#and probably ripped it slightly larger too. sorry blanket.

[yelenasdog]

moving out, moving on (mitch rapp x fem reader)

genre: fluff

summary: mitch and reader are taking another step towards mitch moving on, and it’s bittersweet.

words: 2.2k

warnings: drinking wine, kinda suggestive at times, talks abt katrina, mitch being emotional, my writing being melodramatic LOL

a/n: so. this was written during an all nighter that went to 7 am where i was listening to nicki minaj and eminem (???) for a good duration of it so. i’m very sorry if this is wonky at times! i hope u enjoy either way! mwah 

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The early morning rays streamed through thin fabric, draped above the assassin's window. Dust particles floated about, becoming visible within the section of light cast from the sun. The birds perched outside the small apartment tweeted happily from their branch, their songs beautiful. 

Though, they were quite pesterous to the pair that lay together, wrapped in gray sheets. They reveled in the heat provided by the soft blanket, but even more so by the warmth from their joint bodies.

A mop of dark brown hair stirred, bringing one hand up to softly rub his eyes with his knuckle, the other hand snaking around the waist of the woman peacefully sleeping beside him. He watched with fond eyes as she lightly groaned, rolling to face away from the invasion of bright, turning towards her love. 

Mitch smiled down at her sleepy behavior, reaching out and brushing stray hairs from her forehead. He reluctantly retracted it only moments later, forcing himself out of bed to go and prepare the two of them for their big day as best he knew how: Coffee.

His sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood as he went, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and groggy-ness (a word Y/n had donned as her own, and Mitch had caught on to) still very prevalent in his entire system. 

The Rhode Island air was frigid this time of year, Mitch allowing a grin to break out on his face upon remembrance of two nights previous, just how cold Y/n had been in the arena of the Providence Bruins hockey team. Nose pink, donned in a beanie proudly showing the team's logo, well, he had found himself a new lockscreen.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of said groggy-ness, his body on autopilot as it made the beverages. He picked out her favorite mug from the cupboard (AKA a souvenir from Dubai he had picked up long ago) that she had adopted as her own, drinking out of it every time she would spend the night, almost like clockwork. He waited for his coffee beans to brew, scratching his stubble along his jaw. He flinched, though, when he felt two arms wrap around his middle. He quickly relaxed into the embrace upon realization of who the supposed assailant was, her head finding its way to rest on his bare shoulder.

“You scared me, there.” Mitch muttered, his larger hand inching towards her’s on his waist. He closed his eyes in content and she hummed in acknowledgment. Mitch allowed her to turn his figure to face her, still residing in her arms, seeing a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Only for a minute though, right?”

She laughed to which he chuckled in response, nodding in false surrender. “You’ve got me there, Y/n/n.” He mused, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the coffee machine beeping. He looked back to her, shrugging.

“I made you coffee, was gonna bring it to you in bed but, y’know.” He gestured to where she had now climbed up to sit on top of his counter, his sweatshirt around her that read “Brown University” across the front in large lettering pooling around her thighs.

“It’s alright, I need to get a move on anyway.” She smiled, hopping down to retrieve the mug, taking the warm ceramic from Mitch’s hands and sighing at the wondrous feeling that had spread through her whole body. She lifted it to her lips and drank, not surprised that her boyfriend had made it just the way she liked, to perfection. 

“Thank you, baby.” She commented, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. Her lip curled as she pulled away, Mitch already knowing what she was going to say, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Mitch! Go brush your teeth, for the love of God!” She whined, watching as he scampered off towards the bathroom, snickering all the way. She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her beverage before following where Mitch had gone.

Once in the bathroom after rinsing her and Mitch’s mugs, she tied her hair up, undressing and turning on the water (practically scalding hot, of course). Mitch had no objections to the temperature, though, seeing as it was his last time showering with her in that apartment, and in that apartment, period. 

The whole thing felt very symbolic to Y/n, at least, seeing it as washing themselves clean for the next phase of their lives together, a sort of preparation. (Maybe not so much for Mitch, who really was just pleased for any excuse to see his girlfriend naked.)

They used generous amounts of soap, as not only were most of them nearly empty (in fact, a few were and if it weren’t for Y/n, they probably all would be), but also that they had decided to simply just buy new toiletries as a whole for their new place.

They giggled at the sight of each other, all lathered in bubbles and suds. Mitch reached a finger forward, wiping it from above her eyebrows and preventing it from falling into her eyes. Y/n brought her arms around his neck, her lips connecting with his. “Much better.” She regarded with a smirk, before leaning back in.

Nearly 40 minutes later, they both emerged from the shower, fresh faced and ready for the day ahead. He didn’t have a lot that needed to be packed up, given that his place came fully furnished, so it took all but 2 hours and 5 boxes to pack up Mitch Rapp’s life. It honestly might have taken even longer than originally would have been needed, as Y/n would stop every time she found something interesting, allowing Mitch to tell her all about whatever stories had been connected to the item.

It had started with the ridiculous bird lamp that sat on his bedside table, once belonging to Mr. Nazir, and ended with his lacrosse stick. (And, a promise that one day, he’d show her how to play. He swore he’d never seen her smile that big.)

They also threw away and donated a lot, some of Kat’s old stuff bringing a pained smile to his face as he would place it in a box simply labeled “Kat” in messy, thick letters. He wasn’t sure if the box would end up in his new closet, covered in dust and unopened, or back with her family. But either way, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her completely, which Y/n was able to understand.

“Mitch? Did you pack away your coats already?” Y/n called out, opening up the closet near the front door. Her breath slightly hitched in her throat upon seeing all of the photos of Mansur, still pasted to the painted wood, the edges curling up. 

“Nah, not yet, I was gonna handle that while you worked on the cupboards” He responded, busying himself with a text from Irene on his phone wishing him good luck. He looked up and saw what she had been asking about, his phone quickly sliding into his pocket as he made his way over to where she stood, visibly distressed. 

“How long have these been here?” She questioned, feeling Mitch’s arms wrap around her shoulders. She brought her hands up to grasp onto his wrists, leaning backwards into him and biting into her lip.

“Since the beach, when I decided to go after Mansur. When everything happened with the CIA, it was kind of a whirlwind, I didn’t really have enough time to even think about taking it down when I was only even here for hours at a time.” He lightly chuckled, watching as she stepped forward and began to take the pictures down, crumbling them up in her hands. 

She ran her fingertips over the indents left in the door, feeling the splinters against them. She turned back to Mitch, quipping how “Mr. Nazir won’t be too pleased about that.” 

He smiled, joining her in taking all of the images down, ripping them or balling them up in his fists. All of them ended up in one of the old Target bags they had been using for trash, filling up an entire bag (minus a few Dunkin cups sitting at the bottom).

Mitch trailed a few tender kisses down the left side of her next, and though it sounds cheesy, a feeling of hopefulness flooded himself out of most of the bitterness that had been stuck inside for so long. 

She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, and smiled into the kiss, her hand finding the back of his head. She lightly tugged on the chocolate colored strands and he groaned in content, to which her grin only widened. She pulled back, ruffling the top of his head before beginning to pack away the remnants of what was left in the closet. He rolled his eyes, following suit.

They had piled all of the boxes into the back of Mitch’s old decommissioned CIA vehicle (which was obvious that is was such, given that the side was littered with bullet holes and metallic scratches), returned the key to Mr. Nazir (who was glad to see Mitch go), and with that, they were off.

The new place wasn’t too far away, the pair taking a page out of Stan’s book and opting for a wonderful sense of privacy. It was nestled in a rural corner of Massachusetts, where Mitch would be able to come home to a sense of serenity. Y/n had already moved in her possessions, Mitch’s items being the last step. They’d also furnished the cozy cabin, trips to IKEA and Urban Outfitters (along with several other over-priced boutiques) making the place feel like a perfect fit for the couple.

Mitch’s strange and varied knick knacks made the house feel like a home, his lacrosse stick finding a new home by the front door, right under a hanging potted plant that Y/n and Mitch had decided to affectionately name “Charles” after a drunken night watching the X-Men movies. The house was littered in plants such as Charles, in fact, with Mitch’s first response to seeing all of them being “Wow, looks like a greenhouse in here.”

(Still, he’d grown to love the plant babies. Trust me.)

Two tired smiles made their ways to their faces as they both sat on their new sofa, admiring a job well done. Though several boxes still lay on the hardwood, unopened, they felt accomplished enough to pull out a bottle of wine that they had been saving for the occasion. It was an early housewarming gift from Stan, to which they were unprepared to take advantage of, it seemed.

“Baby, did we unpack the wine glasses earlier?” Mitch questioned, his mind slightly foggy of the day's events and early start.

“No, I think they’re still packed up.” She replied, to which Mitch’s eyes lit up, an idea forming and an imaginary lightbulb popping up over his head. He got up from his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face. Her expression mirrored his own, with an added quirked brow at his antics.

“I’ve got a solution, wait here.” Mitch responded, padding over to where he had remembered the new home of the mugs to be. Upon realization of what he was doing, Y/n smiled, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up to run through her roots.

He shuffled back over moments later, his girlfriend recognizing one of the mugs in his hands as her favorite. He sat down next to her, with the bare skin of her thighs touching his own, jean clad. He bumped his knee to hers with a giggle, pouring out the Pinot Grigio into the mugs. 

She gratefully accepted it as it was handed to her, smiling as she took a sip. Mitch did the same, the two of them leaning back into the soft sofa. Y/n brought her legs up, cuddling into his side and absorbing his warmth. He brought his free hand to her side, a strong hold giving them both a strong sense of comfort as she lay her head on his shoulder.

The box labeled “Kat” remained unpacked along with the others on the floor, dust already beginning to gather. Mitch had come across it a few times that day, each time more thoughtful than the last as he struggled to decide what it was exactly he was feeling towards the objects; or perhaps towards the memory of Katrina.

He had come to realize that it was acceptance he felt, deep in his stomach, settling down. It had been brought upon him in totality over time, today’s events being the final step. A soft smile spread across Mitch’s face, a single tear falling from his eye. Y/n looked up, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Mitch, are you alright?”

He leaned down, connecting their lips in a watery yet nectarous kiss, his hand beginning to rub small circles on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Y/n/n.” 

The fire they had built earlier was roaring, now, casting a warm glow across the pair’s features. The damp trail down his cheek was highlighted, nearly glistening on his skin like an amber. 

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

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ok btw ik that wine in mugs would be a horrible idea but this is fiction so SHUSH

anyway i hope yall enjoyed! i love writing for mitch and i have lots of future fics for him, so if u liked this, please reblog and follow if ya wanna. mwah, go drink water and have some protein <333

 xx hj

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me A very short summary of the fic: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes. Word count: 2.1k A/N: Here is the 2nd chapter! If anyone wants to be added to my taglist just send me an ask or a message 😊

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

“I’m going to bed. I can’t work on the more difficult tailoring for either of us until I’ve had at least a few hours of sleep.” Everyone else had gone to bed about an hour ago, leaving her and Nikolai alone for the first time since they’d met. While he had been a lot more pleasant in the last hour all she could think of now was her bed.

She slowly got up and left the room. Her head felt like it was going to implode. She was already dreaming of crawling in bed under her soft blanket, letting her feet navigate the familiar hallways and stairs.

“Y/N! Wait.” Nikolai had followed her down the hallway and caught up to her before she had a chance to reach her room. So much for my well-deserved rest.

She whirled on her heels “What do you want, Sturmhond?” Her tone had been harsher than she’d meant but she was exhausted. The last thing she wanted was to spend one more moment in the privateer’s company.

“Please, call me Nikolai.” His easy-going flirty tone was gone. He sounded genuine now, almost pleading. “Listen, I know I haven’t made it easy on you. I need you to know that this job is important to me too. I am taking it seriously despite my natural devilishly charming demeanor. My country depends on our success.”

She took a moment to consider this new version of the man standing in front of her. He had almost slipped back behind his mask, but she could tell he was sincere. She understood the urge to hide all too well. “I’m sorry Sturm – Nikolai.” She amended. “I’ll try to sleep for a couple of hours. I should be better company when I wake up.” She genuinely smiled at him for the first time since they’d started working on Dirtyhand’s crazy scheme. “I’ll do all I can to make this job a success. If only so that Kaz won’t kill me.” She laughed softly “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” he replied with a quick bow. He left her standing in front of her door and walked back towards the slat’s main floor.

She would have to consider the different personas Nikolai had shown her, at some point, if she hoped to understand him. However, that was a problem for another day. All thoughts of the privateer left her mind when she slipped into sweet unconsciousness. — She woke to loud knocking on her door. She groaned. She was going to kill them. Whoever the idiot was. It felt like she’d only just gotten to bed.

She opened the door with enough force to almost rip it off its hinges. “What the fuck do you – ?” She was standing face to face with Zoya Nazyalensky. Oh, she thought, guess I just shut my chances straight to hell.

Zoya smirked at her. “Good morning to you too. Everyone’s waiting for you downstairs.” She turned to walk away but shot a glance over her shoulder before disappearing down the stairs, her eyes trailing Y/N from head to toe and back up appreciatively. Raising an eyebrow, she added: “You might want to get changed before joining us.”

Y/N had forgotten she was only wearing her short lacy, somewhat see-through, nightgown and felt her cheeks heat up. “Yeah, sure, tell Kaz I’ll be there in a minute.” She stammered. She leaned back against the door as soon as it closed. Oh, well maybe not straight to hell? She quickly got dressed and tailored her cheeks back to normal before making her way to the others. The last thing she needed was to be teased by her friends for being so flustered over Zoya fucking Nazyalenski. She took a deep breath before entering the room.

“How long did I sleep for? Feels like I just went to bed.” She grumbled walking through the door.

Nikolai looked at her apologetically “Judging from when I last saw you, I’d say you probably slept for two hours?”

“Alright” She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “I guess that’s all I could really hope for.” She let herself fall on the couch next to Nikolai. Kaz raised an eyebrow at her. Interesting, he thought. There had been an empty armchair, but she’d chosen to sit next to the privateer. Maybe there is hope for the job yet. Torturing her is just a nice bonus.

She turned in her seat to face Nikolai. “I’m going to get started on the more advanced tailoring. It might get a bit uncomfortable. Changing bone structure always is. Let me know if you need a break.”

He’d only nodded at her in reply. She raised her hands to his face cupping his cheek with her left hand and running the fingers of her right hand down the line of his crooked nose. “Zoya, I’ll need you to tell me if the changes I’m making get too close to his actual features. Everyone else can piss off.” The crows took her dismissal seriously and scurried off to make other preparations.

Y/N settled into her work making corrections when needed following Zoya’s comments. She leaned back to admire her work after about three hours. She’d straightened Nikolai’s nose, made it slightly larger, raised his cheekbones and brow, and rounded his strong jaw to make him appear a bit younger. “Alright, I think this should work? The only major thing left is changing your eye colour. I’ll touch everything up once more after that.” Zoya had approached to examine Y/N’s work, staying quiet. “It’d probably be easier to make them hazel instead of green.”

“No,” interjected Zoya. “His eyes are usually hazel. You should make them blue. Nice work. I don’t think I’d recognize him in the street.”

Y/N beamed at Zoya. “Blue it is! That’ll take a while. Do you need a break, Nikolai?”

“I’m alright. Do you need a break? You’ve barely slept, and you still need to tailor yourself.” Well, she thought, that’s new. When did he become so considerate? He had let her work mostly in silence since she’d started that morning. He might not be so insufferable after all. Still a bit too full of himself to her taste but not insufferable.

“I’ll take a break after I’m done with you. I’ll need you to be very still for this.” She took a good look at him. “Zoya, can you make sure no one comes to bother me while I’m finishing up?” she called.

“Sure thing. I’ll get coffee. I have a feeling we could all use some.” As soon as Zoya left the room Nikolai’s shoulders bunched.

“I’m going to start now. You need to let me know if anything’s wrong alright?” Her voice was soft. She almost sounded worried.

He flashed her a bright smile. “I have full confidence in your talents, my dear.” He straightened his back once more. “Let’s do this.” She could tell he was tired and was only putting on a show. She wished he’d stopped hiding behind the self-assured ruler persona he’d mostly shown so far but she didn’t want to push him. She said nothing, opting to get back to work instead.

By the time Zoya got back with coffee Y/N was done tailoring Nikolai. Zoya let out a low whistle. She’d almost dropped the cups she was holding.

“He looks nothing like himself!” She exclaimed. “Once this job’s done you need to come with us to Os Alta. Genya would never forgive me if she didn’t get to meet you.”

Y/N smiled at Zoya and handed Nikolai a mirror. Genya Safin was the most talented tailor in recorded history, a member of the Grisha Triumvirate. Y/N couldn’t believe she’d ever take interest in a barrel rat like her. “Zoya’s right. You’ll have to come with us, or I fear our dear Genya will attempt regicide again.”

