitized to the way the ocean smells. But there’s some sort of undercurrent to the way Logan smells - something raw and fresh and dangerous and almost electric, the way the air smells right before a thunderstorm.

Logan pats his shoulder gently and starts to lean back, and Virgil gives him one more gentle squeeze before leaning away. He doesn’t want to be weird about it, after all.

“Thank you,” Logan says. Virgil takes his hand and squeezes it.

“Yeah, Lo. Of course.”

Roman reaches to gently squeeze Logan’s ankle, and a large, clawed hand comes up out of Patton’s tank and gently holds Logan’s hand. Virgil hurries over to Thomas and peers at the screen. “What did the results say?”

Thomas frowns. “It’s not good. We were right, it was a neurotoxin, but there’s something wrong with it.”

“Yeah, it was in a net that injured and almost killed someone.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s derived from natural sources, but this toxin, it’s - it’s just . . .” Thomas pushes a hand through his hair. “It has genetic markers for multiple species of aquatic life. I picked out jellyfish and pufferfish DNA, specifically.”

“Fucking yikes.”

“Oh, it gets worse. There’s no way this DNA could have come from a genetically stable or viable hybrid. It’s like . . . it’s like someone took the genetic sequences for the deadliest, most dangerous marine toxins they could isolate and crammed them all together to make some kind of - of - of super poison or something. They weren’t trying to make a new life-form. They just wanted to create the most toxic thing they could, and I think they succeeded. It’s a miracle this net didn’t kill Logan outright.”

Roman makes a loud, angry noise from his tank; a melodic snarl rises from Patton’s; Logan shudders and curls his free arm tightly around himself. Virgil’s blood runs cold at the thought. “What would it take to do something like that, Doc?”

“Whoever this was did a pretty crude job of it,” Thomas sighs. “All the splicing is haphazard, and it’s honestly a miracle they managed to make this stable enough to do damage to any organism.”

“Still, the fact they made this . . . who knows what else they may have done?” Virgil asks.

“I don’t know.” Thomas drags his hand down his face, and he looks older than Virgil’s ever seen him. “This - this is the most unethical application of science I’ve seen in a long time. I hate to think about what else this person might be doing.”

“What about Roman’s spine?” Virgil asks. “Any results there?”

Thomas nods. “Yeah. Whatever’s in his spines is far less lethal than the hybrid shit in that net. It’s more focused on paralysis and incapacitation.”

“Well, yeah, I could have told you that,” Roman huffs crossly. “I use it to stun prey so that I can catch and kill it more easily. That’s what it’s for .”

Thomas is still frowning worriedly at the spine. “Doc, what’s wrong?”

“Roman’s poison . . . based on my analysis, in the hands of someone who can use CRISPR technology, it could be altered to produce far more devastating effects. If whoever set this net gets their hands on Roman, the experiments they run could prove disastrous.”

“Roman getting captured at all would be disastrous,” Virgil says. He dimly notices that Roman looks shocked to see Virgil defend him. “We can’t let anyone else know about these three. They belong in the ocean, and anyone else would try and keep them prisoner on land.” Virgil’s heart wrenches at that; he’s been ignoring that Logan will eventually have to leave, and he’s not about to start thinking about it now.

“I want to run more tests on the net that Logan got tangled in,” Thomas says. “If we can break down the technology of the barbs, we may be able to trace the origins of the net.”

“What would we do when we found those origins?” Virgil asks. Thomas exhales.

“I don’t know exactly. I just . . . we’d have to do something. We can’t do nothing. That’s not an option.”

“I agree,” Virgil says. Thomas smiles, and Virgil feels pride bubble up in his throat.

“I want to compare the net toxin to Roman’s, too. Maybe comparative analysis will help me learn something about both of them.”

“Again, you could just ask me,” Roman grouses.

“I probably will, once I develop a detailed questionnaire,” Thomas says. “But there’s also examinations and comparisons that we can make at the molecular level that we can’t get from just talking to you.”

“What in the name of the Seven Mother Goddesses is a molecular?” Roman says. Logan turns to him, eyes wide and curious, and the tip of Patton’s head pokes up from his tank. He has their undivided attention.

Virgil never thought he would be trying to teach sixth-grade biology to a trio of mermen, one of whom he’s extremely gay for and another one who’s older than human civilization, but here he is. What the fuck is his life, anyway?

*~*~*~*

“See to it that this chamber is thoroughly cleaned and sterilized in time for my next experiment. And be sure to inform the crew that I want the excess waste disposed of discreetly this time, or they will find that they have been disposed of discreetly.”

The secretary nods, obediently sending the orders as she peels off the blood-stained rubber gloves and tosses them into the biohazard waste receptacle. “Was the experiment a success, ma’am?”

“If by success, you mean did the poison have the effect I intended, no. However, I believe I have isolated the patch of incorrect genetic code, which means that I will be able to improve the efficacy for next time. I doubt I would have found that on my own, so in that sense, yes. It was a success.”

The secretary notes this on her tablet. “Tell me, what is the status of our acquisition of the human subjects?”

“Approximately 79% of the specimens you request have been corralled and sedated. They await testing in Chamber C whenever you are ready, ma’am.”

“And the rest?”

“Being gathered as we speak, from the usual sources.” She nods, washing her hands and switching her anti-slip laboratory shoes for her characteristic red heels. “I have an alert set to ping when the shipment comes in. I will alert you at once.”

“Excellent.” She steps out of the lab. Her heels click satisfyingly on the floor, and she tilts her head up. “Walk with me. Run through the list of current projects and update me on the status.”

“At once, ma’am. Which one shall I begin with?”

“Tests of the aerosol form of the net toxin. How have the lab rats fared?”

“Only a 50% mortality rate, but that is higher than we had initially predicted.” She hums noncommittally, and the secretary continues, pulling up the file on her tablet. She continues to talk about the status of the aerosol experiment until they reach the private office, laid with marble.

She walks over to the windows overlooking the ocean, hands clasped behind her back. “What of the fleet of drones? Have they discovered anything yet?”

The secretary swipes a few pages on her screen. “Not yet, ma’am. A whole fleet was dispatched to cover the quadrant where net 17-C was located, as well as the surrounding areas in case our calculations were off. A team is monitoring the feedback round the clock, and they will alert me with the most urgent priority if they find something.”

“Excellent.” She stares out the window, lost in thought, and the secretary gathers what little courage she has.

“Ma’am, if - if I may ask a question?”