“She wouldn’t attempt it, moi tsar. Genya doesn’t fail. She would succeed in getting rid of you.” Zoya sounded amused at the idea.

He shrugged. “She’d probably murder you, my prized general, as well.”

The crows filed in after Zoya to take in Y/N’s work. Sturmhond’s strawberry blond curls were gone, replaced by chestnut brown ones with just a touch of red when exposed to direct sunlight. His green eyes were now a deep blue, slightly bigger than they had been. His shoulders were narrower, his skin tone lighter and his facial structure completely altered. He truly looked nothing like the privateer, or king, he truly was.

“Well done, Y/N.” Kaz’s raspy voice sounded from the back of the room. “Go rest and tailor yourself. Meet us back here in three hours. We’ll go over your covers again once that’s done.” The girl nodded and made her way back to her room on the second floor. — Nikolai couldn’t help but be impressed by the work Y/N had done on him. He was used to Genya’s skills, yet he never thought he’d meet another tailor as talented. He was pretty sure Y/N had even been faster than Genya ever was. She must have had years of practice to be able to perform such advanced tailoring this efficiently.

“How does it feel, Lantsov?” Nikolai jumped. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Kaz standing in front of him.

“How long has she been working for you, Brekker? I’m pretty sure you have one of the most talented tailors of all time on your crew. How did you manage it? Where did you even find her?” Nikolai just couldn’t wrap his head around Brekker’s luck. How does he always manage to have the best of every field on his crew?

Kaz chuckled. “While I appreciate your new-found interest in my tailor. I’m gonna need you to focus on the task at hand until we’ve pulled off this heist.”

Nikolai had been about to reply when Y/N’s voice cut him off. “I am not yours, Kaz Brekker.” She was standing in the doorway.

Nikolai was suddenly very glad he’d been sitting. The grisha had done just as good a job on herself as she had on him. Her usually dark auburn hair was now a vibrant shade of red. Her beautiful green eyes had been replaced by a darker brown. She hadn’t needed to change her complexion, but it looked like she had changed most of her bone structure. Her face was rounder, her lips narrower, her cheeks fuller. She’d even tailored her body, reducing her natural curves to make her seem slightly taller. Nikolai would have never recognized her. Her voice, still captivating, was the only thing that hadn’t changed. He found himself looking for any trace of the girl he had spent hours observing, and even grown to appreciate, in the last few days. Even though this tailored Y/N was beautiful, he had to admit he already missed her true features.

Jesper slung his arm around her shoulders. “You surpassed yourself, love.” He guided her towards the couch. “I have no doubt the job will be a success if everything goes as smoothly as your tailoring.” He only released her to push her down by Nikolai’s side.

Jesper’s attempt to calm things had been evident to everyone, nevertheless, it had seemed to work. Y/N leaned into Nikolai’s side and took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. “Do we look like Kaelish newlyweds yet?”

They spent the next few hours going over every single detail of their new identities. Covering everything that could come up in conversation at the party. Y/N had comfortably settled on the couch never straining too far from Nikolai, playing the role of the perfect little wife. The smell of her hair was intoxicating, and Nikolai was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the proceedings. All he wanted to do was wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to his own body.

Eoin and Ainsley were 24 and 22 years old. They had met two years before getting married. They had had an unusually long engagement, lasting a full year, because Ainsley’s father had gotten sick, and she’d had to take care of her sisters. They had only been married for a few months but were looking into expanding the business to support Ainsley’s family. They wanted to get settled a bit before thinking of building their own family. That’s why Ainsley was working with her husband rather than stay behind at the mansion. How the engagement came to be had already been covered multiple times. Kaz made them rehearse telling the story over and over again.

Only once Kaz was satisfied did they get to take a break and sit down for a quick dinner, which had consisted of sausages, fried potatoes, and bread rolls.

“We’ll go over everything again tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure your clothes are ready by 3 bells. You’ll need to be at Van Verent’s house by 6 bells. Go get some sleep. All of you.” No one dared contradict Kaz, as they were all half-asleep on their feet by the time they were done. —- Tagged: @power-of-words23

[spencers-renaissance]

you look after everyone, but who looks after you?

Summary: Penelope is sad and lonely and thinks nobody can see her struggling, but Emily does. When she shows up at her apartment unannounced, one thing leads to another, and soon a miserable evening turns into one of the best in Penelope's life.

Tags: hurt/comfort, sad penelope, angst w a happy ending, cuddling, tooth-rotting fluff, getting together, first kiss, friends to lovers

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Penelope Garcia

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

I'm imagining s5/6 penemily for this one!

Penelope's small and bright apartment is her only source of comfort tonight, and although she does absolutely everything in her power to maximise the cosiness, to feel as safe and warm as possible inside its protective walls, it still doesn't feel like enough.

She's sad, and she's tired, and a larger part of her than she'd like to admit is bitter, which is an icky emotion, and she hates more than anything that it exists inside of her but tonight, it does, and there isn't anything she can do to stamp that stubborn little flame out.

She has always prided herself on the way she acts towards others. She makes sure that people are okay, and she bakes homemade muffins and puts them on their desks with one of her colourful toys when the bad stuff is getting to them, and she gives out hugs like there's no tomorrow; that's who Penelope Garcia is, and it's something that will always be important to her, no matter what.

But sometimes— sometimes she wants her own Penelope Garcia. It's easier to cheer other people up, to make them smile on a sad and rainy day, than it is to pick herself up out of her own all-consuming, utterly inexorable funks that creep up on her every now and then. And because happiness, colour, and bright smiles are who she can't help but be, people don't always see through that facade when it's no longer an instinct but a mask.

And because she would never dream of putting her bad mood or her sadness or her heavy, weighty grief on the shoulders of anyone else, she's left on her own.

When the last candle is the living room is lit, and her favourite lamps are on; when she's taken a hot shower, and she's put on her favourite pyjamas; when she's placed the order for her dinner-for-one, she sits down slowly on the sofa and pulls her knees up to her chest, staring at the inky blackness of the one window she forgot to draw the curtains over. As she stares, the inky blackness she feels on the inside only grows until it consumes her, swirling aggressively until tears are streaming down her face, and she's choking back sobs that threaten to rip her chest in two.

She's only brought out of her miserable, desolate stupor when the intercom buzzes with a visitor that she supposes is probably the delivery man with her Chinese order. She'd fancied Indian, but it reminded her too much of the team dinners Spencer always dragged them to, and that was just a little too painful for a lonesome night like this.

"Come on up," she says into the intercom, not bothering to hide the tiredness in her voice from a stranger she'll never see again, and without waiting for a response, she sits back on the sofa, staring at the purple walls of her apartment until there's a soft knock at the door.

Almost on auto-pilot, she stands up and opens the door, and her eyes widen as she stares in shock at Emily Prentiss standing in her hallway.

"You're not the delivery man," she whispers, still staring at her with wide eyes.

Emily chuckles sadly. "No, Pen. I'm not."

Penelope nods, blinking a couple of times, very unsure of what to do next or why the woman she's secretly in love with is standing in front of her at 10pm on a Tuesday night.

"Can I come in?" Emily prompts.

"Oh, uh— yes, of course." She opens the door wide enough for Emily to slip into her warmly lit living room and takes the opportunity of Emily's back briefly turned to scrub fruitlessly at her makeup-less, tear-stained face.

"This is cosy."

"Yeah, I just reread my favourite book about Hygge."

"Hygge?"

"It's uh. It's a Danish thing." Usually, she jumps at the opportunity to talk about Hygge and all the things she'd learned from her trip to visit her Danish friend last year, but right now, she's far too tired.

Emily nods, dropping her handbag by the door and walking over to take a seat on the sofa. "Come sit."

Penelope obeys and curls up in the opposite end to Emily, pulling a blanket over her lap and cuddling into it in another vain attempt to cheer herself up. Still, when pretty candles and the promise of takeaway can't make her happy, there really isn't much hope.

They stare at each other for a couple of minutes before Emily speaks, leaning forward a little. "How are you feeling, Penelope?"

Penelope blinks. "I'm fine."

Emily smiles, and again, it's sad. "No, Pen. How are you really feeling?"

She continues staring but doesn't say anything in response.

Emily scoots a little closer on the sofa. "Listen, I've watched you over the last couple of days. I know you're having a hard time, and I know that you won't say anything to anyone because you're brave and strong and quiet in your suffering. You look after everyone, Penelope, but who looks after you?"

Immediately at hearing those words, her face crumples, and she descends into the tears she'd only just managed to stop moments earlier. This time, though, the sobs she'd been choking back spillover, wracking her shoulders as she hugs her knees to her chest, desperate to hold herself together as she completely falls apart.

"Oh, Pen." Emily moves even closer and pries Penelope's hands away from her knees until she's able to guide her into a hug. Penelope usually tries to keep her physical distance from Emily, too scared of what she'll do if given a chance to touch her, but right now, she can't help but bury her face in her neck and cling on to her for dear life as Emily holds her back just as tightly.

"Shh, you're okay, honey," she soothes quietly, running her hand up and down her back gently as she lets Penelope fall apart in her arms. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She says everything Penelope needs to hear as she cries herself out, sobs eventually receding to tired sniffles as she pulls away from Emily slightly, a little embarrassed of her actions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry on you like that."

Emily brings a hand to her chin and lifts her face gently until she's looking directly into Emily's warm, kind brown eyes. "You have nothing to apologise for, okay? I'm just sorry you've been having such a rough time and haven't had anyone to talk to about it."

Penelope nods, still embarrassed that she fell apart so easily but feeling soothed and comforted by Emily's warm words and gentle hands.

Just then, the buzzer goes again. "That's, uh, that's my dinner."

"Ah," Emily says, nodding in understanding. "Is that who you thought I was?"

Penelope looks away sheepishly. "Yeah."

"That explains the abrupt invitation upstairs," Emily says, smiling at her as she gets off the sofa and buzzes the courier up. "You mind if I stick around while you eat?"

"No! Please— please stay," she says, hating the desperation that bleeds into her voice.

"Okay, I'll stay, of course I will," Emily promises, rushing to soothe her again as she hears the agitation and distress in Penelope's voice. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Penelope nods gratefully. "You can even have some of my eggrolls," she says, managing a little smile as she references the well-known fact that Emily despises eggrolls and makes such a big, dramatic deal out of it every time any of them order Chinese.

Emily laughs, her head tipping back a little. "You're so generous."

She opens the door for the delivery man and takes the bag from him, before bringing it over to the coffee table and laying it out in front of Penelope.

"You should eat up, sweetie," she says in that kind, concerned way of hers as she comes to sit next to her on the sofa, "I'm sure that crying took it out of you, hm?"

Penelope nods tiredly and tucks into her dinner as Emily flicks through the TV channels before settling on a rerun of Will & Grace. They sit in comfortable silence for a little while as the familiar sound of a 90s laugh-track sitcom fills the room and Penelope eats her dinner.

"You need another hug?" Emily asks once she's finished her food and is inching closer on the sofa, and Penelope might be delusional but she swears she sees an inkling of hope on her face, so she doesn't hesitate in nodding.

Emily beams and pulls her closer, arranging them until they're lying horizontally on the sofa, comfortably tangled up in one another, idly watching the TV while they enjoy the comfort of one another's company.

"Pen?" Emily whispers, after a good couple of episodes; after most of the tealights Penelope had lit earlier have burned themselves out. "You know I love you right?"

There's something in her voice that makes Penelope feel brave. "Yeah," she whispers back, burying even closer into her side. "I love you, too, Emily. More than you know."

The last four words are uttered with a weight the fragile air in the room can't hold, and they crash back down between them, making Emily shift to look at her properly. Her face is a myriad of earnest emotions, and Penelope can't look away.

"When I say I love you," Emily says, nerves and anticipation and hope in the whisper of her voice, "I mean it. I don't— I don't love you like a friend, Penelope. I love you more than that."

Penelope stares at her, her heart pounding in her chest as she looks at the woman lying next to her, anxious, hopeful features illuminated by soft candlelight.

"I love you more than that, too."

Emily's nervous features smooth into something warm and eager and happy. "You do?"

Penelope nods, and she's sure her face holds a similar expression. "I do."

"Can I kiss you?" Emily whispers, lifting her hand to rest in Penelope's blond, tangled hair.

"Please," she whispers back, and not a second later she's being kissed like she's never been kissed before; like the ocean's dried up and she's the last gulp of water to be found; like all the world's oxygen's disappeared, and she's the only gasp of fresh air left behind. She's kissed like she is Penelope Garcia and that is enough for Emily Prentiss, she's kissed like she doesn't need anything else but to exist in this moment, right here, right now.

She doesn't want it to end, but when it does, when they've pulled away and their faces are inches apart and they're breathing heavily, when she looks into Emily's eyes and sees everything she's always wanted to find in them, she's glad it did, because the first kiss ending means that they can do it again.

Yes, I'm gonna keep writing that Penelope is very invested in Danish culture okay, it's my fav headcanon, leave me alone. I hope you liked this one! <3

taglist: @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @reidology @spencerspecifics @hotchedyke @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @sapphic-stress @wifeyprentiss @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[bump1nthen1ght]

Deep Blue Sea (Shark Merman x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Gender Neutral! Reader/Shark Merman

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Warning: Slight description of Animal Violence. Nothing too graphic, but if the genre of stuff you see on Shark week isn’t for you, skip over the part denoted by the *******

Word Count: 3530 words

Summary: You learn more about Cruz and about yourself

Prologue

Chapter 1

“-and then he just leaves. What do I even do with that?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Your roommate hums, refilling up your glass of wine. “And you don’t have his number, so you can’t call or text him right?” You take a large sip, nodding and trying not to spill wine on your pajamas.

Well, kind of.

You hadn’t told anyone about Cruz, not even your family, because frankly you didn't know where to start. But when you walked into the apartment, sullen and dragging your feet, your roommate, Caitlyn, had offered wine, ice cream, and a willing ear. That's when the floodgates opened (with some modified details, of course).

“We’re meeting at our usual place in a couple days, I just…”Another sip of wine,”...hate sitting here, not knowing what he’s feeling, what I did, how I’m feeling.” You set down your glass and throw yourself back against the couch, sinking into the cushions. “I feel so stupid, like a fucking teenager, and I hate it.” Caitlyn sets her own wine glass down and nudges the half-empty ice cream carton towards you.

“It’s for the best your feeling all this now, then you can come at ‘im all composed and articulate. Really throw him off his game.” You grab a spoon and the carton, Caitlyn patting your shoulder as you take a pathetic bite.

“You’re right but I-I don’t even know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Sounds like this guy’s got you hooked. At least that’s a start right?” Caitlyn hums, pressing her chin into her palm. “To be completely honest, Sam took a couple days to warm up to me. And I never told her this, but she gave me hardcore pretentious vibes on our first date.”

Caitlyn gives a long spiel about her awkward first soulmate date (“Seriously, who brings up ‘the superiority of vinyl’ on the first date!”), and if you were in the mind to be a good roommate, or hadn’t heard this story before, you might’ve listened closer. But only one question was occupying your thoughts; Did Cruz like you?

--------

You arrive at the boardwalk an hour early. You don’t immediately go to the tidepool, instead choosing to take a long walk on the beach, taking a moment to calm your racing heart and collect your thoughts.

You like Cruz. You like him as much as two people who just met can, despite a less-than-romantic first impression. But does he like you?

You never thought you would have to ask your soulmate that.

There’s a small thwap as you slap your cheeks, heat simmering your skin even as the cold water laps at your feet.

This is ridiculous. You’ve talked twice. Caitlyn and Sam have a thriving relationship (You should know, you share a wall with Caitlyn) and even they got off to a rocky start.

The pit grows in your stomach, thinking of Cruz’s disinterested stare as he swims into the open ocean. The weight of it almost sinks to your toes.

You shake your head, slapping your cheeks once more.

Today is a new day. Just go through the motions _____.

You reach the tidepool, setting down your picnic blanket and bag. You grab one of your notebooks and prop it open as you bite into an apple. You’re 30 minutes early, might as well get some reading done.

The waves crash and pull against the rocks, pleasant studying ambience, but is interrupted by several clicks and abrupt, out of rhythm, splashes. You look up, immediately in awe of the sight.

About 50 feet away from the entrance to the tidepool is a pod of dolphins, breaching out of the water. You grab a pencil, your phone, and your notebook, tiptoeing through the tidepool to get a better look.

Good choice wearing water shoes today.

From closer up, you notice the distinct lack of dorsal fins and realize they must be Northern White Whale Dolphins. 60 of them have congregated in a group, most likely scouting for easy food or taking a rest.

Their pod is pretty small though. What are they doing so close to the shore?

The pod continues to play as you take shaky photos with your camera, trying to balance your notebook and pencil in the crook of your elbow. Through your viewfinder, you spot a familiar shape, not 30 feet from the pod, peeking his head out of the water. Cruz’s black eyes narrow into focus before he fully submerges. Your eyes widen as you lower your camera.

The water above Cruz rushes as he swims closer and closer to the pod. You tuck your phone back into your pocket as you finagle your way up to a nearby rock. You need a better view, and it might be best to be out of the water while this happens.

The dolphins haven’t noticed Cruz yet, still gliding along the waves. There's a quick flash of his strong back before he dives even deeper into the water. The rock slightly digs into your stomach as you lean over to get a better look.

What I wouldn’t give for a drone right now.

Before long, there is a burst of clicks, the largest dolphins quickly surrounding the group and issuing them away. They’ve spotted Cruz, but one is a little too slow.

Cruz’s dorsal fin cuts through the water, close enough to the surface that you can make out the details of his determined face. His eyes have latched onto the slowest dolphin and his speed increases exponentially. His long tail flicks back and forth as he gains on it.

*******

The dolphin flips into the air, trying to gain distance. But like a flash Cruz’s large hand shoots out of the water, getting a hold of the dolphin’s tail, and pulls. You see his shoulder and tricep bulge as the dolphin thrashes in his grip. His head once again breaches the water as he digs his other clawed hand into the dolphin’s side, raking into it as he pulls the dolphin closer to him. The two tussle and wrestle against each other, going in and out of the water as the dolphin tries to push Cruz away.

But Cruz is limber, keeping a tight grip on the dolphin as he maneuvers his body alongside it. His torso raises up as he pushes the dolphin down under the water and into submission. Cruz then yanks the dolphin’s front upwards and out of the water, grip still tight on it’s rear, before opening up his maw and tearing into the dolphin’s neck. He rips his head back and forth until the dolphin stills, a large pool of red slowly cascading around them.

*******

Your pencil hangs loosely in your fingers as you watch, eyes locked on Cruz. You think the struggle must’ve lasted only 20 seconds, but in the moment, it felt like hours. Cruz’s chest heaves as he takes another bite, serrated teeth easily ripping the flesh, as casual as the lobster roll from your last meeting.

Blood drips from his mouth and covers his claws. His cards his fingers back through his hair, leaving crimson streaks that shine against his black locks. Cruz bites off another mouthful before heaving the dolphin onto his shoulder.

As a large science nerd, you’ve always enjoyed watching nature in progress. But a new, exciting, vaguely uncomfortable feeling stirs in your gut as you watch Cruz suck in his fingers, picking out stray bits of meat from his large, sharp teeth. A feeling like a shiver rushing down your spine and heat in between your legs.

Oh my god. Why was that the hottest thing I’ve ever seen?

Cruz turns away and submerges himself, giving you a nice shot of his defined back muscles as he sums up his hunt. You can’t take your eyes off his form moving just below the water, even as your 5 PM alarm goes off.

You knew Cruz was larger, and far stronger, than you, but seeing him in his element reminds you just how easily he could tear you apart.

God, and I kind of want him to.

As he swims further away from the shore, you see two black dots in the distance. You take out your phone again and open up the camera to zoom in.

Speaking of huge. Holy shit.

The focus is a little blurry, but it’d be hard for you to miss the massive mermaids. With only their shoulders and up out of water, they still tower over Cruz by at least a head each. Both have long black hair, intertwined with what looks to be seaweed and various types of shells. The one on the right is holding two larger masses over her shoulders, positioned the way a lumberjack would hold a fallen tree. Cruz reemerges with his dolphin in tow, frighteningly small.

Cruz’s gestures indicate they’re having a conversation, mostly one-sided. The dolphin on Cruz’s back bounces as he talks animatedly, his hunt small when compared to the two weights the right mermaid carries. With your old phone you can only catch a glimpse of the left mermaid’s lips moving. Cruz’s energy dims as she continues and he seems to sink deeper into the water.

The left mermaid holds out her hand. Cruz hesitates, then throws his dolphin into her arms. She swings it over like it weighs nothing and then shakes her hand as if to shoo him away. The right one rumbles with laughter. Cruz nods, solemn as the two submerge and swim away.

Cruz stays there for a minute, looking out at the horizon. When he finally turns, his movements are lethargic as he swims towards the tidepool.

You scramble down from the rock and quickly tiptoe  back to your blanket, fumbling to stuff your notebook and pencil back into your bag.

Cruz glides in, his eyes not meeting yours, locked in thought.

“Hey Cruz.” You wave, struggling to catch your breath from your impromptu rush.

Cruz slowly looks up at you, still slightly downcast.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” You  shake your head furiously.

“It’s no problem! I got her kind of early, and then I saw you hunting and didn’t want to bother.” Cruz’s eyes widen a bit, before her recoils into himself and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, sorry. You probably didn’t want to see that….” You once again shake your hands and head back and forth.

“No! No I-, I actually thought it was super cool!” Cruz quirks his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Yeah! It was like my own personal Shark week. Like wow, you looked amazing out there.”

Cruz’s cheek tint a cerulean blue, the corners of his lips turning up at the sides as he fiddles with his fingers.

“And those dolphins are the fastest kind around here, but bam! You were on them like a firecracker, kind of wish I had a slow motion camera.” You laugh, before realizing Cruz probably didn’t understand half of your analogies. “You looked uh, you were really good at it.”

Well duh, you idiot. He’s a shark.

“Thank you.” Cruz shoots you a tiny smile, blush still running across his face and down his neck. The ensuing silence is only slightly uncomfortable, as Cruz’s blush stays strong and you're sure you develop one of your own. You try and focus on something else to calm down, but catch a glimpse of his biceps, and fail miserably.

“Oh, that’s right.” Cruz reaches over and sticks his hand in between two nearby rocks. His brow furrows before his eyes light up, and he pulls out a….handbag?

It’s loosely sewn together with kelp, made of some sort of seal skin and closed with a seashell button. Cruz pops it open and begins to rummage inside.

“Gotcha.” Cruz pulls something out of the bag, before turning and hiding it behind his back.

“Uh, whatcha got there?” Cruz smiles, his blue blush painting his face from top to tip.

“I found this thing and thought you um….might want to look at it?” Cruz pulls his arm in front, revealing a reflective white shell, just a bit longer than his palm.

“It’s not a crab, but I thought it was neat looking so….”

You slowly move towards him, gesturing to ask if you can hold the shell. Cruz nods, almost shoving it into your hand.

The color is completely white, sharp, almost polished-looking. It carves into several rings before sloping into a point. It’s empty, the inside free of any sand or tiny algae.

“Do you know what it’s called?”

You look back to Cruz and nearly brush your nose against his. You realize how hot his body heat is as he leans over you to look at the shell. Your shoulders just barely touch.

As if dipped into boiling water, your face alights into red and your body convulses to jerk away from the heat.

“Yeah-Yes! Actually I do, it’s-it looks like a Kellets W-Welk. Well, the remains of one’s shell anyway.”

Cruz stays close, letting out a small “Ohhh.” as he squints his eyes to get a closer look. It’s the most on-land you’ve seen him, with the water lapping at the base of his tail. Sitting down, your head only comes to his clavicle. The uncomfortable burning stirs in your gut.

“Is it a hermit crab?”

“Not, it’s a sea snail. They're not really on land like crabs.” You brush your thumbs over the shell’s ridges. “There are quite a few varieties of sea snails around here, lots of beautiful shells. Their babies look pretty cool too.”

Cruz nods, eyes intent, and it reminds you of the elementary kids you saw when working at the aquarium. Your heart skips as you futilely try to fight the smile on your face.

“Can you eat ‘em?”

You chuckle and Cruz’s face grows a darker shade of blue. “Yeah, you can. You’ve got a good eye for snacks huh?”

Cruz pouts playfully, blue still awash on his cheeks. “Maybe, but I’m not always thinking about food.” Just as he finishes, you hear his stomach rumble. You stifle your laugh with your hand and Cruz grabs his stomach angrily. “Sh-Shut up! It’s almost dinner!”

The two mermaids flash in your mind. You see Cruz handing over the dolphin as they swim away. Then you see Cruz, furiously cracking open crabs with a single-minded purpose. The smile drops from your chin.

How often does that happen?

Cruz was small for a Great White. You hadn’t even thought about why. You don’t even know if you want to.

“They’re pretty tasty, but their shells are a lot more fun.” Cruz furrows his brow again. “Here, let me show you.” You scoot yourself closer to him, putting the white shell against his ear. His eyes widen and he leans backwards a bit from your closeness, but the shell still lingers by his ear. “Do you hear it?”

Cruz stills, furrowing his brows even deeper, but then they rise in surprise. He leans back towards you, tentatively grabbing your wrist and pulling the shell closer.

“Its-”

“The ocean.”

The same childlike wonder from before flushes on his face as he looks at you, bringing your stomach a flutter. Cruz presses his head down closer to the shell, the bottom of his cheek now touching your palm. Cruz’s skin is cool against yours, slightly damp, and you feel the hint of roughness as his chin brushes against your wrist.

“How-How did you-”

“My mom showed me once. I mean, technically it’s the echo of the blood coursing through your ear, which reverberates and sounds like waves crashing. But it’s still a neat trick.”

“Oh, I see….”

From this close, you can see the small freckles which dapple Cruz’s cheeks, peppering across the bridge of his nose and up onto his forehead. Specks of dark blue, black, and green contrasts against his light gray skin, like the setting sun catching the pulling tides.

In the moment, you long to touch them.

So you do.

It’s so….soft.

As your thumb brushes up his jaw, the mottled colors are overwhelmed and overshadowed by Cruz’s furious blush. Cruz moves away so quickly that he unfurls his grip on a nearby rock and loses his balance. He braces himself and hisses as his thin skin nicks the corner of a rock.

“Oh my god, I’m so-so sorry! I just- oh my goodness are you okay?” You retract the shell closer to your chest, your other hand outstretched to steady Cruz. When he flinches away, you pull it back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have invaded your personal space like that.”

Cruz's chest heaves but he doesn’t move or say anything. From the corner of your eye you spot a tiny bit of blood leaking onto the rock.

“Oh shit, wait I-I should have something.” You whip around to your backpack, shuffling and pushing aside your notebook to find your emergency first aid kit. Water wells in the corner of your eyes as you frantically search. You desperately try to will the tears away.

Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid-

Your inner insults are interrupted when your fingers brush against the familiar plastic fabric pouch. Before turning back to Cruz, you hastily wipe your eyes.

“Here, this should help.” You hold out the small thing of gauze and an antiseptic wipe. Cruz slowly takes them, fiddling with the gauze until it's undone. He picks up the antiseptic package with the tips of his forefinger and thumb, eyes squinting as he tries to read the small text.

“That’s to clean the wound with, to get the gross stuff out.” Cruz’s eyes narrow even further, brushing his thumb over the paper wrapping. Tentatively, he plops the unwrapped wipe on his wound. He looks back, clearly confused. “You have to unwrap it first, then wipe it.” His blush returns as he jerks his eyes away from you, embarrassed with you watching.

“I could do-”

“I’ve got it.” Cruz snaps, finding the perforation and ripping it off quickly.

“Okay, but it’s gonna sting-”

“Ow, shit!” Cruz curses as he presses the wipe against the apex of his cut, whining and biting his lower lip.

“If it’s hurting that means it’s working.” Cruz nods, but he hastily wipes the wound and sighs as he crumples it up.Cruz wraps his cut with medical precision, reminding you of boxers right before a match. He cuts the gauze short with a snip of his teeth

“Wow, you're really good at that.” Cruz snorts.

“I don’t need any jackasses going into a frenzy anytime soon. That would be the perfect end to this shit day.”

Your heart freezes as your stomach drops, and you recoil into yourself. The nausea of guilt washes over you. And then that makes you feel even worse, and so the cycle continues.

Cruz notices your sheepish, downtrodden stare, and frantically waves his good hand.

“Wait, shit, no, thats-thats not what I meant. Uh…” He loses track of his sentence, mouth agape as he looks for words. “I mean….thank you.” He fiddles with his claws. “For the bandage, a-and the food a couple days ago. This is...nice.”

You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly his praise perks you up, rolling over your tense muscles like a masseuse.

“Thank you for the shell, it was very thoughtful of you.” Cruz sputters.

“I just passed by it on a swim, it wasn’t a big deal. The reefs got a ton of them, so, y’know.”

You don’t know, but it’s cute watching him fumble with his words. He’s so bashful for an apex predator you saw kill a dolphin not 20 minutes ago.

“I could even-well, it’s close that we- we could go sometime? You and me?” Cruz fiddles with his claws once more, and you wonder if it’s a nervous compulsion. “It’s a little ways away from the coast but with me carrying you, we could probably see a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Cruz’s nervous smile is much more lopsided than his regular one. It accentuates the dimple on his left cheek.

“I would love that.”

-----------

You decide to meet up early on Saturday to get a head start on the sunlight. You leave the boardwalk giddy, your nerves tingling pleasantly with pre-plan jitters. All this energy means you might have to spill to Caitlyn once more, just to let it all out. You’ll most likely tell her you two are getting breakfast by the beach, maybe stop by an aquarium.

Looking at all the coral and the crustaceans. Just me, in Cruz’s arms-

You stop, your nerves bubbling up under your skin, like steam is blowing out of your ears as you think about what is in store for Saturday.

You’re still not sure how Cruz feels about you. But there isn’t a show of a doubt now; You have a crush on him.

----------

Cruz sits in the water, cracking open a leftover oyster he had left in his bag for emergencies. Emergencies like being so flustered he can't possibly go back to the pod, not without looking incredibly suspicious.

He brushes his thumb over his cheek, and it’s almost like you're there again.

So….soft.

[theevangelion]

Red Bottom: Red Kryptonite D/S Supercorp Story (Complete)

Prompt Fill for Gabs: Redk!Kara wanting it fast and hard and lena fucking her gently until she's in tears? With lots of praise kink pls

*OR*

Under the effects of Red Kryptonite, Kara has to be kept somewhere secure. The L-Corp Laboratory is about the only location with enough lead lining to hide her heat signature while the DEO worries about bigger threats. Kara’s frustrated arousal and darkened mood is nothing compared to her girlfriend, Lena Luthor’s.

There’s a dark and evil side lurking inside Lena too. Always there, always out of sight. With Kara under the influence of the Red Kryptonite, Lena finds herself indulging in her own primal dark side in order to quell Kara’s own.

“Again?” Lena’s eyes fly wide open at the DEO circus.

“The red kryptonite particles went up with the explosion last week,” Alex says, overseeing the transfer of her sedated sister to the secure L-Corp laboratory. “And what goes up must come down. Jesus, I can’t believe we didn’t account for the rain.”

“Wouldn’t she be safer at DEO headquarters? It’s just, her safety should be the priority.” Lena doesn’t want to seem too eager to palm off her girlfriend.

“If the DEO headquarters were still secret, sure.” Alex rubs her temple, now suddenly thinking of other problems.

Her hazel eyes find Lena with a sense of exhaustion, as though there are too many things being juggled in the air and she needs someone to take Kara out of the equation.

Alex continues, “The League caught intel about our security protocols. Ironically, the one place Lex will probably not look is the place right beneath his nose. The building has enough lead-lining to hide her heat signature?”

“More than enough,” Lena confirms.

“Well,” Alex pats the chief executive’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight, and I’ll leave her in your capable hands for a few days.”

Lena laughs suddenly, the uncomfortable noise barely escaping through her tight teeth. “Please don’t.” She eyes Alex cautiously. “Just maybe let’s workshop this idea—”

“It will be fine,” Alex promises. “Just don’t listen to her, put your headphones in, think of it as babysitting duty. I’ll owe you one, big time.” Alex stares as though she means it regardless of the complications it might cause later down the line.

An unconditional favour from one of the higher-ups in the chain of command at the Department of Extranormal Operations… That could certainly come in handy one day.

“Not the holding cell. Put her in the observation suite, the glass is resistant to her heat vision.” Lena points to the clear glass room opposite the laboratory. “Extra restraints, green kryptonite lamps—”

“Green kryptonite could kill her,” Alex balks.

“In larger quantities, sure.” Lena nods. “In a smaller, medicinal dosage it nullifies her power for a short time. Like the small amount emitted by the kryptonite lamps your tech team developed last year in the event of…” Lena pauses, quirking her crimson lips as she searches for the right word. “Something unexpected.” Alex instantly closes her eyes. “Bring them, bring all of the equipment. And extra restraints too, please.”

“Why extra restraints?” Alex lifts her brow, confused.

Lena rolls her eyes, then turns to her personal assistant. “Jesse, clear my entire schedule from now until Tuesday. Alex, trust me, I’m doing you a favour, but I need the restraints and the kryptonite lamps. For my safety, you understand?” She glances at her girlfriend’s sister.