“You already have.” The secretary’s blood runs like ice, but she merely laughs. “Continue.”

“Why are you so invested in relocating this net? You seem so adamant that you’ve caught something valuable, but why not set another net and attempt to catch another?”

She is silent for a long time. The secretary swallows. “I - I did not mean to offend, ma’am -”

“Silence.” She falls silent instantly. “Have I ever told you why it was here that I set up my facility? Why it could not possibly have been anywhere else in the world?”

“No, ma’am.”

“My family,” she says, “used to vacation at the beaches around here. I loved the beach when I was small. I loved collecting creatures from the tide pools and seeing how they worked. One day, I saw the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life. It was a merman, with a beautiful red and white tail and spines everywhere. He was sunning himself on the beach in the early morning.”

The secretary’s eyes widen. “I had to have him. I tried to get him to come with me, to get him to tell me how he worked, to get some of his spines, but it failed.” She rolls up the sleeve of her blazer and shows the secretary two perfect half-moons of faint, raised white scars on her arm. Bite marks.

“That monster bit me and disappeared into the sea. I never saw him again. How dare he?!” She yanks her sleeve down and covers her arm again, snarling. “But it’s alright! It’s fine. I will find that traitorous merman again, and it will be my pleasure to exact revenge on him. I will vivisect him slowly and painfully and I will finally gain the knowledge which has been denied to me for so many years.”

Privately, the secretary is suspicious of this plan. She isn’t sure if she believes the story about the merman, but the evidence of scars is difficult to refute. Still, she knows it’s not wise to disagree with her publicly (or even privately), so instead, she says, “That makes sense, ma’am.”

“I hate not knowing things,” she seethes. “Knowledge is the epitome of human power. I will gain as much knowledge as I can, and then I will have the greatest weapon and the greatest shield in all of human history. I will not let some fish keep me from knowing all there is to know.”

The secretary wonders how long this train of thought is going to keep up, and then the tablet in her arms begins to shriek. She begins swiping at the screen, frantically sifting through the sudden influx of error messages.

“What is it?”

“Reports from the lab - the drone monitoring squad, they - one of the drones caught something on camera -”

She whirls around, and the secretary startles and nearly drops her tablet. “Take us there at once!”

“Yes, ma’am!” The elevator ride down to the monitoring room is tense. She can’t seem to stand still, tapping her feet and her fingers and all but vibrating with energy. The secretary bites her lower lip and sifts through the reports, trying to figure out what exactly is happening.

She sprints down the corridor, the secretary hurrying behind her, and throws open the door to the monitoring room. Everyone in it jumps, and before she can say anything one of them throws an image up onto the wall of screens.

It shows what looks like a young man, frowning at the feed, before swinging the lower half of his body up and around to reveal a gorgeous red-and-white-patterned tail, covered in long, sharp spines. He brings his tail down in a graceful, vicious motion, and the spines jettison from his tail and pierce through the camera lens. The feed glitches, staticky, and then cuts out.

SIGNAL FAILED flashes across the screen in bright red letters.

She rests her hands on the nearest table, ducking her head down. Her shoulders begin to shake, and the secretary sees every single person in the room swallow in unison. They’re all terrified, and she is too. Every person in this room is about to get fired or mysteriously vanish or both.

Without warning, she throws her head back, and - and she’s -

Laughing?

Wild, raucous laughter, bordering on a shriek, bordering on hysteria, the kind of laughter you’d expect to hear from a portrayal of someone who’s criminally insane in a movie. The secretary holds her breath.

“I knew it!” she shrieks, slamming a hand down on the table. Everyone in the room flinches. “This is proof that there are mermen in this ocean, and I will have him if it kills me!”

She whirls around to face the secretary, eyes wide and wild and slightly unhinged. “I want at least two more fleets of stealth drones dispatched to those coordinates. Get me as much information as you can. And you!” She points at a random technician. “Isolate the footage of that mer and send it to my office immediately. I want to review it personally.”

“At - at once, ma’am!” the technician gulps.

She sweeps out of the lab, dictating to the secretary the whole time. The secretary sends up a whispered prayer to whatever gods intervened to keep them all alive another day and hurries after her.

*~*~*~*~*

Patton has never seen the appeal of a mate.

He is ancient. He has outlived almost every creature he has ever met. He can dimly remember being a guppy, frolicking about the ocean with the other elder mer, spying on the beginnings of human civilizations when they began to rise. Humans have always congregated around the water, he thinks, and he has seen many stages of human life.

He has watched humans celebrate the birth of their young at the water. He has watched them come of age, watched them marry, watched them travel, watched them grow their families. He has watched their burial rites, and he has guided many humans safely to the seafloor and given them a final resting place. He has offered many a prayer to the Seven Mother Goddesses for a happy union, asked many a flying fish to guide a human soul safely to the Upper Ocean.

He has seen pods grow and fight and dwindle and die. He has watched many, many eons of life in the ocean. Never once has he wanted to participate in the creation of more life. He does not want a mate; he has never had the desire for that kind of relationship.

Patton knows that mates are important to some, but they are not important to him. He does not need a mate the way he needs water in his gills. His pod is very small, and he has no mate, but he is satisfied with his existence thus far. Roman and Logan may not have come from a mate, but they are no less his.

Patton may not want a mate, but he also knows what mer are like when they want mates. He hears the way Logan and the smaller human - Virgil - speak to each other. He can sense the growing affection in Logan’s voice when he tells him what he and Virgil have done that day and defends Virgil from Roman’s criticisms and shyly tells Patton that he wants to return when he is fully healed.

The human concept of mates is different from the mer concept. Patton knows this much. He does not know very much about human mating rituals.

Based on what he does know, he would say that Virgil and Logan share similar tendencies.

Patton does not particularly care about this fact. He had been quietly accepting that Logan was lost to him forever, that he would never see his guppy again, but this human rescued him. He kept Logan safe, tended his injuries and fed him and sought out Patton and Roman to bring them to Logan. He had stood in front of Patton and sworn that he would return Logan to the ocean once he was healed. Patton knows that he terrifies most humans, but this one had not flinched. His voice had been firm and strong, and he had sworn that Logan would not be a prisoner.

There are worse humans Logan could want to mate with, Patton supposes.

Roman sinks below the water of their shared small ocean and grumbles to himself. “The stupid human is making gross faces at Logan,” he huffs.

“What kind of faces?”