“Whatever you need, Lena.” Alex doesn’t ask further.

***

Kara awakes slowly and feels the tension in her arms. They’re captured around her ribcage, as though she is trapped in a suffocating hug. She shifts her shoulders, wiggling, unable to get herself loose from the poor, rough excuse for a blanket that has entwined her.

“You’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Lena says through the speaker. “It’s for your safety, mostly.”

Kara opens her eyes and simultaneously rolls them when she sees the applied restraints. Her arms are secured in a white strait-jacket, the tan leather straps buckled tightly, with another strap of leather secured between her nude legs to stop her wiggling out of it.

“For my safety or yours?” Kara flexes against the strait-jacket.

“Alright,” Lena levels seriously over the speaker. “For mine then.”

The strait-jacket isn’t torn to pieces when Kara flexes a second time, which strikes her as strange. She wiggles again, harder, flexing, stretching her arms as far as she can against the secured sleeves.

“Sorry baby,” Lena says, walking in to view as she stops in front of the glass door that separates them. “Another precaution. I can survive your bad mood, but only when we level the playing field.” Her emerald eyes glance to the industrial spotlights that emanate a low, dark green colour over the observation suite.

Green Kryptonite.

“If you think there’s such a big bad monster lurking inside of me—” Kara stops, heaving furious breaths. “Why risk it the other three-hundred and sixty-four days a year? Am I not capable of tearing you apart then, if I wanted to?”

“There is always a monster lurking inside of you, baby.” Lena folds her arms over her black cashmere sweater. “But you are the strongest, most level-headed woman I know. You would never let it hurt anyone.” Her eyes flicker with love. “The other days of the year, of course.” She pushes a small smile, but then it disappears as she dips her head.

Kara narrows her eyes. “Oh, you want to talk about monsters, Lena?” She can’t help but laugh.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you know the one that claws inside of your ribcage is so much more violent and hungry than mine.”

“Don’t do this, please,” Lena pleads. “I know you can’t help it, but could you… try and help it?”

“Sad, poor, angry little girl—lost and unlovable,” Kara scoffs, her lips forming an angry smirk. “How does it feel knowing that I am the only one capable of loving a creature as tortured as you?”

Lena’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

Her face is beautiful and smooth like porcelain, but her eyes are utterly empty and her jaw flexes with the tiniest slip of anger. To Kara, she is still beautiful, still the finest human she has ever met, a bride to be made fit for House of El yet.

It’s simply a case of subjugating her first, Kara thinks. To teach Lena who exactly her better half is, metaphorically and literally speaking.

“You’re still pretty when you want to cry,” Kara says coldly, unbothered and unconcerned. “You should know that.”

“Funny,” Lena doesn’t skip a beat, her tone equally cold. “I’ve always thought the same of you.”

There’s a flash, a tiny strike of lightning. It hits Kara right in her belly and sends her flying backwards. The pain is the least of her concerns. She doesn’t understand what it was. Kara pants and opens her eyes, curled in the corner of the glass cage with a tight grimace.

“For my safety,” Lena explains, lifting the remote that controls the shock pulses. “In case I feel threatened.” She smirks slightly.

“You always feel threatened,” Kara laughs despite the painful ripples in her body from the electric shock. “Always threatened by other powerful women, always worried you’re too small, too unimportant, too weak to compete—”

“Whoops.” The powerful shock hits Kara again and makes her whimper. It leaves her crumpled and curling, sweating and gritting her teeth. “My finger slipped,” Lena says, unamused.

Despite the red kryptonite, despite the hubris it imbues her with, she is completely defenseless and that only compounds her anger. Kara wrangles as hard as she can, until she nearly dislocates her shoulder trying to get free from the pathetic little strait-jacket that on any ordinary day could be ripped apart with a sneeze.

The door alarm rings out. Lena steps inside the lion’s den, her Blahnik heels clicking quickly over the cold hard floor. Kara refuses to look at her, she tucks her sweaty head away as the pencil skirt gracefully bends at the knees to appraise her closer, as though she is some kind of small animal.

“See,” Lena whispers quietly, moving the damp blonde hair off her face. “Still so pretty when you want to cry, baby, I told you.”

“Don’t start a war you cannot win, Lena,” Kara growls with gravel in her throat. “I will still have my power and might when the weekend is out, and you—”

“Will still have mine, too.” Lena slips her hand over Kara’s bottom, pulling the curled up little monster close like a pet to be made tame. “Why don’t you be a good girl and let that nasty tongue of yours rest. I don’t want to sedate you. There is so much more productive fun to be had when you’re awake.”

Kara’s ears lift at that.

“Fun?” She looks at Lena with a craned eyebrow.

Lena looks different. Kara isn’t sure whether it’s the effect of the red kryptonite, or whether her girlfriend has always had that air of cruel arrogance and she’s only just noticing it now. But Lena’s eyes glean her as though she’s a wolfish little whore, a thing to conquer. Her crimson lips pull into a small smirk.

“Fun for me, yes.” Lena pets her damp, long blonde hair softly. “The way I see it, Kara Danvers, is that I’m going to marry you one day. That means for better or worse. And, if I can’t find a way to handle you at your worst—” Kara hisses when slender fingers yank her hair tight in a tight fistful. “Then what business do I have enjoying you at your best?” Their eyes lock seriously.

“You think this is me at my worst?” Kara’s eyes grow wide with indignation. “Oh just you wait. The Hell I will reign down upon you—” Material is quickly stuffed inside her open mouth as gag, stifling the threats.

The material is slightly damp, heady almost, the feminine taste that is so distinctly Lena Luthor coats Kara’s tongue… Kara realises that this isn’t a traditional gag.

“Hold my panties for me like a good girl,” Lena whispers and stuffs them a little deeper into her mouth. “Don’t spit them out, otherwise I’m going to push them in another hole. And believe me, I have such better, bigger plans for your pretty tight holes…” Her manicured fingers slipped over the tanned leather strap between Kara’s sweating thighs.

When Kara’s blue eyes fly open in surprise, the question doesn’t even need to be uttered. Lena can practically read her mind. The executive peers down at her with a loving smile, her palms gently taking each side of her face and cradling it close to her own.

“The red kryptonite cannot be chemically neutralised. That means I need to find another way to control you when you’re… under the influence of dangerous substances.” Lena trails her hand through Kara’s long hair, her nails dragging and gathering it neatly. “That means I need to condition you to see me as your handler, to prevent my brother ever using the red kryptonite compound as a weapon.”

“My handler?” Kara scoffs through the panties between her teeth, laughing. “You couldn’t handle a guinea pig without help—” The sentence is slapped out of her mouth, hard.

“Your ears work, how reassuring.” Lena remains blank-faced. “Now, come with me, let’s see how reward-motivated you can be, little one.”

The fingers entwined in the back of her scalp tug, pull, coax her to follow on her knees across the glass room towards a desk with a laptop on top of it in the corner. There’s a soft, plush cushion beside the chair. Kara realises too late what exactly her girlfriend has planned.

“No, no.” Lena stops when Kara stops, glancing down at the ravenous little creature digging her feet into the floor. “Wouldn’t you rather feel good, sweetheart?” She swiftly takes the panties out of her mouth.

Kara thinks, too optimistically, that it’s so she can reply clearly.

Instantaneously, Kara feels all of her muscles tighten at once. Something has started vibrating inside of her—quite literally, vibrating inside of her—it’s pressed deep inside of her folds, right behind her clit against that perfect spot that made her cunt feel tight and hot. The panties were removed from her mouth so they weren’t a choking hazard, she realises.

Then, it dwindles away to nothing.

“I am going to hurt you in ways you cannot fathom,” Kara growls furiously at the denial of her pleasure.

“No, you’re not.” Lena cranes down and pecks her temple. “Because I will crush you before you ever get the chance, little girl,” her soft voice becomes a stern tone against the ear, the responsive slither of crimson red kryptonite emanating from Kara’s temple not going unnoticed.

The moment Kara snatches at Lena’s throat with her teeth—she is made to learn the hard way around why it’s a regrettable idea.

A sudden shock of electricity hits her, but not externally, this time it’s deep inside of her cunt, attacking the back of her clit with needle-like precision. It hits her so hard that Kara squeals and releases Lena’s throat before the slightest amount of pressure can be applied with her teeth.

Unlike the earlier electric shock, this one is prolonged and hateful almost. Kara curls on her side and cries, clenching her thighs, yelping like a wounded little animal. Lena stands over her calmly, hands clasped in front of her neat black pencil skirt while her thumb continues to press the remote control.

“Please!” Kara squeals. “Please make it stop!”

“Good girl,” Lena whispers and lifts her thumb off the trigger. “Manners will get you everywhere, sweetheart. I would advise that you don’t ever try to hurt me, otherwise I will have to rectify the situation with some sense of equalism. You understand?”

“Yes,” Kara spits the affirmation between her clenching teeth.

“Yes Ma’am,” Lena insists.

“You have lost your soft little fucking mind if you think—” Kara wails a sharp sob that cuts her off, squirming her thighs together again as a small jolt hits her deep in the back of the cunt.

“When you’re like this, Kara, I don’t see my girlfriend,” Lena says firm. “My sweet, gentle, strong Supergirl... She would never try to hurt me, would never hurt a fly even. But you?” Her tone is suddenly accusatory. “You are not my Kara. You are the monster that lurks beneath the surface, and you will kneel and be made tame or you will be crushed into dust. I’m not your girlfriend, your little human, or your subordinate. I am the only authority in your tiny fucking insular world and you will obey me.” It isn’t posed as a question, simply posited as fact.

“We’ll see about that, Ma’am,” Kara growls sarcastically.

“Good girl,” Lena’s tone is suddenly praising, her eyes narrowing with pleased surprise. “You don’t have to enjoy saying it, baby, you just have to do as you’re told.”

Instinctively, Kara wants to protest and be difficult. But whatever Lena has buried deep inside of her cunt…it begins to strangely swell, filling her, vibrating and pulsing against her slick hot folds in a way that is entirely pleasurable. Kara understands too late what game they’re playing. Lena is operantly conditioning her. A game of punishment and reward.

The corner of Kara’s vision glitters, almost. The red kryptonite heightens everything, her emotions, her mood, her aggression, and apparently her arousal too. The wolfish creature can’t help but gasp, closing her eyes and unable to form coherent words.

“I think that’s enough baby,” Lena whispers softly.

Slowly, the strange new toy inside of her cunt recedes in size and slows its vibrations. It feels like a knot growing smaller, then a love egg, then it’s too small to be descriptively felt any more. Kara can still tell something is inside of her but it’s the smallest, most inoffensive intrusion. There, but not there, like a tiny pill-sized probe of sorts.

Kara glances down to the  leather strap buckled tight over her slit. She had assumed it was there to stop her slipping out of the strait-jacket, but Kara now understood it was also there to keep something buried inside of her.

Kara shifts slowly on the floor, twisting her hips, trying to feel out the sensations in her body that no longer seemed to exist without Lena deciding they should. It makes the chief executive smile this wolfish, chipper grin that looks strange on her usually dour face. Her beaming white teeth are on display with the breadth of her smile.

She looks beautiful, Kara can’t help but notice.

“What-” Kara blinks, completely confused. “What did you put inside of me?”

“A very, very special toy.” Lena gently takes her by the chin, guiding her shying face to meet her authoritative eyes. “I made it especially for you, though the punishment features were certainly a last-minute revision. If you’re a very, very good girl I’ll show you just how nice it feels when I decide that it should.”

“And if I’m not a good girl?” Kara lifts her brow defiantly. “If I don’t want to be your unconsenting little fucking pet slave?”

At that Lena’s eyes widen slightly.

“Baby,” Lena whispers with a knitted brow, her voice slow and loving. “I’m trying to help you here. The green kryptonite—” She nods at the deep green spotlights that cast the room in dark shadows. “I don’t know how much exposure is lethal, but I know that if you ever posed a risk to the general public then the DEO would ask questions later after they had put you down like a feral animal.” The theoretical possibility seems to make Lena tight with worry. “You don’t have to like this. It’s non-lethal, it’s for your own good, and my Kara would perfectly understand why it was necessary.”

“Then your Kara is a submissive little whore, and you probably know as much.” Kara glares at the unshakeable human she had underestimated.

Lena tucks a long weft of blonde hair behind Kara’s ear.

“Come along,” Lena instructs, turning on her heels to walk to the desk in the corner of the room. “You can either come willingly or I will give you a damn good reason to regret being so difficult.”

***

To Lena’s surprise, Kara did as she was told. Lena sat down in the chair and opened the laptop, her thumb on the shock button, ready to hit her girlfriend where it hurt once she reached zero on her mental countdown from ten.

But Kara crawls forward as best she can like a wounded little animal, her arms secured by the strait-jacket, her cheek pressed to the floor as she pushes forward indignantly on her knees.

The miracle happened. The pigs flew over the sky. The chickens had come home to roost. Lena felt her smile widen proudly, her fingers slipping around Kara’s neck and tickling the nape.

“Good girl,” Lena hushes, then she slips her hand around Kara’s jaw and brings her cheek to her lap. “There you go, just kneel there and show me you can be good.”

Lena rewards her in tangible, felt ways. The bullet-like toy inside of her cunt was activated with the remote, Lena’s thumb slipping over the control trigger to increase the swell in size, then the vibrations too.

Lena kept it on the minimal settings, flexing her thumb back and forth, giving her girlfriend just enough to coax her submission. She imagined that it probably felt like a pulse inside of her tight slick cunt, a pressure that grew and pressed into the back of her g-spot with delicious accuracy, then receded into nothing.

“Say thank you, princess.” Lena idly traces her fingertips on the panting jaw pressing to her thigh.

“Go fuck yourself you arrogant, precious little cunt.”

Lena just closes her eyes and presses the button.

Tense and tight and squealing, the wolfish little creature slumps to the floor and wrestles against the strait-jackets straps. Lena opens her eyes and peers down at her, guilty, curious, aroused beyond words and not ready to take her thumb off the trigger yet.

“Please!” Kara yelps with tears streaming down her red cheeks. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry, what?” Lena lifts her eyebrow, waiting for the appellation.

“Oh go fuck yourself—” Kara regrets it instantly.

It was thrilling to bring a god to her squealing, tightly curled-up kneels. Lena knows it’s wrong, that it’s villainous in all the ways she holds herself to be morally higher than. But all Kara has to do is be polite, it really isn’t that hard. She increases the electricity until it feels like a thousand tiny needles digging and prodding, Lena has no doubts about it.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am!” Kara sobs. “Please make it stop, I’m sorry!”

“Good girl,” Lena hushes and takes her thumb off the trigger. “There’s a good, good girl.” She pets her long damp hair. “See, it isn’t that hard baby. You just have to do as you’re told, you just have to be a good girl.”

Lena replaces the pain with a flood of pleasure. It takes her girlfriend off her centre of gravity. Kara slumps again, her toes flexing and curling, her belly tightening until she is curling like a little kitten. Lena makes sure to show the submission an abundance of reward, her thumb flies upward on the control trigger and gives Kara a brief taste of how good obedience can truly feel.

The toy swells so big and wide inside of Kara that her weeping baby blues fly open, entire constellations mapped in the whites of her eyes. The vibrations are so powerful that Lena can hear them — thrumming, pulsing, mechanically growling away like a revving engine. She brings Kara down slowly, gently, backing her away from the cliff edge of a quick hard orgasm.

“Please!” Kara whines and brings her cheek back to Lena’s lap, kissing and digging her nose into the top of the chief executive’s thigh. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave, please just let me cum.”

“I think I’ll leave you right here.” Lena settles on a low, gentle vibration setting — enough that Kara can feel it stirring her orgasm, but not enough to push her over the edge. “If you’re still being a good girl by the time I’ve finished my ordinance paperwork, we can revisit things.”

“Please,” Kara whimpers, her voice barely a choking whisper. “Please, please, please—” She buries her face into Lena’s lap.

Lena ignores it and gets on with her tasks. It takes longer than it usually does, she’s more aware of the ticking time. The panting little mouth pressing to her thigh whimpers and moans, but Kara’s face is entirely slack and resting on the leg as though she has no energy to hold it up of her own volition.

“Please Ma’am,” Kara whimpers, “Please, Ma’am, make it feel good.”

Lena says nothing, offers nothing in response, but she pushes the trigger upwards and increases the vibrations and swelling size of the toy, incrementally and almost procedural. Then, she clicks into her emails for a quick update on the minute notes from the meeting she missed.

Ten minutes pass, if that.

“I need to cum,” Kara pants. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please Ma’am!”

“I said no—ow!” Lena glances down to where Kara had nipped her with teeth, hard. “What did I tell you?” Lena asks calmly, her fingers catching the shying chin. “I was fair, I warned you Kara, all you have to do is be a good girl and do as I tell you to.”

“Please no more shocks, I’m sorry—I didn’t, I didn’t mean to!”

“I’m not going to shock you,” Lena says reassuringly, closing the laptop lid. “You want to be fucked? You want to be pleasured? I’m going to show you exactly why you wait for my freely-given permission. You think this is degrading? Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

***

Kara cries so hard it makes the veins in her throat bulge and stick out. Her legs thrash and kick, her arms wrangling desperately against the tight, taut sleeves of the jacket. Externally, it looked as though she might be in the worst pain one woman could possibly experience. Lena almost felt guilty. But, Kara wasn’t in pain.

She was in terminal pleasure.

“Spread your legs,” Lena only has to whisper the instruction.

Kara does as she’s told instantly, as best she can, opening her shaking legs as far and wide as she possibly can. Her cunt is pink and swollen against the wet leather strap, bucking desperately for an orgasm she isn’t permitted to have.

Whenever she gets too close, Lena dials the toy down—or gives her a tiny shock—depending on whichever is necessary to keep her an obedient and well-behaved girl.

“What a pretty girl,” Lena croons, brow furrowing deeply as she leaned against her chair and crossed her leg. “Tell me again, what are the rules baby?”

“I do as I’m told,” Kara pants. “That’s all I have to do, exactly as I’m told to do.”

“You’re such a good, obedient little girl.” Lena dials up her vibrations almost imperceptibly. “I wanted to break you in gently, Kara, but if you need to be brought under the thumb with ruthless efficiency then that works for me too. Come, hump my foot like a good pet.”

The red kryptonite glows and ebbs under her skin, everywhere, pulsing, from her temples to her toes, the slithers of red slip and glide beneath her skin and then reappear a moment later somewhere else. Lena surmises that her body, her primal aggression, it’s fighting her from the inside out and telling her this is wrong.

Kara ignores it and does as she’s told.

“What a good girl!” Lena cranes down and kisses her temple as the slick leather strap begins to work the top of her bare foot. “What do good girls get, Kara?”

“Rewards, Ma’am,” Kara whimpers.

“And what does the good girl want?”

“For you to fuck me hard, Ma’am,” Kara breaks into a sob and grinds her hips harder. “Please, please, it’s too gentle.” She dissolves into hiccuping tears.

“You’re sure you want a big hard orgasm?” Lena furrows her brow, as though she doesn’t understand. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice, soft, gentle little orgasm that just takes you over the edge—”

“Please let me cum hard,” Kara squeals, her face dipped down and cradled between her handler’s thighs. “Please, Ma’am! I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“No baby,” Lena says calmly. “Just a tiny soft orgasm tonight. If you are good, I’ll let you have a big one tomorrow.”

“Ma’am please!” Kara yelps as though agonised, her fingers digging tight into Lena’s kneecaps. “Please, please—”

It’s important that Kara learns the size and depth of a reward is Lena’s to call. She won’t get her own way all of the time, that’s Lena’s rationale with denying her. Lena dials down the vibrations incrementally, then makes the swell of the toy just a little bit smaller. Responsively, Kara sobs and bucks harder as she loses the pressure on her g-spot.

“The more you push the more pressure I’m going to take away,” Lena is stern because she feels that she has to be. “Are we going to be a good girl or a ruined girl?”

“Good girl,” Kara whimpers and bucks. “Can I cum, please? I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be obedient.”

“Chase it. I’ll cut you off when you’ve had enough baby, don’t you worry.” Lena cruelly smiles.

Kara bucks and grows silent for a moment, her pained expression slackening as the orgasm creeps up gently—nowhere near as forceful as the wolfish little thing desires it to be—but that will come in time, Lena thinks. She cups Kara’s chin and stares down at her, appraising, judging perfectly, grinning when the wild little thing comes undone with a sob and clutches at her leg like a humping little pet.

“There we go,” Lena whispers, turning the toy off suddenly just as Kara hit the peek. “What a very, very good girl. I’m pleased, Kara.” She cranes and pecks her temple, her tear-stained cheek, then her panting lips. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Kara stutters.

“Good, good girl.” Lena cradles her cheeks. “Let’s get you comfortable in bed. You’re not going to give me problems, are you?” Lena teases her thumb over the shock trigger.

“No Ma’am!” Kara shakes her head frantically. “No problems!”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear.” Lena kisses her more fervently this time.

It was a gamble with her life that paid off, Lena thinks with relief.

The green kryptonite lamps had died hours ago, the room was completely dim and dark save the backlight from the row of monitors opposite the other side of the glass. Unbeknownst to Kara, she had slowly regained her powers, or certainly enough of them to beat Lena in a fight if she so wished. But, she had been such a very good girl.

Lena had no concerns now that her little wolfish pet could be brought to heel.

FIND MORE STORIES/SUBMIT ME YOUR IDEAS HERE!

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Conner Kent Week 2021, Day Two: Rarepair

Jason knew jokes about how pale Tim was, about how he was either a vampire or the perfect blue blood, about how he needed to get out and absorb some sun for God’s sake. They were met with glares, scathing retorts, smacks with a bo staff, and on one memorable occasion, a horrified Bruce as Tim barged into the house with visible sunburn all along his arms, shoulder and face. (Bruce hadn’t taken Tim’s accusation of But Jason told me to go get some sun! very well.)

Jason wasn’t joking now. Loosely covered in a hospital gown, Tim’s still body seemed to be more devoid of colour than any of the sheets, machines, and tubes surrounding him and attached to his body, keeping him alive in the most impersonal of ways. 

It was quiet, the sort of quiet that muffled any attempted noise with a soft hush, an invisible reprimand at showing signs of life in a place where there should be none. The beeping of the various machines didn’t register, the hum of the fluorescent lights was ignorable. Even the rhythmic tapping of Jason’s foot on the linoleum, a nervous habit he’d never been able to break, was utterly silent. 

It was quiet. At least until Conner Kent barged into the room, his heavy combat boots thudding on the ground and his breath coming out in pants, the terrified look on his face telling Jason that he thought he hadn’t gotten here fast enough.

“He’s fine,” Jason managed not to cough while speaking, the roughness of his throat a physical ache that was just now flaring up. “Full recovery, they said.”

“Good, good, that’s...” Conner dropped into the remaining hospital chair, right next to Jason. “That’s good.”

Silence blanketed them once again. Jason hadn’t ever been in a regular hospital room. He had supposedly spent a while as a patient in one when he’d risen from the dead and trembled around Gotham like a 21st century zombie, but he couldn’t remember any of it. He didn’t think Tim’s best friend had ever been in one either, given a good majority of Tim’s team was invulnerable or had advanced healing in some way. 

Jason was sure Bruce was itching to take Tim to the cave’s medbay, and honestly, Jason found himself on Bruce’s side in this. As much as he liked to distrust the entire Bat clan, he knew they’d give everything they had to make sure Tim was okay, while the hospital was only giving Tim their best care because of the “Wayne” tacked onto the end of his name. Jason had been about to demand Bruce bring him back to the cave no matter what, but Oracle butted in, telling him that Tim been shot as Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne in broad daylight. Bruce couldn’t take Tim home, not without raising some very complicated questions.

So that led them here. Jason being slammed full-force in the face with how much he’d let himself care about the tiny little toothpick, unable to make himself move for fear that Tim would slip away in the one moment he was gone. (Once he’d come back to life and seen how chummy Dick was with Bruce all of a sudden, he’d always expected Dick to drag him back kicking and screaming. He never thought Tim’s unobtrusive yet steady presence, doing his tech work in exchange for food, would lead to the word brother coming to his lips as easy as a breath.)

Next to him, Conner shuffled, and snapped Jason out of his thoughts. “I thought Nightwing would be here.” A statement, subtly posed as a question.

But, still one Jason had an answer to. “Deep cover. A mission he’d been planning for weeks. He doesn’t know.” And he would probably throw a fit about it too, when he came back. Even Jason had to wince a bit at the horrible sense of déjà vu Dick would end up feeling.

“So they sent you instead,” Conner said, and his tone was simple, but Jason found himself getting heated anyway.

“What, you thought the fill-in for Big Bird would be a little better?”

Jason was just burning for a fight, the helplessness he felt at being able to do nothing but sit in a low-quality plastic chair skating up his body and down his arms, forcing his fingers to curl in a fist. He expected the other boy to rise to the bait, having heard Tim’s complaints on how hot-headed Superboy was. 

But something about their current situation caused Conner to just turn and glare at him flatly instead. “You once put him a hospital bed, too. Don’t act like you care about him now when you would’ve celebrated this a couple years ago.” His tone was dismissive, and that dug under Jason’s skin much more than he expected. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing time travel’s reserved for the speedsters, huh? ‘Cause lucky for you, I’m not the same guy I was a couple years ago,” Jason replied scathingly. The next words were ripped from Jason’s throat, and he could almost see the blood splattered on them. “That’s my brother in the shitty hospital bed right there.”

“Yeah? And how long have you even cared about that ‘brother’ of yours?” There it was. Jason could see red trickling into Conner’s cheeks as he let Jason’s words get to him, and found himself oddly curious about that flush.

Still. Argument to win. “Long enough to know him,” Jason shot back. “Long enough to help piece him together after he almost broke. Where were you during that time? Fucking around with your friends or dead?”

“Trying to hold together the team that Tim helped build,” Conner shifted a bit to face Jason more directly head on. “All you’ve done is tear people apart. News flash: having a sort-of truce with Tim doesn’t automatically mean your family loves you again.”

That one hurt. Years of training to keep his emotions hidden was the only thing that kept him from flinching back visibly, but Jason still felt like he’d been slapped. Because the boy was right; just because Tim liked dropping by one of his safehouses every other week doesn’t mean the rest of the family was anywhere near comfortable with him, not after all the pain he’d caused them. And he couldn’t even fault Conner on it, because it wasn’t like he was wrong and it wasn’t like it wasn’t Jason’s own damn fault.

Still. He couldn’t just let that slide. “At least my family loved me to begin with. What do you have? Megalomaniac scientists who built you from an evil billionaire who thinks of you as an experiment at best and supposedly one of the best men on Earth who still thinks you’re not worth his time.”

Too late, Jason realized his insult came out a little too scathing. Conner’s eyes widened, and Jason saw him blink back pinpricks of tears...fuck. He didn’t know when mutual antagonizing had turned into a caustic competition, but he was pretty sure Tim wouldn’t be very happy with the two of them biting each other’s heads off. And Jason was the one that goaded Conner into this to begin with, to let some of his own helpless anger loose. Conner just wanted to make sure his friend was alright.

So, slightly reluctantly, Jason said, “Sorry. That was a bit too far.”

Conner shot him a grimace. “S’okay. You’re keyed up ‘cause of Tim. I get it. You’re still a jackass, though.” After saying his bit, the other boy turned away, taking up another vigil by Tim’s bedside.

...What the hell. It wasn’t like Jason had lied, anyway. If there was one person that had worse daddy issues than Jason did, it was this poor son of a bitch. Back when he was first catching glimpses of updates on what happened in the larger superhero world while he was letting green overtake his mind, he’d marveled a bit at Superboy, and the way the Justice League seemed to speak about it. How bad do you have to be to be Superman’s own son, (sorta), and still have him hold you at arms length. But after Tim’s stories, and after meeting him now, Jason was pretty sure Superman was in the wrong.

You really couldn’t trust anyone, could you?

“Nah. You’re right,” Jason said. “God knows none of the Bats want anything to do with me, so this stupid sort-of truce with this stupid brother’s all I got.”

Conner glanced over at him, surprised. Jason couldn’t blame him, he was a little taken aback at how easily the confession had spilled out of him too. They both knew how closed off people in their line of work were, but Conner seemed to take Jason’s words as an olive branch.

“You were right too. Found out the fun way that parents aren’t worth shit. So the team’s all I got, and Tim’s a big part of that.”

“The kid fucking hates you,” Jason said, putting some good-natured humor into his words to let Conner know he wasn’t entirely serious. “Loves you to death, but complains about you to me all the time.”

Conner snorted. “Look who’s talking. Every week at Titans Tower, it’s all ‘Jason won’t stop scaring off all my informants’ and ‘Jason spit on my copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.’”

“You can’t blame me for that last one, aight?” 

“No, I agree with you,” Conner said. “That movie was terrible. I don’t know why Tim likes it.”

“Because he’s a goddamn loser,” Jason said. He couldn’t say he was expecting Conner to know who he was, much less from stories Tim had told him. But it felt...good, in a way. Nice to be recognized by his media tastes instead of his bone-chilling reputation. Nice to know that the guy Tim wouldn’t shut up about to him knew who he was.

Silence fell in between them again, but it was comfortable, mutually acknowledged and let rest. Jason didn’t break it when Conner stood up, brushed a kiss to Tim’s hair, and left the hospital much quieter than he came. Jason didn’t break it when he made to leave either, squeezing Tim’s hand and mentally willing him to heal faster. Jason didn’t break it all the way home. 

The next day found Jason in a similar position. The positive side of being a mob boss: he didn’t have much in the way of a day job. He didn’t know why cramming himself into an uncomfortable position to stare, with a tight throat, at a kid in a medically induced coma was what he decided to do with his day.

Maybe because the kid had grown on him, latched onto his heart like a leech and didn’t let go until Jason could ruffle his hair and think of him as a little brother without physically throwing up. 

And maybe because he wanted to see Conner again. He didn’t know why, but their brief talk yesterday had loosened something inside his chest. He was used mulling over his regrets, used to Bruce condemning him and giving up on him as a lost cause, used to Dick trying to brush everything aside and form a bond with him again. He wasn’t used to someone staring his sins in the face, then shrugging and forgiving him. 

Forgiveness was much lighter and much less guilt-ridden than Jason expected, and he wanted more of it. From the way Conner had sunk into the same line of thinking as Jason, he wanted more of it too.

Conner didn’t disappoint him, but Jason wasn’t sure when he’d gotten his hopes up high enough to be disappointed in the first place. Calmer, now that he knew Tim was doing better, Conner leaned against the doorframe of hospital room, staring at their resident comatose with a little frown on his lips.

Jason took the time to study him. A black leather jacket stretched across his shoulders, a little more showy than the practical brown one draped across the back of the chair Jason was sitting on. He supposed it fitted in with Superboy’s theme, because anyone who wore that pinwheel-bright costume with the fucking thigh holster Jason saw pictures of online was more than a little showy. There wasn’t much proof of in his simple t-shirt and jeans, though, and Jason almost would’ve been disappointed if it weren’t for the earring hanging from his left earlobe and the tall black boots with glinting metal lace hooks that stretched up their length. Jason bet he owned the exact pair of fingerless gloves that were wrapped around Conner’s wrists right now.

In all of Tim’s vivid descriptions of the guy, Jason never realized how much he had in common with the guy, at least cosmetically.

“How’s he doing?” Conner asked, and jolted Jason out of his reverie. He didn’t make any indication he caught Jason looking, but Jason eyed him in slight embarrassment just in case.

Realizing that Conner was actually waiting for an answer, Jason cleared his throat and leaned forward a bit from his relaxed sprawl. “They say they’ll bring him out of it tomorrow, then a week here before he can go home. That is, if he doesn’t wake up on his own. The doctors say they’re astounded at how fast he’s recovering.”

Conner snorted, then stepped fully into the room. “Can you build up an immunity to injury? Or, like, have your body develop a mini healing factor or something? Just based on the kind of shit we’ve gone through over the years?”

Jason didn’t miss the way Conner put feather’s touch more emphasis on “we,” or the way his eyes flicked over to Jason. “At this point, I’m sure it’s the only way we’ve stayed alive so long.”

“No you didn’t,” Conner chuckled.

Jason’s head whipped up, staring at the other boy with disbelief threading through his mind. It had taken months for Dick to start making death jokes, and even then, he hesitated a bit, as if making sure Jason was okay with it. But after one meeting, Conner just steamrolled ahead, every bit as confident as he appeared to be. Jason found himself laughing too, with genuine amusement albeit a little punched out.

Crossing the room to seat himself in the remaining plastic chair, Conner sunk down with a sigh. “I just want him to wake up already.”

“Yeah, well. Who doesn’t?” Jason said, feeling unreasonably a little disappointed. Of course Conner wanted to talk about Tim, that was the whole reason he’d come to the hospital in the first place. He’d only known Jason for an hour, and a large part of that was spent trading insults back and forth. Of course he didn’t want to talk about how Jason was doing.

“So,” Conner said, turning away from the hospital bed. “How are you doing?”

Or maybe he did. Jason didn’t know what to call the little bubble of satisfaction that flew up his throat and popped in his mouth. “Not bad. Life as a mob boss is kinda boring, whaddya know. You?”