“Gross ones, Dad! He’s like, staring at him with this stupid look and his face keeps going all weird and pink and - ” Roman’s tail bristles with indignation. Patton gently smooths a large hand down his tail, flattening the spines and soothing Roman. He trills, gently, and Roman responds in kind.

“I suspect he would like to be Logan’s mate.”

“WHAT?!” Roman shrieks.

“It is not nearly as bad as all that, guppy. Logan wants to be his mate, too. Surely you can see it?”

“Of course I can see it, but - but what does Logan know about mates? Or humans, for that matter?! This is a bad idea, Dad, we have to talk him out of it!”

“Why? Does Logan not seem happy?”

“I - that’s not the point!”

“I asked you a question, guppy.”

Roman’s gills flare out. “Yeah, Dad. Lo seems really happy.”

“Do you not want him to be happy?”

“I don’t want him to leave us.” Roman curls in on himself, and he looks small in a way that Patton has not seen for centuries.

“Oh, guppy.” Gently, Patton reaches out and traces one finger along the band of light blue scales wrapped around Roman’s upper arm. “Logan loves us. If he had taken a mer for a mate, would you have the same reaction?"

“No, because that mer would just join our pod and it would be fine! But - but what if he decides he doesn’t love us anymore and leaves us for the humans?! ”

“Logan would not do that. He is our podmate, Roman. Even if he wishes to take Virgil as his mate, that cannot change the bonds that we have with him. Logan is not going anywhere.”

“How are you so sure about this?”

“I have lived many, many centuries,” Patton says, leaning in to gently nuzzle Roman’s hair. “I have seen many matings, human and mer. I have watched their lives play out. I know that the taking of a mate does not necessarily mean the separation from one’s pod. However, if the pod is unnecessarily hostile to the mate, someone may feel the need to choose between their mate and their pod.”

Roman bristles again. “Am - am I driving Logan away?”

“No, Roman, ” Patton soothes. “ But if you continue to be angry and disparage Logan’s feelings, he may take offense. I am not saying that you must become best friends with Virgil overnight. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about what is to happen, hmm?”

“I only promise to try,” Roman huffs.

“That is all I can ask.” Patton shifts to coil his large tail around Roman, who lets out a soft chirp and snuggles into Patton’s chest. “I love you, guppy.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

They doze together for a while until Roman stirs. “One of the humans is here. Not Virgil, the other one - Thomas, I think.” He shifts and swims up, poking his head and torso out of the water. Patton yawns and rises up as well, letting one of the fins on the side of his head breach the water’s surface so that he can hear what is going on.

“Do you need to go and hunt again?” Thomas asks. “Logan’s getting hungry, and I can go get some of the fish we have in the fridge, but if you all need to hunt anyway you might as well go, y’know?”

“How would we bring the fish back to Logan?” Roman asks. Patton notices that while his tone is cool, he is no longer being outright rude.

“I have a woven bag that we use for diving sometimes. You could load that up with fish. Or, if you want, I can drive the boat out and anchor it in the ocean, and you can just dump your catches on the deck so we can bring it back to Logan. Your call.”

“I will consult my father,” Roman says, dropping back under the water. Patton lets his tail arch up out of the water as a sort of “hello I was listening” to Thomas as he pulls his head back down.

“What do you think?” he asks Roman.

“I don’t like the idea of that human following us around,” Roman says. “But I’m not the pod leader, so it’s not my call.”

“Ask him if this ‘boat’ is the thing he was riding on when we first met him,” Patton says. Roman swims up to the surface and drops back down.

“He says it is.”

“Ask him which holds more fish.”

Roman pops up again. “The boat, he says. He also says that we could fill the bag with fish, empty it on the boat, and then bring it back down to fill it with fish again.”

“I like that idea. Tell him we accept his help.” Roman looks disgruntled, but he still swims up to tell Thomas what Patton has said.

When Patton lifts his head out of the water, he brings the water with him, wrapping it around his head and neck. The gills along his ribcage flare out angrily when he pulls himself up out of the water, but he ignores it in favor of looking at Logan. His guppy smiles and reaches out to touch his fins gently.

“Have a plentiful hunt,” Logan says. “Be safe, Dad.”

“Of course, guppy,” Patton says.

“The cart is right next to your tank, Patton,” Virgil says. Patton lets out a low, rumbling click and locates the small ocean, carefully lowering his body into it. His gills flare out happily as he submerges in the water, and once the majority of his body is underwater his tail slithers in and curls on top of him.

The small ocean moves with jerky, hesitant lurches. It is very uncomfortable inside there, and Patton is curled up on top of himself like an eel. He dislikes being in the small ocean for extended periods of time, but if it lets him move freely between the ocean at large and the place where his guppy is, he can tolerate it.

Once the cart stops moving, Patton feels hands on his tail. They lift him up and over the edge of the small ocean, carefully lowering him down into the real ocean surging up into the grotto. The process continues for a few minutes until hands grip beneath his arms, lifting him up. Patton wraps his gills in water as Virgil lifts him up, groaning under the strain. He all but throws Patton into the water, and Patton inhales sharply as the cool water of the ocean flows around him.

“Sorry!” he faintly hears Virgil call. Patton lifts one hand up and waves at him, hopefully conveying that he is not mad and unharmed.

He swims about in the grotto for a little bit until Roman enters the water with a tremendous splash. “Thomas says that he is going to get the boat,” Roman reports. “He will meet us on the open ocean and give us the fish bag.”

Patton lets Roman lead him out through the little tunnel. He can feel the change in his gills when they swim into open water, and he gleefully pushes forward into a spiral as he lets himself lengthen. Even at his smallest, he is far too big for any of the small oceans the humans attempt to keep him in. He relishes this chance to stretch his fins.

Roman swirls around him, flaring and flattening his spines in joy. Patton carefully sends a few clicks towards the surface as they swim further out, sensing for Thomas’s boat. He feels Roman swish forward and sees him swim close, dragging a large impaled fish behind him.

“First catch!”

Patton carefully tears off one of the choicest pieces of the fish and darts down to the sea floor, digging a small hole in the sand and laying the fish inside. He and Roman make short work of what’s left, and Patton lays the skeleton into the hole as well, covering it back up.

“O Seven Mother Goddesses,” he intones. “Accept this offering and bless our hunt today.” Roman repeats the blessing, pressing one hand against the covered hole, and then they swim off into the ocean.

When Thomas drops anchor, Patton and Roman swim up to greet him. Patton rises up in a column of water, leaving his larger set of gills submerged in the ocean as he watches Thomas. “Here’s the bag,” Thomas says, handing something to Roman.

“What will you do while we hunt?” Roman asks.

Thomas picks up some human thing. “I’m running tests on water samples.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’ll be plenty busy while you hunt, and I won’t leave this spot, so you can come and drop off fish whenever you fill up the bag. Are you going to bring all the fish you catch back to the boat?”

“No,” Roman says. “We usually eat a few while we’re hunting. Dad eats a lot more than us, so he usually eats a lot during the hunt and then he eats with us, too.”

Thomas nods. “I’ll let you know when the boat reaches capacity, and then we can head back to Virgil and Logan. Sound good?”

Patton nods when Roman looks to him for confirmation. “Fine.” Roman dives below the waves and Patton sinks down with him. Roman is busy attaching the bag around his torso, making sure that it won’t get in the way of his spines when he hunts.

“Go ahead and catch something to eat, Dad. I’ll fill the bag for Logan and take it up to the boat, okay?”

“Once I eat, I will help you,” Patton protests. Roman smiles.

“Take your time, Dad. I’m a good hunter - you trained me, remember?”

Patton smiles fondly. He does remember a tiny Roman, no bigger than his palm at his preferred size, valiantly attempting to chase down and kill prey much bigger than he was. It’s a favorite memory.

Roman swims off, and Patton sends out exploratory clicks. He locates a school of fish and carefully approaches them, drawing in more and more water as he gathers his strength. Patton carefully coils his tail below him and releases a loud, deafening click. It’s like the normal clicks he uses to see things in the water, but magnified.

The school of fish scatters, but he manages to stun a solid two thirds of them. They begin to sink, and Patton happily zips back and forth through the school, scooping the little bodies up and crunching on them. Despite the sacrifice he made to the Seven Mother Goddesses, Patton is ancient enough that bones don’t bother him when he eats, especially not for fish so small.

Patton finds and stuns a few more schools, as well as some larger fish which he brings back to the boat. Thomas seems stunned by the sheer volume of fish he and Roman are collecting, and Patton suspects that the human will have questions about their hunting practices when they return to Logan. He should probably prepare Roman for those questions on the way back, he thinks.

He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice when a fish gets close to him. That puzzles Patton; most fish avoid him, knowing that they are in the presence of an apex predator. Still, he thinks, food is food. He sends out one of his stunners, but the fish is unaffected.

That makes his scales itch in a strange way. He tries again, a little louder. The force of the sound knocks the strange fish back a little, but it just keeps approaching. Patton quickly dives below it and emits a low, rumbling distress call to Roman. Whatever this thing is, he wants his guppy close before they deal with it.

Roman speeds to his side, and Patton points up to the strange fish. “It doesn’t look like a real fish,” Roman murmurs. “No fish I’ve ever seen, anyway. I don’t like it, Dad. I’m gonna go stab it.”

“Be careful,” Patton pleads. “I already have one injured guppy.” Roman nuzzles his face into Patton’s neck for a moment before bending his arms so that the spines on his joints sharpen and stand at attention.

Patton watches with apprehension as Roman swims up and quickly gets in front of the strange fish. He brings his tail up, spines stiffening, and throws it forward. A few spines jettison out and pierce the strange fish.

The water crackles and fizzes as the strange fish dies, almost like the water around Logan when he attacks. Roman flinches back from the discharge before swimming up to inspect what he’s just killed.

“Dad, this isn’t a fish,” he says. Patton swims up quickly. “It looks like a fish, but there’s no meat. There’s no bones. It - it feels like the things the humans use.” Patton touches the strange object and recoils from the smooth, warm sensation.

“We should get this to Thomas immediately. Maybe he knows more about this thing.”

“Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling,” Roman says.

Although he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to frighten his guppy, Patton does, too.

#starshinewrites #lovely dark and deep #romantic analogical #sanders sides #platonic TLAMP

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translations-by-aiimee · 4 years ago

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 7

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 7 - Police Station

His early morning class was basically just background noise. After trying to listen to the professor, all the sentences blurred together until there was only a buzzing sound.

Lin Yan propped himself up with his elbow on the table, his head nodding off again and again.

"These Ming Dynasty shirts were made of jade-coloured cloth and silk. They had wide-sleeves and circular collars, with black ribbons and seams hanging down.

Even prisoners wore this style of clothing."

The city was immersed in sleep at midnight, and there was no activity insight. Lin Yan drove his car from the residential area to the main road, and the night breeze came in, blowing the hair on his forehead.

A person appeared silently in the middle of the road.

Lin Yan gasped. Too close to swerve out of the way, he subconsciously slammed on the brakes, "Squeak--"

The huge inertia made him rush forward. He prayed that he didn't get into an accident. When he looked up again, he saw the front of the car stopped less than two metres away from the person, but the person stood perfectly still as though he hadn't seen the car. There is no intention of moving out of the way at all. Did this guy want to die? Lin Yan's hand grabbed his chest. He flashed the car lights twice to signal to the person to move aside. After seeing the person clearly, Lin Yan's mind turned to static.

The man’s feet were reversed, with heels facing forward and toes facing backward.

He slowly raised his head towards Lin Yan. His head was a skull covered with chunks of flesh with bone peeking through. His lips were more than half-rotten, two rows of slanted white teeth exposed. There was a stiff, crooked grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth, and dark laughter sounded in Lin Yan's ears. . .

Lin Yan's body trembled and he was thrown back awake.

"Skirts were slightly lighter in colour in the early Ming Dynasty; white skirts were promoted during the Chongzhen period. There were one or two inches of embroidery around the hem of the skirts. . .

"At the end of the Ming Dynasty, it developed into eight or ten inches. Pleated skirts were very popular, with fine and large folds..."

It was the middle of the day, these were human voices.

. . . Was that a nightmare?

Lin Yan recovered from his mini heart attack and tried to slow his breathing, but his heart couldn't stop beating.

Hesitantly, a cold hand touched his hair lightly. It stopped on the back of his neck as if it were soothing, but it disappeared in an instant. Lin Yan froze. The anger and constant anxiety of being violated at any time would make anyone paranoid. His anger came to a breaking point; ghost encounters at night, dreaming of ghosts during the day, would it ever stop? With a wave of his hand, he threw the textbook to the side, slapped the table, stood up, and shouted, "Fucking try it again! Come at me, I'm not afraid!"