“Playing den mother for a bunch of hypercompetent yet cluelessly stupid baby superheroes is not how I imagined my life going.”

“Playing den mother?”

Conner wrinkled his nose, in a motion that was in no way cute, honestly kind of gross and flat. Jason found himself staring nonetheless. “Bart used to call me Team Mom back when we founded the team, and it caught on. Now, Cassie leads, but since even she says it, everyone fucking says it. They ask me for granola bars and money to buy movie tickets.”

“And?”

Conner sighed. “I give them granola bars and money to buy movie tickets.”

“There you go,” Jason  said, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

“I swear I’m not usually this lame,” Conner pleaded, and his half-smile was aimed straight towards Jason.

“No, no, I believe you. Tim’s told me stories,” Jason said. “Didn’t you once throw some guy into a police car so hard, the car dented and they had to call in a helicopter so the guy didn’t die on the way to the hospital?”

Conner flushed, and Jason found it just as entrancing as last time. “He tried to touch Cassie,” he explained. “And she can take care of herself more than well, I know. I just got a bit...overprotective.”

Jason just laughed. “Don’t worry. I thought it was badass.”

“Really?” Conner’s lips twisted into a sour smile. “Because the League thought it was proof of my, fuck, what was it? Violent, destructive tendencies mirrored on a smaller scale of the schemes of Lex Luthor. Something along those lines.”

Shaking his head with desideration, Jason scoffed. “Sounds about accurate. Besides, you don’t wanna know what the League thinks of me.”

“What?”

“Aside from, like, Joker and Two-Face and Mad Hatter and shit, Red Hood is one one of Batman’s most powerful and dangerous rogues, and must be stopped at all costs.”

Conner was laughing before Jason even finished talking. “I love that for you,” he said. “You’re just so powerful and dangerous. I’m quaking in my boots.”

Jason shoved him lightly, and felt Conner give way on purpose, ignoring how natural and easy the motion felt. “Whatever you say, Luthor Lite.”

“Well, guess I found my new superhero name,” Conner said, finger held up to his chin in mock-thought as if musing something extremely important.

“It’s perfect,” Jason said. “And here we have Conner Kent, ordinary punk-rock farmer. But he’s hiding a secret! When his ‘violent and destructive tendencies’ come out, he turns into...Luthor Lite!”

The two of them collapsed into muffled laughter, Jason stifling his noise by biting his lip and Conner putting his head in the crook of his arm to hide his red face. Pity, Jason liked that flush.

Straightening up with a sigh, Conner offered Jason a little grin. Crimson was still creeping along his cheekbones and the edge of his jaw, and Jason was suddenly struck by the urge to trace it.

“Kon,” Conner said.

“What?”

“Call me Kon,” Conner said. “Everyone does.”

“Kon, huh? With a K, right?” Jason asked, then nodded thoughtfully when Conner made a noise of affirmation. “Is it Kryptonian or something?”

A rueful expression stole it’s way onto Conner’s face, mischievous lips and daring eyes staring at Jason as if challenging him. “Yeah. Kon-el. Kryptonian for ‘abomination’. It’s what they thought of clones.”

A pause. Then, “Wow.” Jason bust out laughing for the second time. “That’s metal as fuck. Good for you, Kon.”

“Says the guy who took the name of the person who killed him, then twisted it into something so horrifying that now, no one else associates it with anything other than you.”

“Is that judgement I hear?”

“Respect,” Kon said, and his smile was oddly shy, the first time he’d shown that emotion since he’d met Jason. Jason liked the way it looked on him; it suited him oddly well.

They were quiet for a minute, grinning at each other like buffoons, but Jason couldn’t find the heart to stop. Eventually, Kon stood up and rolled out his shoulders to stretch. “I gotta get going. I’m meeting Bart and Cassie, updating them about Tim.”

“They’re waking Tim up in the afternoon,” Jason said. “Bruce is gonna be here, plus Steph. So I’d stay clear.”

“Gotcha, thanks. I’ll come in the morning.”

A proposition, if Jason ever saw one, and there was no way he could have refused. “I’ll be here,” he said, and kept his eyes on Kon until he rounded a corner, away from sight.

Kon was already there when Jason came to visit Tim the next day, and he gave him a friendly, if a tad flirtatious, smile. Jason responded, accidentally putting too much emotion into the greeting than he would have liked, but it made Kon brighten, so Jason didn’t feel too bad. 

Dropping heavily into what had become “his” chair, Jason shrugged off his jacket. He gave himself a mental high-five when he noticed Kon staring at his shoulders, but made no motion to address it.

“If all goes to plan, he’ll be the same annoying little prep boy that’s always annoying the hell out of me by tonight,” Jason said.

“He’ll be fine,” Kon said, and his voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of confidence curling around his words. He sounded like he had utter faith in Tim. Jason wished some of that would bleed over.

“He’s a tough little shit,” Jason said, then repeated Kon’s words. “He’ll be fine.”

“How ‘bout you?”

“Hm?” Jason raised an inquiring brow. “Oh, I’m all good It’s not me that’s hurt.”

“Jason,” Kon snorted. “If I have learned anything over the past two days, it is the fact that you are most definitely not ‘all good.’”

“Yeah well,” Jason said. “You’re one to talk.”

Kon made a noncommittal noise, and shrugged as if to say what can you do? “We’ve all got issues. But I get the feeling that you’re not as closed off and angry as you let people believe. Or maybe you are, but you don’t want to.”

Jason bit back the first response that came into his mind, telling Kon that no, he was closed off and angry, just not with him. But that wasn’t the truth, and he definitely didn’t have the courage to say it out loud. So instead, he said, “Maybe. Not gonna lie, from the way Tim and everyone talks about you, I was expecting more...”

“Cocky little frat boy?” Kon asked, smirking.

“More or less.”

Kon sighed, then looked down to where his hands were fiddling with each other. “Superman doesn’t act like a cocky little frat boy. Neither does Lex Luthor.”

“You’re not either of them,” Jason said, realization pouring into his mind like spilled oil. “You’re not either of them, but no one else seems to get that, so you make it as obvious as possible.”

“A couple people got that eventually,” Conner said, looking up at Tim with a soft smile. “Not many, though. And none as quickly as you.”

Kon leaned back, level with Jason now, turned to face him, something on his face that Jason couldn’t read. The chairs seemed much closer than Jason could remember, but he wasn’t very much banking on his memory right now. 

“Yeah, well,” Jason said, feeling a little lame. “What can I say. Misery likes company, and companies read each other through water.”

“Never heard that one before.”

“I came up with it,” Jason said. 

“I like it,” Kon smiled, then leaned forward with an ease Jason had been determined to build up first.

A little peeved at Kon beating him to it, Jason closed the distance first, the kiss probably a little too rough. But given the way they’d met, Jason felt like the bite he gave Kon was justified, even if the other boy was invulnerable.

Jason had made plenty of bad decisions in his life, and he knew exactly what they felt like. This wasn’t one of them. There was no chance that the way Kon’s hands coming up to cup Jason’s face, dragging his nail down Jason’s jaw, was anything other than good. No chance the way Kon’s soft hair suddenly threaded through his fingers was anything other than soft, no chance the soft noise Kon made in the back of his throat was anything other than delightful.

Yeah, Jason knew bad decisions. And despite the avalanche of bad decisions that seemed to make up every inch of Jason, from his scarred hands to his chipped nails, despite the pile-up of thoughtless ideas that led to this boy being made, despite how intimately familiar Jason was with regrets, he was certain Conner Kent wasn’t one of them.

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

this was almost 4k what the fuck

also. please imagine tim waking up to see his best friend and older brother aggressively making out in the plastic hospital chairs next to him. 

anway, suddenly i have a new ship.

imma post this on ao3 later, it got a bit long

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @bonkybearjpeg @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump

[i-am-infinite]

Guilt (Part 2): The Market

(Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!F!Reader)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Description: Moff Gideon has found someone else to run his experiments on and word gets back to Din. Will he take his son far away and try and find somewhere safe? Or will the guilt of an innocent being put in his son’s place eat away at him? (No Y/N or ___ used)

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: violence, mention of blood, needles, crude talk, symtoms of anxiety attack, fluff, angst, implied death and death, let me know if I'm missing any

A/N: This took a while to write because I was really distraught after Chpt 14. Also planning on turning this into a little series. I'm going to try and finish it before my next semester starts in Feb. I also don’t know how to write fight sequences so sorry in advance. 

You see a stormtrooper take aim at your rescuer. Right when he pulls the trigger, you reach your hand out screaming, “NO!”

It was supposed to miss him. It missed him before. Instead of bending out of the way, it hits him and the Mandalorian goes down fast. Before you know it, more troopers come, grabbing Dr. Pershing and dragging him away. They start coming towards you when you hear yourself say, “No, please no!” You could run towards the speeders, but there’s too many of them now, they can catch up easier. Looking back at the shiny man, tears leave your eyes. You were supposes to save him. That’s how it was supposed to happen. You start screaming the only name you know for him as a stormtrooper grabs your arms and has them twisted behind your back. Dragging you back to where you escaped from, the stormtrooper is calling your name. 

He keeps calling it as he shakes your arms then follows it with, “Wake up.” Why does that mechanical voice sound different from the rest? The words echo in your head. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. 

The stormtrooper helmets transforms into the one of the Mandalorian as you open your eyes. His hands leave your upper arms as he crouches in front of you. Still disoriented, your own hand comes up to your cheeks to shield your face when you realize it feels damp to the touch. Closing your eyes again and taking deep breathes you have to tell yourself over and over again: He’s here. I’m here. It was just a dream. Finally calmed down, you open your eyes to Mando still squatting in front of you. 

“You okay?” His modulated voice says to you. Nodding your head while wiping way the last of the tears, you can’t help but feel heat rise to your cheeks, wishing you could just disappear as you sink further into the copilot chair. “You want to talk about it?” he tentatively asks next. If it were anyone else, you would’ve probably said no, but seeing his tenderness as he cared for Grogu over the past few hours in hyperspace makes you give in. 

“We- we were back there, about to get on the speeders,” your heart rate picks up again thinking of it. You have no idea why the dream is affecting you this much. Continuing on with a shaky voice, “The stormtrooper, h- he shot you before I- I could- and” tears were forming in your eyes again, “and they st- started dragging me off and-” your voice suddenly barely above a whisper as you continue, “you weren’t moving.” 

You shouldn’t have shared it. Oh gosh, you wish you could take it back now. He hasn’t said anything. He probably thinks you’re weak now, unable to handle yourself, let alone a nightmare. It was a stupid dream, you are about to tell him when you hear him sigh, “Give me your hand.” Confused, you hesitate, causing him to tilt his helmet to the side and hold out his hand. Giving in, you hold out your own, placing it in his still hesitant. Moving his hand down to your wrist, gripping it lightly as he moves it his chest plate, he speaks again, “Feel this? This is beskar, strong enough to withstand blaster shots. While what you did was impressive, all you stopped from happening is me having to clean my back plate later.” Your face falls at this, noticing it, he brings his other hand over yours. You feel all the heat you have left in your body run up to your face. He declares, “That dream wouldn’t have come true. You’re safe. They won’t get to you again, I promise.” 

Still with your hand against the cool metal, all you can say is, “Oh. Thank you.” You wait for him to let go of your hand and wrist before you pull away, but he still hasn’t. Grogu stirs on the chair to your right, waking up after seeming to have slept through your nightmare. As if the noise startled Mando, he finally lets go and picks up his son. Clanking could be heard coming up from the ladder. 

Mando sits back in the pilot chair with the little green child who keeps trying to reach for the different buttons on his lap, as Dr. Pershing also seems to have finally woken up. Coming into the cockpit carrying a discarded IV bag. Oops. Should have put that back in at some point. 

Pershing comes as squats to the side of your chair, blocked off by the arm rest. “Looks like you’ve got some of your color back, which is good. Just to be safe, you should probably leave this in for longer.” Just nodding your head in response, scared your voice will falter, but now not knowing if it was from the dream or the prolonged touch of the beskar man. Or the fact that Pershing just pointed out how you’re blushing right in front of the person who caused in the first place. 

Trying not to look up at Mando, due to sheer embarrassment, you fail at your task when he turns to watch Pershing with the child still on his lap. He tries to be causal of his hand on his thigh, a little too close to his blaster as the doctor gets closer to you, while Grogu plays with his fingers. Father and protector, you smile to yourself. Realizing your line of gaze, he moves his other hand to hold to his child and abruptly turns his chair towards the stars as you feel a cold pinch in your arm. 

. 

The next hour or so is spent in silence, preparing to land on who-knows-what-planet. As long as you can get off this chilly ship and descend out of the numbness of space, it doesn’t matter where. You might be being a little over-dramatic, but wearing a now torn, thin, short sleeved shirt, some sort of pants with blaster powder now littering it, and no shoes, you think you deserve the right to be just a tad dramatic. The IV bag is finally finished, so there’s one less ice-cold thing touching your skin. Still you shiver in your seat, not wanting to impose too much and ask for a blanket or a change of clothes. Hopefully wherever you get off is warm, or at least warmer. 

Finally descending, you see tall, colorful structures, bright blue skies, and so much green. It’s beautiful. You can’t take your gaze off the gorgeous landscape getting larger before your eyes. Pulling your legs away from your chest, you brave the cold floor yet again to try and get a closer look. Audibly making a noise as you shiver, both men turn towards you, finally taking in your tattered appearance. With a static-y sigh, your starting to think that’s how he starts everything he says, the Mandalorian notes, “We should probably get you some better clothes.” His helmet points down to your feet, then tilts as he says, “And shoes.” 

. 

Bare feet hit the luscious green grass, toes curling and uncurling into it as you deeply inhale the fresh air. The sun hitting your skin makes you feel alive again, warming you from outside to inside. It’s as if you can feel the golden rays pouring out of you. You have never seen nature as brilliant and as vibrant as it is here, you never want to leave its warmth. Too caught up in your own little world, you don’t notice the two men start walking towards the city. Grogu babbling in Mando’s bag snaps you out of it and you slightly jog to try and catch up to them. 

It takes a while to walk into the city, considering where Mando landed his ship. By the time you actually get there, your feet feel like one of the thousand rocks you’ve stepped on during this journey. The armored man barely seems to notice at first of you trailing behind, only stopping when the city is finally in view. So now to top of being cold and unequipped for this amount of walking, you are now tired. Grrrwwww. And hungry. Hopefully no one heard the atrocious noise your stomach just made. When was the last time you ate? 

Mando must of heard it growl because before you can react, he tosses you a few credits and tells you to go get something to eat while he takes Pershing somewhere to set up his new life. You didn’t catch the last part because you’re already following your nose to the nearest source of food. While walking away you hear more static come out of his helmet, like he was sighing again, but it wasn’t the same as last time. It almost sounded like a laugh. Was... was he laughing at you? You whip your head around, but they’ve already disappeared. Shaking your head, you turn back and let your stomach take the lead again. 

. 

Mando and Grogu finally come back when you are all about done with this meat on a stick. They find you sitting in front of this little shop, eyes closed in bliss about finally eating. There’s barely anyone around, so it was not very hard to spot you. Finally looking up, ripping one of the last pieces off the kebob, you beam up at him. You don’t know it but seeing you happy after the events of this morning, brings a smile to the bounty hunter’s face. Offering his hand to help you stand, he asks, “Better?” You nod your head in response while he helps pull you up. Shoving he little piece of meat into your mouth, you hear his voice yet again, “What even is that?” 

“I don’t know,” you counter. “All I know if that it smelled really good. Honestly if I knew what it was, I probably wouldn’t be able to eat it,” you finish with a giggle. He just nods, still without you seeing the smile planted on his face. You two walk side by side going into the city, with Grogu in a bag on his father’s hip of course. 

You can hear the main part of the city before you actually see it. People are bustling, vendors litter the streets, it’s astonishing. And overwhelming, very overwhelming. Your breath hitches as you recall that a vendor was the way they found you before. But no, no you’re safe with the Mandalorian, he said they wouldn’t get to you. No, that he wouldn’t let them get to you. Without noticing, you start walking closer to Mando, more into his personal space than he usually likes. You’re close enough to graze his hand while walking, and right now you desperately want to reach out and grab it. Okay, it’s okay, just focus on your breathing, in and out, in and out. 

Too busy trying to calm yourself, you don’t notice Mando look over at you after he felt you invade his space. He whispers to you, “Are you okay?” but the volume is too much to get his question to your ears. Instead he lightly puts his hand at the small of your back, causing you to slightly jump. Looking around, your line of vision finally falls on the bounty hunter’s arm, now removed from your back, moving back towards his side. A blush creeps up to your cheeks as your realize that he noticed you. Pull it together. You manage to walk only a few more feet until someone bumps into you and instinct takes over as you grab onto something to steady yourself. The thing that happens to be is Mando’s arm. 