The book fluttered across the table and chairs in the front row, and the papers in the book scattered like snow. Lin Yan stood in a daze, and it took a moment for him to snap out of it. Looking around, his confusion melted into overwhelming embarrassment. He saw the hundreds of students in the classroom turned back and stared at him. The teacher that taught his Ming Dynasty costume research class stood on the podium at the front of the room and looked at Lin Yan with disgust.

"Sit down. If you have any questions, you can talk to me after class. This teacher is old and can't keep up with your young people's games."

The rustling whisper in the class turned into a roar of laughter. Lin Yan blushed and shuffled all the way to the front to retrieve the textbook. He bowed to his teacher and returned back to his seat.

He was terrified that the ghost would try something else for most of the night. It had gotten harder to keep his eyes open just as dawn broke. It was hard staying awake during his morning class but he didn't expect his half-asleep daze to cause him this kind of embarrassment.

His face was still burning.

Just as he was thinking about it, his phone screen suddenly turned on, and a text message popped up. Yin Zhou sent: "Was everything alright last night?"

Lin Yan settled down and quickly sent a reply: "I'm still alive. I should be fine before July 15th." Fingers snapped and moved across the keyboard: "I found something new on a supernatural forum. Meet me at the entrance of the cafeteria at noon so we can talk."

On the first day of the month of Wushen, the fifteenth day of the seventh month, was the day of the Ghost Festival, and the gate of ghosts is wide open.

Lin Yan shrugged his shoulders and lay on the table, scribbling on the notebook while thinking. Unconsciously, he had covered a whole piece of paper with the rebirth curse. He hadn't done anything, so why is this ghost doing all of this? Lin Yan poked the paper bitterly with his pen, making small holes.

At the end of his two classes, when it was time for lunch, Lin Yan rushed to the cafeteria after packing up his things haphazardly. He went out and, when he turned to the left, he roughly bumped into another person. His nose slammed into their forehead and he almost cried out loud.

He should have checked his horoscope before going outside today.

Lin Yan held his nose and hissed and sucked in cold air. The other man stood silently. When Lin Yan opened his eyes and looked at the person he hit, he was surprised to see that he had run into a Daoist priest.

He was short and thin, his skin pale and he appeared weak. He was wearing some weird Tibetan blue homemade clothes. His shoulders were hunched under the weight of his backpack. This person seemed so dull that people couldn't help but yawn just glancing at him.

"Sorry, I was rushing to the cafeteria and didn't see you," Lin Yan apologized embarrassedly. The man didn't seem to be listening to him at all. His gaze was focused on something over Lin Yan's shoulder. He stared at it and suddenly grinned.

"Such powerful Yin energy. You need to be careful."

After speaking, he let out a soft "ah" as if he had just woken up from sleepwalking, and lightly floated past Lin Yan.

"Is that guy rambling delusions again?" The boy following Lin Yan poked his arm and said in disbelief.

Lin Yan shook his head and rushed down the stairs with his bag.

It was raining lightly, and the whole campus was wet. The students who were going to eat held umbrellas over their heads, looking like large colourful mushrooms from a distance. Lin Yan stepped onto a small paved road to avoid stepping in a puddle. Looking around, he saw Yin Zhou, who was looking around like a stupid bird at the entrance of the cafeteria. He looked terrible. He was holding a large red umbrella, four characters seemingly hanging on his forehead that was advertising his current mood: Stay away from me.

People who passed by couldn't help but glance over at him.

Lin Yan strode over the accumulating water under the steps in two quick strides, and patted Yin Zhou on the shoulder: "Why do you look as bad as I do?"

Yin Zhou was a little out of it, and took a long time to look at Lin Yan: "Second Immortal Gu is dead."

"My mother just called and asked us to the police station."

Lin Yan's face dropped.

When the police offer on duty led Lin Yan and Yin Zhou into the morgue and removed the white cloth that covered Second Immortal Gu’s face, Lin Yan took two steps backwards in shock. Yin Zhou couldn’t stop gagging. The face was extremely distorted. Her eyes were cracked open, the eyeballs almost bursting out of the eye sockets. Her mouth was wide open like a black hole, and her face looked like it was covered with nail scratches. It seemed that she had witnessed something extremely terrifying before she died. The most disgusting thing was that the skin all the way from her face to her neck was covered with deep holes. She had been eaten at by insects and ants. It is only by the contours of her face that they could barely recognize her as the grandmother who pretended to be a ghost in front of them yesterday.

Lin Yan covered his mouth and tried his best to suppress the urge to vomit. He waved his hand vigorously to let the police know to put down the white sheet.

"This is the person?"

Lin Yan nodded and took a few steps back unconsciously.

"She died last night. The bug bites are still under investigation." The policeman said casually, and glanced at Lin Yan's expressions disdainfully: "Are you two okay? We are all used to seeing dead people. It's better to think about where they're going."

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou, as the last two customers of Second Immortal Gu, were asked to stay at the police station to assist in the investigation. The interrogators took them to record their statements and fill out some forms. The police officer shuttled back and forth between the two interrogation rooms with the folders. As he walked, he muttered: "College students still believe this. I've heard so many crazy things over the years."

At 3 pm, the autopsy report from the hospital was sent to the police station. Second Immortal Gu died of a heart attack, which was a normal death. The blood contains a lot of catecholamines, the myocardial cells are damaged, mixed with erythema; it was a common way to die for patients with cardiovascular diseases. There were many insects in the countryside, and they gnawed away at the corpse overnight.

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou were taken out of the interrogation room, and each concluded the case by leaving their fingerprints for the file. The policeman on duty sent the two out. Seeing that the superior was not there, they shook their heads and muttered to Lin Yan: "The report said that they were strongly affected. To put it bluntly, they were scared to death. When I was a child, I heard the villagers say that these sorts of people never died a peaceful death, and dealing with ghosts and gods would damage their morality and sucks away at their life to the point that it kills them."

When they left the police station, the pattering rain was still falling, and there were few people on the street. Lin Yan's face turned blue and he couldn't stop shaking from head to toe. When he passed by the convenience store, he bought a pack of cigarettes and sat side by side with Yin Zhou on the road. The body of Second Immortal Gu lingered in front of his eyes. Lin Yan wiped the rain off his face, his lips shaking as he asked, "Do you think. . . that thing did it?"

Yin Zhou was silent. "He came again last night, he seemed very angry." Lin Yan buried his face in his hands. "We shouldn't have gone to see her yesterday."

"You saw how she looked just now. That thing isn't human."