Luckily, he extends it behind your back to steady you, but not before sending the poor soul that accidentally bumped you what can only assumed is a death glare. That poor man turns as pale as a ghost. You almost forgot how menacing he could be. You’ve only been on the receiving end of Mando’s protection and don’t want to know what the opposite would be like. You two continue to walk with his arm guiding you, until you see it. Shoes. You nearly forgot about the pain in your feet until you saw them. Hand no longer on your back, you hurry forward, leaving the now frenzied and confused Mandalorian behind. 

Reaching the stand, you turn to find Mando with his hand on his blaster and his bucket of a helmet frantically looking around the area for a sign of danger. The T of his visor finally looks back at you and you just mouth to him, shoes! and then point at your bare feet. He tilts his head to the side and you just know that he sighed. Shaking your head, you let out a huff of air that resembles a laugh at his signature way of expressing himself. 

. 

Before you know it, you have new shoes, already on your feet, a few shirts and two pairs of pants. Mando insisted you have layers because who knows where they might end up. This begs the question, what kind of trouble has he gotten into before, better yet what trouble are you getting yourself into? Babbles from a hidden baby remind you that maybe the trouble is worth it. 

The shiny man and you continue walking around the marketplace of the city. He said he wanted to see if they had any spare parts that he could use for the Razor Crest and you were just happy to be wearing boots and having the extra time to break them in. “You can go look around if you want, I’m going to be over here,” Mando states as he inspects some round, gear-looking thing. Figuring you’d get bored of the mechanical items, you go to wander. “Hey,” the modulated voice cuts through again, “stay close.” Nodding, you only go two booths down to look at the books laid out. 

Eyes scan to find anything remotely related to this thing, this power, you and Grogu possess. In the back of your mind also knowing you’re searching for something to tell you more about Mandalorian culture, as you have become intrigued by your new companion. While looking, something shiny, much like Mando, catches your eye. Turning to the next booth, the item seems to be a hair pin. You freeze. 

A flower hair pin. Pearl in the center, with gray and white iridescent petals. No, no, no, no this can’t be happening. It feels like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. Your legs feel like lead, but you need to get out of there, you have to. The table has more unfinished glass pieces there too, just like before. They can find you. They can get you. They can get the baby. No that can’t happen, you force your tense legs to move as your hands shake. Backing up away from the stand, you bump into the book stand, letting a stack of books fall into the dirt. “Sorry, sorry,” you say with an unsteady voice. You need to find Mando, you need to find the baby, you need to -

Hands grab the back of your shoulders, as you think it’s over. You try to shake them off when you’re turned around to a familiar T visor. You stop fighting against him and grab his forearms. Your breathing still hasn’t slowed as he asks with a sternness you haven’t heard from him, “What happened?”

You can’t think of how to explain with your mind and heart racing and can only answer with, “We need to get out of here.” He pesters why to better understand the situation but all you can answer with is, “please,” as tears threaten to spill. “We need to get out of here please Mando.” He looks around confused, trying to find any source of danger, but turns his attention back to you when your grip tightens and you try to pull the three of you out of there. 

He lets you lead him to the edge of the city, back towards the green scenery you landed in. Finally stopping you with his hands on your shoulders again, he calls your name, “You need to tell me what is going on.” Taking a few breaths trying to compose yourself, you explain how the day before you were taken, you were at a shop similar to the one you were at. How you saw this hair pin then cut your hand while the person working tried to help you clean up. Explaining how you thought nothing of it, until you realized they wanted your blood for experiments. You barely make it through telling him that you saw the same set up with the hair pin at that booth. 

“That’s how they must have found me. We need to get out of here before they recognize us, please,” you plead. His helmet hangs down low as he slides one hand down to take your hand and begins walking back towards the ship. 

Arriving back at the ship, Mando hands you the bag filled with new clothes, “Go change, I’ll take care of this.” Just thinking he meant to fly the three of you off the planet, you go into the ‘fresher and get ready to take off far away from here. Finally dressed and hearing the latch close, you climb up to the cockpit. Grogu gurgles and makes grabby hands for you to pick him up from the co-pilot seat. While doing so, you realize the pilot seat is empty. 

“Where’s your dad, huh little one?” you coo at him. You called out to Mando to get no response. Attempting to climb down the ladder with the child wasn’t easy, especially still worried from before. You call out to Mando again, this time more frantic as he’s nowhere to be found. Your hear rate increase as you search the ship. Pressing the button you think would open the latch of the ship does nothing. What? did he lock you in here? You open some cabinets to be met with his armory. Picking up a blaster, you start rambling to the kid, “Your dad won’t mind right? Yeah, he’d want you protected. I won’t need to use it, but just in case. Yeah, just in case. Why don’t we also hang out in the cockpit away from the doors? Sound good?” You’re only met with muffled babbles back as Grogu sticks his stubby hand in his mouth. “Yeah, we’re going to be okay. Nothing is going to happen.” You hope.

. 

Back in the city, Din is looking for a stand that has this... hair pin? Does he even know what one of those looks like? He’ll figure it out, you knocked some books over, so he decides he’ll start there. Unfortunately for Din, most of the vendors are closing down their booths. Dank farrik. He’s got to move quickly before they’re all closed. 

Speed walking, he comes across the same man working the booth Din was at before you panicked. He asks the man if he knows if there is a booth that sells this item, and thankfully he points Din in the right direction. Four booths down. The people who wanted his child, and now you, could’ve been four booths down from him and he had no idea. Now’s not the time to beat himself up over this, he needs answers. Stalking up to the table, he’s met with a young man cleaning up the stand. Without looking up the man says, “What can I help you with?” Din’s hand ghosts over the pin you described to him and sees the many broken pieces scattered on the table. 

“Seems a little... unsafe having all of these around,” Din observes while now moving around the table. The man finally looking up, goes white in the face and begins to run. Why do they always think they can outrun me? Chasing the man down an alley, Din uses his grappling hook around his feet and the man goes tumbling to the ground. Grabbing him by the collar to face him. Anger laced through his modulated voice, “Did you follow us?”

“Nope, just the lucky bastard that happened to be on the same planet as you,” He spits out. Din notices that he moves his jaw to the side, but the man continues, “Don’t worry they’ll find you and the child soon. Oh, and I’m sure the troopers will have a good time with that pretty little girl you have once  they get their hands on her.” Before Din can land a hand on this guy, he bites down on something and there’s electricity everywhere, just like he saw with Bo Katan. Din barely jumps off the man in time. Now full of adrenaline and anger he stands there for a few seconds thinking of his next move. Kriff. He needs to get back to you and his son. 

. 

You are sitting on the cold floor of the cockpit, with Grogu on your lap, hand hovering the blaster that is next to you on the ground. Banging coming from the Crest makes you jump. It sounds like the hatch opens, so you clutch Grogu closer and pick up the blaster as you stand up. The pram is still in the cockpit, so you put the baby that is pulling your hair in and close it. Going to the opening between the levels, with shaky hands, you raise the blaster and wait. Clanging can be heard when you finally hear Mando call your name and the kid’s.

Hopping down the ladder, blaster still in hand, you smile at him as he stands still. “What the hell are you doing with that,” he barks at you. You stand there dumbfounded, he’s the one that left you in the ship with his child. He should be glad your first thought was to protect him. He continues with his hands on his hips, “Do you even know how to use that?”

Still startled, you stammer, “You just- point and shoot?” With that his hands go up in astonishment and back down again, almost as if he’s saying, are you kriffing kidding me? Why is he so angry right now? 

“You’re - you’re the one that left me, that left us here,” you point back up to the cockpit, “I didn’t know if someone else could get in or not. Why are you so angry at me for trying to protect your son?” 

“You could have shot him or yourself, you don’t even know how to use it,” his voice raises and he takes it out of your hand. 

“I’m not the one that left us here defenseless!” you scream. Both of you stand there for second huffing at each other. Finally thinking a little bit more rationally, you ask, “Where did you even go?” 

Pushing past you, he put something in your hand, “I took care of it.” He climbs the ladder as you look. The hair pin. He took care of it? He took care of it. Your face falls thinking of what that means. Following him back up, you take Grogu from the pram and place him on your hip. 

“You took care of it?” you say astonished, “Care to elaborate?” Mando sits in the pilot chair already plotting a new location. 

“No.” Your eyes go wide as he spins the chair to face you. “I’m flying us out of here and I-,” his hands go up in defeat, “I need to eat. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come up.” He sounds less angry but still very annoyed. At this point you’re fuming. You spin on your heels with Grogu playfully slapping his little 3-fingered hand across your face for attention. 

You leave the cockpit and grab two food packets on the crate before the ladder opening. Stuffing them in your pocket, you try to maneuver yet again down the ladder with a baby clinging to you. Hopping off the last wrung, you go to sit on the crates you woke up on. Opening the packets, you help feed Grogu his. 

Why was he so mad? If anything, he should be thankful that you were being resourceful. And after the past couple of days you think you deserve the right to be a little worked up about things like this. The anger is fueling you right now. It keeps spiraling, you can feel the darkness surround you. This used to happen when you were younger. Your emotions would almost devour you whole. Luckily your mother would always tell you, it’s okay to have these emotions but don’t let them consume you. She would lead you through some breathing exercises to help you calm down. Oh, you wish she were here with you right now to help. Could she have known about this ability you have? That’s not important right now, you need to breath and calm down. While doing so, you feel two little hands come and rest on your chest, as to help you relax more. Playing with his ears, the weight of the day starts to set in. You feel your eyes start to droop and before you know it, you’re asleep yet again. 

. 

Din holds his head in his hands. He shouldn’t have snapped. He knows this. It’s just knowing that Moff Gideon and his Imps could be anywhere in the galaxy trying to find others like the two Jedi he seemed to have collected. Are you even a Jedi? He still has no idea how this even works. Din shakes his head trying to clear it of what that man said. The anger boils up in him thinking of what he said about you, about their hands on you. He wishes he could’ve gotten a few punches in on him. He got out easy. 

He’d do anything to protect Grogu, he knows it and they know it. But now with you in the equation? He’s terrified. He doesn’t know what he got himself into with now both of you under his protection. You don’t know this but he saw you peeking through the opening, with your hands shaking holding the blaster and with such fear in your eyes. A pain springs up in his chest just thinking of it. Looking up towards the door, he thinks it might be time for him to stop hiding and time to go apologize for his behavior. He did just leave without explaining. You also have just been kidnapped and rescued in a matter of days. He sighs, remembering what you have gone through, and now with the reminder in the city. He should have been a little calmer and not taken out his frustrations out on you. 

Putting his helmet back on, he opens the cockpit doors and climbs down the ladder again, only to hear soft snores. There you are with your back against the wall, with Grogu in your lap. Grogu’s eyes open and he starts to make, very slow, sleep filled, grabby hands at his dad. Carefully taking the baby out of your arms, he opens up his own bunk and places the child in his little hammock. Quiet babbling is directed at him and Din responds, “I know, I know, I’m getting her a pillow and blanket.” 

Moving back over towards you with those items in hand, he places the pillow in its spot and carefully shifts you into a lying position, bringing your legs up onto the crates. After placing the blanket over you, Din moves the fallen pieces of hair out of your face. You look so peacefully, he can’t help but stare. Finally, he sighs, “I guess I better teach you how to shoot then.” 

Taglist: @rogueheretic555​ @heythere-mel​ @dancingwiththeplanets​ @ohpedromypedro​ 

[bts-trash-blog]

Three Words: Wolf Pack Au

Summary: Leaving the boys after a major fight lead to the outcome that they were dreading

Pariring: Werewolf BTS OT7 x Werewolf Reader

Warning: Mentions violence of blood, slight gore, slight possessive behavior, angst, causing, nudity,and a really fluffy ending

Quarantine Request! I put two different ones together that were very similar! I hope you like it, this is the first of many to come out!!

Masterlist

You were being chased, hunters behind you yelling and shooting after you sleek white fur, you and your mates had gotten into a fight about how rebellious you had been leading to you shifting out of the house leading to you being put into this situation. You were a lone wolf before you had met Jungkook at the local werewolf flea market where you had stopped to get supplies. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew, and so did you. Except only one of you was excited about the meeting, him, while the other took off, you. When Jungkook had followed after you he had attracted his Hyungs attention to their youngest mate, and pack member rushing past other wolves, alphas, and betas without a second thought. Having five fully grown wolves chasing after you had made you panic grow as you shifted at the tree line disappearing from them for weeks.

You didn’t see them again till the call to be, what you thought one mate, took over and drove you to sleep on their pack pouch in wolf form giving Hoseok and Jin a big fright when they went to go drink their morning coffee on the porch.  From the moment on you always had one of them at your side, whether it be you simply wanting to, in human form, to go for a walk around the human markets, or when you were in wolf form wanting to sunbath.

It drove you nuts.

From always being alone going to never being alone made you feel less like a wolf and more like someone's pet. When you tried to explain it to the boys, they thought of it as you rejecting them, Namjoon going as far as saying that you were just using them for protection and sex. Leading your anger to spiral as you screamed out words you had never said to them, three words that made the room freeze as you cried and rushed out of their home, which had never really felt like your own in the fall session you had spent with them.

But now all you crave is to be tucked in the pack pile cuddle in the nest room, listening to Jimin and Jungkook sing as Yoong and Hoseok purr and laugh while the other bicker at one another. You craved the four walls. You craved their warmth. You craved your home, your boys.

Bang.

Pain erupted in your side as you let out a whimper, but you pushed through it, trying to keep your speed. You then felt another burning sensation that could only be caused by the wolfsbane that the bullet was probably dipped in and maybe even filled with, in your shoulder. Making you slightly tumble into the dirt you snot dragging across the rough surface as you finally let out a howl full of pain as you were forcibly shifted back into your human form. You let out a loud groan as you tried to stan only to tumble back down as you tried to crawl, hoping, praying that your boys heard your howl.

“It’s a bitch!” You heard, making you shiver as you felt someone grab your ankles making your growl as you kick at them, but the pain from your side made you whimper. You look up and you saw the faces of the hunters. He looked down at you with a hunger that made you shiver in disgust. “Looks like we’ll have fun tonight boys, and some good money.” He said making his group laugh, you felt his weight straddle your waist as you moved your face side to side. “She is a looker..ain't she? Did you see that white fur on her too? God, we’ll be rolling in the gold for her.”  Snapes of twigs and leaves made his head a snap up, the rustle of the bushes, and then the feeling of want spreading into your system made you start to laugh. “What bitch?”

“You’re dead.” You said as he then pressed the wound of your shoulder making you let out a sob like scream as his other dug into your bleeding side right as your scream broke off the growling started to go off. You were letting out whimpers of pain, as you looked up to see the red beating eyes that belonged to your mate, and packed Alpha Namjoon. His paws, larger then a humans face, stepped onto a branch that had fallen, breaking it under his massive weight as drool dripped from his mouth making the man above you laugh but it was seemed to be cut off as you watched gold eyes, more and more come out from the shadows of the night. The Hunter tumbled off of you as your mates slowly stepped over you, Jimin thought one of the smallest of your wolves, the fastest stood over you. His silver fur brushed your skin as he crouched over your body making the pain in your muscle slightly dim down as he licked you bare cafe as if to soothe you without losing his focus on the hunters in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You whimpered out as the growl grew, the sound of their feet thudding away, the burning of the wolfsbane seemed to burn you from the inside out as your vision blurred, your good arm reaching up to grip Jimin's fur making him slightly purr. “Should..should’ve lis..” You were cut off with the numbing black pain as you heard the wolves around you whimper as your vision went black, the pain taking over your body.

“Fuck!” You screamed out in pain as you jolted up, the small of the boy seemed to have soothed your pain slightly looking over you saw Jin. He's eyes looking at you with wide and watery, a heavy breath leaving him as his head suddenly tucked itself into your neck. He started to nuzzle into you making you hum as your hand reached over to run your fingers through his hair. A sob racked his body as you felt tears gather in the corner of your eyes at the sound. You leaned down slightly and kissed his hair making him let out another shudder of a cry.

“Pl..please don't do that again.” He whimpered out making you nod as you scratch at his scalp, trying to soothe the oldest of your pack the best you could. You look around, you were in a spare room, Namjoons you believe, they said they don't really use it unless one of them was in rut and that they and one another were in the nest. It was simple, in fact cozy. Sighing you feel Jin move back as he cups your cheek and lets out a breath, whipping away his tears as he sat back down and started back up at what you could assume was sewing you up. “Wolfsbane stunted your healing..I..when I pulled the bullet I thought you'd wake but you didn't and I thought..I thought we were too late..thought it reached your heart.” His words were filled with pain making you sigh as he dabbed the graze wound one your side making you wince, he let out a small huff as the bedroom door opened and Jungkook fell in with Jimin at his side.