As he raised his head and looked around, his voice suddenly rose: "just because no one can see it, it thinks it can just kill anyone it wants to? That's a human being; a living, breathing person. No matter what I do, you always fucking leave regardless of what I say. You're coming after me and yet you take revenge on others?!"

Insane, perverted, totally unreasonable. Lin Yan said mutely, "Ghosts were human once too. Did you even have a conscience when you were alive?! Why don't you come out? Brother, I’m waiting to die, it would be very kind of you to come here now. Why wait for July 15th? Let's end this!"

On all the roads of all the towns and villages, the faces behind every window have remained unknown to the general population. No one knew that in a village in the northwest corner of the city, a grandmother had been robbed of her life. She died inexplicably. To many, it was as unnoticeable as stepping on an ant. A ghost did it! Who would believe that? Lin Yan recalled his experience last night. He thought that that gentle kiss would at least show that the monster still had some trace of his conscience from when he was a human being. It even sympathized with his paranoia, but now? Second Immortal Gu couldn't see his existence at all, what did she do wrong? Lin Yan shouted desperately in his heart, what did I do wrong!

"The next one could be me, my parents, or you. . ." Lin Yan squeezed the cigarette out, a vicious expression in his eyes: "I wanted to make peace with it, but now I changed my mind."

"He can come and try to take my life. I'll kill him first; a life for a life!"

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 58 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Katya found out she might be pregnant, the assistant network caught on to BDR’s latest paramour, and Violet was ordered to go home and rest.

This Chapter: Gigi’s new look gets the reaction she’d hoped for, the twins enjoy some one on one time with their respective partners, Courtney has a rain-soaked nightmare, Pearl looks (but doesn’t touch) and Katya stresses.

***

Courtney knocked softly on Ivy’s door, a smile on her face that had been there almost all day. Fame had thankfully left early, she and Patrick spending the evening at some fancy opera event at the Met, leaving Courtney to get ready for her date in peace.

Her first official date with Bianca. It was almost too exciting for her to comprehend.

“Hey Courtney, what’s up?” Ivy asked, looking up from her computer, beckoning Courtney inside.

“Well, I have a date tonight...and it’s really important and I need to look hot and...I thought maybe I could borrow something from the closet again?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. Um...let me just finish this email and then I’ll help you. Feel free to go have a look around, though.”

“Thanks.” Courtney bit her lip, sensing that Ivy was decidedly less enthusiastic about this than the last time she’d helped. She was probably in the middle of something important, maybe anxious about her own Friday night plans. Courtney felt bad, and would have told her to forget it if she had literally any other options. “I promise to be quick!”

“Yeah, no worries.”

Courtney kept her promise, pulling a short, royal blue dress with a high slit and a pair of strappy aqua shoes.

“Are you sure you wanna wear those shoes, Court? It’s kind of horrendous outside,” Ivy said, but Courtney shook her head.

“It’s fine, I’m just gonna be going into a cab and then inside. Thank you so much for your help!”

“No problem,” Ivy said, always gracious even when Courtney was obviously annoying her. “I hope you have a good time.”

“I’m sure I will!” Courtney exclaimed, taking the dress and shoes back to her own office to change, already feeling giddy with excitement, wondering what Bianca’s idea of ‘wining and dining’ would be like.

She took her time getting ready, freshening her hair with a curling iron she’d stashed in her desk and giving herself what she hoped was a sexy smoky eye. She kept an eye on the clock, knowing that Fame expected her to be in the office until 7:30. She chose a berry-colored lip gloss from the samples that Alaska had given her, and then stepped into the bathroom to get dressed, thrilled that the dress fit perfectly. She checked her phone and computer one more time before signing out, making sure that there were no last-minute requests from Miss Fame, and then made her way downstairs to grab a taxi.

She’s just settled into the backseat when a message came through that made her heart sink.

FAME: Dogwalker sick. Need you to walk Charles ASAP.

Courtney groaned, tapping on the glass partition to redirect the cab driver, and then texting Bianca.

COURTNEY: Still dealing with a work thing. I’m so so sorry, I might be a little late.

BIANCA: No rush. We can always push the reservation.

COURTNEY: I’ll tell you the second I’m on the way.

BIANCA: XX

Courtney knew that dog walking was an occasional part of her job, although it hadn’t come up yet before. However, she’d carefully read the 7 pages of instructions Violet left about him, knowing that Charles was Fame’s treasured companion and she would be toast if anything ever happened to him, and prepared for the time when she’d have to step up. She wasn’t terribly worried--after all, she loved dogs, and her own family had German Shepherds, so a big dog shouldn’t be any trouble.

But Charles wasn’t just big. He was massive, outweighing her by a hefty amount, first fighting her as she tried to put on the raincoat that he apparently hated, and then dragging her down the street so fast that she slipped on some ice, falling to her knees on the corner, immediately cursing herself for not listening to Ivy about those stupid shoes.

“Charles, sit!” Courtney was terrified that he would run into the street without her and get hurt, rain and sleet pummeling her face as she sacrificed her umbrella to grip the leash with both hands. As she tried to stand, a bus drove by, sloshing icy gutter water all over her. “Fucking shit!”

Charles, of course, paid no attention to her predicament, still single-mindedly bound for the edge of the park where he was trained to do his business. Courtney got up, shivering, and took him across the street, finding herself soon faced with picking up a steaming, human-sized pile of shit in the pouring rain. By the time they got back to Fame’s mud room and Charles properly toweled off (with him stepping all over her chest with muddy paws in the process), she was soaked to the bone and shivering like crazy.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, wincing at her soggy, lifeless hair and smeared eye makeup, knowing that there was no way she could show up for a date looking like that. She got out her phone, dialing Bianca’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hey, sunshine,” Bianca answered, and Courtney closed her eyes, cringing at how wrong that nickname was at the moment.

“Hi. Um...I don’t think I can make it tonight,” she said, trying her best not to cry.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just...I had a situation with Fame’s dog and I’m soaking wet and I look an absolute mess and I can’t-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...are you okay? It’s freezing outside!” Bianca exclaimed.

“Yeah...I just...I should go home, I can’t-”

“You’re not seriously thinking about getting on a train to the Bronx right now, are you? You’ll die of hypothermia. I can hear your teeth chattering, for fuck’s sake.”

“But I can’t go out, I look-”

“Okay, then we’ll stay in.”

“But you wanted to go out, and-”

“No, I wanted to spend time with you. I’m starting a hot bath right now. Get a cab, come over, I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Bianca instructed, and Courtney couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief that someone else was taking charge of the situation.

***

Gigi couldn’t stop staring at herself in the hallway mirror, her fingers gliding through her silky soft hair for the third time.

It was the most gorgeous deep auburn red, the color bringing out her freckles and playing up her grey eyes.

She looked like a completely different person, and she loved it.

“Looks like someones been to Juju’s.”

Gigi turned to see Symone leaning against the doorframe, a smile on her face, the adorable gap between her white front teeth stupidly charming.

“What gave it away?” Gigi giggled, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“Just wait til you go shopping.” Symone grinned, her jeans slung low on her hips. “The underwear I have now is more expensive than any other clothes I have ever owned.”

“You got new underwear?” Gigi felt her eyes widened. “With like… With Sutan?” She bit her lip. Sutan had gone with her to the salon, him and Juju talking quietly while she was getting her hair washed by an assistant. They had obviously made the right choice, Gigi feeling like a superhero, but she couldn’t imagine any man coming with her to a lingerie store.

“Sure.” Symone shrugged. “It’s all ‘foundational undergarments’ and ‘French cut’ this, ‘t-shirt bra’ that. ‘You need a secure adhesive backless’. Where I’m from we just call those chicken cutlets.” Symone smiled. “For my first fitting, he asked me to wear high rise briefs and a seamless bra. I felt like my grandma.”

Gigi laughed, the tiny worry she had felt flare up already gone again.

“Do you want to cook dinner together?” Symone pushed out from the door, and Gigi nodded, this modeling thing already so much better than she had dared hoped for.

***

“Ah!” Violet moaned as Sutan pushed her forward, his body boxing her in and keeping her in place. They were in the kitchen, the counter digging into her hips.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sutan’s voice was low, his lips against her neck, his warmth breath tickling her skin. She felt him grab the edge of her skirt, hiking it up and over her knees, thighs and even ass as he pulled it higher and higher, pooling it on the counter, forcing Violet to hold it herself, his hand guiding her before he let go.

“Please-“ Violet groaned, his fingers digging into the fabric, every move she made exposing herself further.

“Please what?”

She could feel Sutan’s fingers glide up her outer thigh and Violet blushed, her core burning hot, her panties getting wetter by the second.

“Please-“

It felt absolutely filthy, and so fucking good, Sutan in complete control and Violet loved it.

They were both tipsy, their wine glasses and dinner plates in the sink, the dishes completely forgotten when Sutan had given Violet a quick kiss that had developed into so much more.

“Please what lovely eyes?” Sutan’s voice was silky smooth, nothing in his tone betraying the way his fingers danced over her ass cheek, nails scratching on skin, a fingertip sneaking under the lace.

“I-“ Violet swallowed. She felt like she was drowning, wanted to drown, wanted to disappear in everything Sutan was. “I-“

“Tell me,” Sutan whispered, his lips against her ear. “Or I might punish you darling.” He leaned forward, pushing her that little bit further, and that was when it happened.

“Ah!” Violet closed her eyes, a blinding pain shooting through her. “Wait! Wait wait wait!”

Her foot had gotten caught on an angle, and Sutan jumped backwards.

“Wait,” Violet took a deep breath through her nose, the pain already disappearing, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. “Fuck-“

“Everything okay?”

Violet turned around to see that Sutan had taken literal steps back, his trousers still tented, his dick obviously hard underneath the zipper.

“Mmh,” Violet nodded, the delightful embarrassment from earlier replaced with something that felt a lot more like shame, her eyes focused on Sutan’s feet. “I-“

“Can I touch you again?”

Violet’s head snapped up, Sutan looking at her, a glimpse of insecurity in his eyes, almost like he was the one who had done something wrong.

“Please-“ Violet opened her arms, and seconds later she could bury her face in his neck, his arms around her, holding her tight, kisses pressed into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sutan murmed, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know-“ Violet smiled, the apology so unnecessary it was almost comical. “I know.”

“Good.” Sutan pulled back, a hand in her hair tilting Violet’s head upwards so he could look at her. “Good. I shouldn’t have-“

Violet leaned forward, shutting him up with a kiss, her arms going around his neck as she held him tight.

***

When her cab pulled up in front of Bianca’s building, the doorman immediately rushed forward to open her door. She was fumbling with her credit card, fingers still stiff and cold, but he gestured for her to put it away.

“Ms. Del Rio is taking care of that,” he said, handing over some cash to the driver, then covering her with an umbrella and walking her to the lobby, where she was sent up in a different elevator than last time, directly to Bianca’s second floor, right outside her bedroom.

Courtney clutched her soaking wet jacket, trying to get her bearings when Bianca appeared around the corner, looking at her with concern and dismay.

“Omigod, baby, come here…”

Courtney barely knew what was happening as Bianca rushed her into the bathroom, helping her strip off her wet things.

“What the fuck are you doing in these shoes in this weather? And this jacket--why aren’t you in a winter coat?” Bianca asked, dropping it to the floor and then unzipping her dress, her voice gentle despite the scolding words.

“Th-that is my winter coat.”

“That’s not a winter coat,” Bianca informed her, pulling the dress down.

Courtney didn’t have the energy to protest, and besides, she was much more concerned with the dress.

“The dress isn’t mine, I think I ruined it-” she began, voice breaking, and Bianca looked it over while she stepped out of her panties and placed her jewelry on the counter.

“It’ll be fine, it just needs to be cleaned,” Bianca promised, leading her, still shivering, over to the jacuzzi tub, where a huge pile of bubbles was waiting for her. “I didn’t make it too hot, because I didn’t want to shock your system. But you can change the temp if you want.”

Courtney sank into the bubbles, the water silky and warm as a hug. After a few seconds, she finally began to feel her fingers and toes again, flexing them under the water, a sigh leaving her. She looked up, where Bianca was setting a remote control at the edge of the tub--which apparently controlled the jets and the temperature and even the lights. Courtney had never seen anything like it. She’d also put out a whole basket of bath products and lit a couple of candles.

“I’ll give you some privacy now,” Bianca said. “I left some towels and a robe on the warmer, and uh...if you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Can you stay?”

It was embarrassing to admit, but Courtney didn’t want to be alone right now. Bianca didn’t make her feel weird about it though, simply took a seat on the ledge beside her, chatting about her trip, the trouble her staff had created while she was away, her voice soothing as Courtney leaned back against the terry cloth pillow with her eyes shut.

After she’d warmed up a little, Bianca washed her hair, strong and sure fingertips massaging the lather into her scalp as the other hand cradled her neck. She then helped her dry off with heated towels, and finally wrapped her in a warm fluffy robe while she ran a blow dryer through her hair. Courtney couldn’t remember ever feeling this cared for in her life, not even as a child, and if it wasn’t such absolute heaven, she’d probably feel ashamed at how much she enjoyed it.

She managed to swallow down a few mouthfuls of soup from the Chinese delivery that Bianca had ordered for dinner before her eyelids began to droop. Bianca noticed immediately, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then leading her to bed. She curled into Bianca’s arms, limbs growing heavy as hands stroked her back soothingly.

“Do you feel better now, angel?” Bianca asked.

“I felt better the second I walked in the door,” Courtney murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I guess there’s not really a door. The second I stepped off your elevator,” Courtney said, making Bianca laugh, her sleepiness causing her to be more honest than was probably called for, adding a whispered, “You make everything better.”

***

Pearl sat at a stool towards the back of the club, nursing a drink while telling herself over and over again that she was doing nothing wrong.

For one thing, she and Adore were over. Actually, fully over. And for another, she had no idea if Dahlia was even dancing tonight. She’d just come by for a casual drink...for the third time in 3 days. Just to see. Just to look.

And there was nothing wrong with looking, right? Even if she had lied to Trixie and Katya about where she was.

Pearl had already brushed off a parade of girls, tipping all of them, but saying no to everything else they offered, since she didn’t want to miss her chance of seeing Dahlia.

She was just about to give up, when one of the last dancers of the night came on, and there, there she was.

Dahlia was just as beautiful as Pearl remembered her, even more beautiful actually, since her costume for the night was the naughtiest sheer black teddy and lace panties, tiny little pink bows attached to the spaghetti straps of her top.

Her brown hair was styled in a delicate mess of brown curls, her plump lips painted pink, her eyes heavy and sultry, Dahlia looking like a sex kitten getting ready to go on the prowl.

Pearl swallowed as ‘Kiss It Better’ by Rihanna started playing, taking a big gulp of her drink.

Pearl hadn’t known if she wanted Dahlia to notice that she was there, hadn’t really thought this through at all, but when Dahlia dipped down on the pole, her ass beyond perfection, their eyes met across the room.

Pearl watched as Dahlia’s lips parted for a second, her eyes widening, but then, she smirked, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

***

“Mmh,” Raven moaned, her fingers in Raja’s long dark hair, her fiancée's lips on her neck, one of her hands up her top. They had been watching a movie on the couch, staying in just the two of them such a rare treat that they had even made popcorn. “Please-”

“Please?” Raja grinned, her long body on top of Raven’s under their blanket, their movie completely forgotten. “Are you being polite princess?”

“Fuck off.” Raven showed Raja’s shoulder, which only made the older woman laugh. “I’m perfectly polite.”

“Sure,” Raja smiled, shifting her knee so it slid in between Raven’s thighs, her skirt riding up to make room for Raja’s pant covered leg. “That’s what I love about you. How polite you are.”

Raven pulled on Raja’s hair, a surprised gasp leaving her girlfriend. She thrusted her hips, forcing Raja off balance and down in a messy kiss, teeth clacking, their lipsticks smearing, Raven taking charge.

***

“Just a few more minutes.” Trixie smiled, his open palm resting on Katya’s knee, his thumb rubbing up and down, trying his best to be comforting.

They were in the bathroom, Katya sitting on the closed toilet while Trixie knelt on the floor next to her, the elephant in the room the pregnancy test that was lying on the edge of the sink, both of them doing their damndest not to look at it yet.

He could tell she was anxious, knew that from the second she told him that she’d bought the test after work, even before she admitted that she was afraid to take it.

Trixie had always assumed that one day he’d be a father, and he was certain that Katya would be the best mom ever, so in his mind, this news was either amazingly exciting or slightly disappointing.

But Katya was another story, her clear terror making him dampen his own enthusiasm so that she felt safe to express herself. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel guilty for being scared on top of everything else. He knew, also, that there was a chance that she wouldn’t want this potential baby, so he prepared himself mentally to support her in whatever she wanted to do.

“I love you,” he offered softly, adding, “And it’ll be okay, no matter what it says.”

“Mmhmm,” Katya murmured agreement, though her eyes said that she didn’t fully believe him.

“Yo yo yo, where my bitches at?!” called out a voice, the slur telling them that Pearl had been drinking quite a bit.

Trixie assumed that Katya wouldn’t want to be interrupted during this private moment, but apparently, he was wrong.

“We’re in here!” Katya called, and Pearl’s heavy footsteps approached the door, pushing it open.

“This is a weird place for a party, dudes,” Pearl said, jacket hanging off one of her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Umm…” Trixie considered how to handle the situation delicately.

“I might be knocked up,” Katya said quickly, and Pearl’s eyes grew large, her mouth falling open.

“Wh-how?”

“Probably sex,” she answered, and all three of them laughed, breaking the tension just a little.

“So…” Pearl plopped down beside Trixie on the tile floor, and a rush of gratitude flooded his heart, relieved for the distraction, understanding why Katya called her in. That is, until she asked, “Have we thought about names? Cause I’d like to submit ‘Pearl Junior’ for consideration.”

“Pearl Junior?” Trixie scoffed. “Why, you’re not the father.”

“Come on! Little Pearlie J. P.J.?!”

“I don’t hate it,” Katya said, and Pearl cheered, giving her a fist bump. “But remember, I might not even be pregnant.”

“True, but you guys are getting married. It’ll be relevant eventually.”

“Not necessarily,” said Katya, gripping Trixie’s hand tighter. He squeezed her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Yuh huh! That’s why we call you ‘breeders’!” Pearl insisted.

“But I just don’t-” Katya began, but was interrupted by the timer on Trixie’s phone.

“You ready?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his.

“No.”

“Well...remember, sometimes these tests aren’t 100% accurate. So whatever it says, it might not mean...” He reached out, catching a tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Babe…”

“I know. But I...can’t look.” Katya curled into his arms, burying her face in his neck. “You do it.”

Unfortunately, the stick was just out of reach, unless he let go of her, which he wasn’t prepared to do.

“Pearl, can you-”

“Sure.” Pearl snatched the test off the sink, looking at it, brow furrowed. “What the fuck does 11 mean?”

Katya’s head snapped up, reaching for the test while Pearl picked up the box.

“Why would it say 11? That’s so dumb, how do you know if...ohhhh.”

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