“Hyung has sh-baby!”Jimin says rushing to you on the other side of the bed, his hand cupping your chin turning your face to his, he pressed his forehead to your own as he closed his eyes, your own falling shut as you felt your connection through the contact of your skin. “You’re okay..you're alive..I felt you grip my fur then you..then you just let go and I was petrified, I just I can’t lose you we can’t lose you.”  His words made you nod as you nudged your nose against his, another wince as you felt the needle and thread in your skin, Jungkook whimpering making you look up and over at him. Jin nodded as he moved his seat back and Jungkook moved to your other side. His hand resting on the top of Jimin's head for a split second then slid down to your neck. His lips pressed against your own making you chirp at him after he pulled away.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t listen to you and just..just kept fighting against you,” Jungkook mumbled, making you shake your head, right as your mouth opened Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok and Taehyung rushed in. Namjoon holding onto a larger sweater of his, fell out of his hands when his eye laid on you. Jungkook and Jimin moved back as the Alpha of the pack slowly crawled onto the bed, his body stopping when his head was at your neck, his eyes falling down the cotton wrap Jin had put around the bullet wound and a growl slipped passed his lips.

“Ripped them to pieces,” he mumbled, making you sigh as he sat up and cupped your cheek, his eyes staring at you with almost a look of wonder. “Nest?” he asked making you smile at him and nod he climbed off when Yoongi and Hoseok moved, Yoongi holding the large sweater as Hoseok moved to help you sit up his nose nuzzling into your hair as he took a deep breath, pain shot through you as they lifted your arms to go into the piece of clothing.

“There you go baby,” Yoongi mumbled, kissing your lips as his hand played with your neck, twirling your hair between his fingers as Taehyung moved forward.

“I’ll take you to the nest, are you hungry?” He asked as he bent down and scooped you into his arms, making you shake your head as he carried you downstairs and into the large room, padded with mattresses, pillows, blankets and a couple furs that Namjoon was too proud of having around the house as rugs around the house. There were no windows, but there was a T.v the Yoongi had bought one time he went out to a Human market, he was so excited when he did that it almost made you guys stop your laughter. When you were situated, Jimin curled at the top of your head, Namjoon on one side and Jungkook on the other, while the others piled around you, Namjoon let out a soft purr as you looked at him, his eyes already on you.

“Did you mean it?” He whispered, though you know that the other six were listening in on you, you sigh as you give him a toothy smile, shifting with a hiss of pain followed as you cupped his cheek.

“I love you.”

With those words, you were met with the room-filling with crips and purr like sounds of joy and in agreement.

[reluctant-mandalore]

Chilly Cuddles (Paz Vizsla x Reader)

Masterlist || Request ||  900 Followers Celebration

Word Count: 2506

Warnings: Cuddlessss. Lots of fluff, and pinning. But not too much. Its mostly fluff y’all. Also not beta read. grammar? never heard of it

a/n: Hey everyone! I’m back at it again with the late night publishing lol. Anyway, here is the first installment to the 900 Followers Celebration! This is also my first time writing for Paz!! I hope you all enjoy <3 

Edits: the usual spelling and stuff.

 The night air had chilled you to the bones and made you shiver with every breeze that caressed across your form. The metal of the ship was icy to the touch, as it sent goosebumps to rise upon your skin. Frost could be seen already forming on the ship's few windows, making delicate and elegant designs for all to see. 

 Paz had just finished shutting the last hatch to the snowy outdoors, causing for a few stray snowflakes to flow into the ship’s hull. One of the lone flakes had settled itself on your nose, melting at the contact, and sending for another shudder to roll down your spine. While he prepared the ship for the night, you had stood watching him, wrapped in a thick blanket to try and keep warm. The fabric clung tightly to your form, only providing a little relief from the cold as you continued to shiver and quiver in your spot. 

The ship’s heating system wasn’t working like it used to, and honestly it hadn’t worked well for a long time. This hadn’t seemed like a problem to you, or to the larger Mandalorian, when you had both first left on your journey. It wasn’t like you two had planned to make an emergency stop on a frozen wasteland planet, while the said planet was in the middle of suffering through a deadly blizzard. 

“You know it won’t be that bad, and it’s just to stay warm.” You had spoken in between the chattering of your teeth, as you tried your best to argue with your stubborn companion, “You can keep your helmet on and everything if you want.”

“No.” He had said quickly, tittering on the edge of sounding harsh with his tone. “We’re not sharing a cot to stay warm, there’s no need to.” 

A pout had crossed your features at his reply, making him look away in fear of crumbling to your pleading gaze, “No need? It’s literally freezing and the ship can’t produce any heat!” 

“I know for a fact that you have at least five blankets in your own cot.” He had scoffed, a roll of his eyes following, as he thought back to all the blankets he had left for you not too long ago.  “You’ll be fine. ” 

“It’s still freezing even with all the blankets!” You said in a desperate tone, moving closer towards the much larger individual, who had stiffened at your approaching form, “Come on Paz, us sharing a cot for one night won’t kill you. Please?”

“No.” He had tried more firmly, though he and you both knew his resolve was beginning to chip away bit by bit. He had a hard time saying no to you on a good day and tended to melt like putty into your hands on a bad one. Everyone, including him and you, knew this to be fact. The only person who could ever bring Paz Vizsla crumbling to his knees was you, and that was a fact.

“I know you’re cold too,” You had continued, seeing your victory in the argument just a few seconds away. While taking another step forward, you grasped one of his gloved hands in your own, causing his head to snap over to look down your now entwined hands. Two of your fingers had soon slid themselves underneath his wrist gauntlet, pressing against his own skin, which had felt like ice beneath your warmer finger tips. “Paz you’re so cold! How are you not frozen solid?” 

“That’s just because of the armor,” He managed to get out through his panicked mind. He had ripped his hand away from you, as his heart began to beat at a rapid pace from feeling your skin against his own. “We don’t need to share a cot to stay warm! Now stop bothering me about it.” 

A frown spread across your face, and a look of hurt had crossed your eyes from his sudden outburst. The words which you had wanted to say had died on your tongue, and you chewed at your bottom lip, clearly upset with having him yell at you in anger. Even if you knew you had probably deserved from hounding him for the majority of the day.  

  The pained look you wore had sent a tumble of regret to flow through Paz. His own heart clenching, as he realized he had hurt your feelings with his outburst. He hated seeing you so upset, especially if he was the one who had caused it in the first place. Something which he did more often than he wanted to admit. 

“Ok. I won’t force you.” You had finally muttered out, as another shiver trembled through your chilled state. Knowing you had upset him, you decided it would be best to leave him alone for the rest of the night. Turning to leave, you had paused briefly on your escape to the cockpit, looking back at him while trying to shove your frown away from your cheeks. “I’m sorry for overstepping any boundaries. I just thought it was a good idea... that’s all. I won’t bother you again tonight.”

 A ping of guilt had nibbled in the pit of his stomach as he watched you leave. He hadn’t meant to yell at you in the slightest. He was just horrible with controlling and addressing his own feelings towards you. The idea of the two of you sharing a cot was actually a pleasant one to him. He had known he liked you for some time now, and he had been trying to find reasons to get closer with you. So, being presented with the prospect of sharing a cot with you should have made him jump at the chance to say yes. Although, clearly, it instead had made him fearful and down right nervous. 

Paz may usually act like a tough and confident person, but when it came to these types of things he was clumsy and shy. When it came to you, his confident self melted away into that of a bashful man. He really did struggle when it came to facing his feelings surrounding your relationship.

After making his way up to the cockpit as well, he had watched silently as you continued to shake from the cold. Hearing him enter you had spared a glance over your shoulder at him, your face still possessing a frown, before you returned to your messing with the ship’s heating dial. 

Paz had sighed seeing this, sending a distorted noise to sound from his helmet as he watched your pitiful attempt at trying to warm the ship. “Fine.” 

“What?”

“We can share my cot, but only this once and never again.” He had finished, trying to sound his usual confident self.

Hearing his words had made you replace your frown with a wide grin, and he had let out another sigh at the sight of it. “Thank you Paz!” You had said quickly, popping up from your spot in the pilot chair, before dashing off to get the remaining blankets from your own cot to bring to his. 

When you had eventually entered his room, you had initially paused staring at his cot for the moment. As you did, a sudden flush of heat had washed over you at the thought of sharing such a tiny space with the person of your affections. An exciting and anxious idea all in one. 

Shaking your embarrassed thoughts away, you settled yourself into the nest of blankets that you had accumulated for the two of you, waiting for your traveling companion to join you in the piled warmth. 

Paz had entered his room the same way he did any other night, his footsteps loud in the quiet room, as he moved about the small space. He paused briefly when he caught sight of you tucked away under the sheets, and felt his stomach knot when his eyes had met your own. He had soon felt himself warm underneath his armored layers, happy he had them to hide his heated expression from your gaze, turning to focus on getting himself ready for bed as a distraction.  

“Do we really need that many blankets?” He had asked quietly, his voice wavering slightly through the modulator of his helmet. 

 An audible click had sounded throughout the darkened room, as he had begun to remove his armor. The realization of his undressing had fallen upon you and with a small gasp you had ducked to hide beneath the warm layers. The sight of you doing so had made the Mandalorian amused, and he felt himself smile before turning back to working on removing his heavier layers. 

 Paz truly didn’t mind if you saw him remove all his armor, it wasn’t like he was getting naked or removing his helmet. It wasn’t even the first time you would be seeing him in his underclothes, and admittedly, he had secretly enjoyed the idea of being able to show off his muscled figure to you. His large and beefy frame was something he always took pride in. 

“Yes.” You had finally managed to croak out in response from underneath the blankets shielding your eyes, the sound of your own voice laced with both underlying nerves and tiredness. 

“I can still sleep somewhere else.” The winter air sent a visible shiver to crawl down his spine as he spoke, his armor now gone, with only his helmet and underclothing remaining in place. The words leaving him had been soft and gentle, concern for you evident when he had turned to look towards where you laid in the cot. 

A small smile spread across your face at hearing him so worried for your well being, and you peaked from under the thick sheets to meet his gaze once more. Seeing him stand awkwardly near the edge of the cot, while still shivering, had made your grin widen, “And let you freeze? Not a chance big guy.”  

Lifting up the blankets slightly, you had patted the cot, motioning for him to join you in the pile of blankets. Seeing this had finally made him make his way to join you, the cot dipping slightly with his added weight, as he settled himself into the nest of blankets. 

Compared to you, Paz was huge and took up the majority of the cot on his own. This in turn had made the space cramped, with your backs pressed flushed together as you both tried to doze off. The added heat from his own body had instantly eased you, and soon your eyes were heavy with the need to sleep. 

Feeling his overflowing warmth, you couldn’t resist the need to feel more of it, and you had soon rolled over to bury your face into his back. The tip of your chilled nose had suddenly been engulfed with his heady scent, and you pressed yourself closer wanting more of his intoxicating presence to consume you while drifting off to dreamland. 

 Paz had stiffened when he first felt you nuzzle yourself into him, but soon he had relaxed at the contact, a small tired sound leaving him. Having you so close to him had made his heart beat like crazy again, and had even allowed his subsiding flush of warmth to reappear full force.  

“Thank you Paz,” You had said suddenly, with your voice muffled from having your face pressed so tightly into him. “I know I’m not always the easiest person to put up with, so thank you.” 

Managing to get out your last tired thoughts to him, you had begun to be lulled to sleep from his added warmth. Paz had then abruptly rolled over to face you instead. His movement making you whine at having been disturbed from your brief slumber, your eyes cracking open to stare at him with confusion. 

  He had chuckled in return, the sound of the deep rumbling from him causing for another warm heat to wash over your form again, as you had suddenly felt shy. His fingers now moving to lightly brush against your cheek, as if he was admiring your features in the darkness. While peering deep into your eyes, he had moved so that the cool metal of his forehead pressed gently onto your own. The gesture had caused for your own eyes to widen, and you had felt yourself become even more confused, but overjoyed by his sudden boldness. 

 The forehead press had felt like it lasted an entirety to you, but it was only a few more seconds before he had moved back once more to admire your beauty. Paz had rubbed his thumb against your bottom lip, the desire to kiss pooling into both your minds as he did. Even if you both were aware of the helmet blocking such a thing from happening, the need to feel each other’s lips against one another was still ever present within your den of blankets. 

“Lift your head.” 

Pulled out of your thoughts from his sudden words, tiredly you had done as he asked. Soon lifting your head from its place on the pillow almost subconsciously, while still distracted from his earlier affections. His one arm had then slid itself underneath your head, effectively providing itself as a pillow while he managed to pull you closer to him with a simple tug of his other free hand. His arm keeping you held tight into his board chest, now enveloping you completely into his strong embrace. 

 Paz’s thick scent had filled your nostrils once more, as your head fit perfectly into his neck, your warm breath ghosting over his exposed skin. His fingers had trailed longingly against your spin, as he continued to press your body into his own. His larger and muscled legs had now entangled themselves with yours, one of them fitting themselves over your hip, successfully trapping you in place. Both your bodies had fit together like they were meant to be that way, almost as if they were perfectly made for one another. It was like you two were meant to be forever entwined in this way. 

The coldness you had once felt was now long gone, far from your mind as you completely relaxed into his grasp. At this point your own arm had slithered across his broad chest and around his waist. The feeling of him had felt firm beneath your touch, like solid stone that would not budge through any storm, and you hugged onto him even tighter, not wanting to ever let go. 

“See?” You had said just above a whisper, making your lips lightly brush against the exposed skin of his shoulder, almost as if you had pressed a chaste kiss to it. “Sharing a cot was a great idea.” 

“Go to sleep.” He had grunted out, the small smile he wore under the helmet evident in his voice, “We have a long day tomorrow.” 

A sweet hum left you in response and for once you had listened to him without question. A small smile still playing on your lips, as you allowed yourself to succumb to your tired state while tightly wrapped in his warm embrace. The chilly night now far from both your muddled minds, as you both settled into the first of many nights spent in each other's arms.

---

Tags: 

@ah-callie @starrywatermelon @readsalot73 @karnita-mexicana @a-seeker-of-imagination​

[chilling-seavey]

Heartbreak Hotel (d.s.) - Chapter Twenty-Four

A/N Christian and Daniel. Our favourite duo no matter the decade. 

“You’re lucky he didn’t break your nose.”

Daniel only offered a half groan in response, holding the ice pack to his nearly swollen eye as his mother carefully laid him down on his bed. Christian stood at the foot of the single bed, watching his badly bruised younger brother with stone cold concern written all over his face.

“I’m serious. He could have killed you.”

“But he didn’t.” their mother said sternly to her elder son, glaring warningly at him.

Christian sighed; both of them looking back to Daniel. He was laying flat on his back with his drapes pulled closed and his room near dark as he had a splitting headache that nearly made him nauseous with agony. He barely moved because every time he did, another wave of shooting pain ripped through his stomach and across his head. His mother tucked him under the blankets, being careful of the dark bruise that was forming larger minute by minute over his bare stomach, and she gently pet his tangled brown hair back from his face.

“Can I get you anything else, love?”

“No, Ma.” Daniel rasped out. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.” she leaned down to press a tender kiss to his forehead before taking the painkiller bottle from his nightstand. “Keep that ice there. The meds should start to kick in soon. I have to go start dinner but Christian’s going to stay with you, alright?”

“Mhm.” Daniel hummed in agreement.

Their mother stood up again from tending to her youngest son and turned to Christian, “Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Doctor’s orders.”

“Got it.” Christian nodded. He watched their mother leave the room to head downstairs and Christian sighed, turning back to the bed and stared at his brother for a moment in silence.

“Does it look terrible?” Daniel croaked out.

“Let me see.” Christian walked over to his bedside and carefully lifted the ice pack from his face. Daniel winced and blinked painfully up at his brother. His eye was certainly bruising and swollen, not to mention his nose and split lip that were puffy too, his pale skin stained slightly red from where the blood had flowed even after his mother cleaned him off when they got home from the hospital.

Christian sighed tightly and set the ice pack back on Daniel’s cheek, “Well you don’t look too disgusting.”

Daniel huffed, “Thanks.”

Christian pulled over his desk chair and sat down at his bedside in momentary silence. Daniel just took a moment to process what even happened; still trying to wrap his brain around the first punch yet alone the numerous ones that followed. He had never been hit like that before. He had never been hit at all before.

His brain itself physically ached but yet he could only think of Loretta. He wondered if Corbyn ever hit her like this.

“Probably not.”

Christian’s sudden volume started Daniel a little and he turned his head slightly to look at him in confusion.

“I said no, he probably doesn’t hit her. He doesn’t seem like that much of an asshole.” Christian repeated.

“Oh…” Daniel breathed. “I thought I said that in my head.”

Christian simply stared at his frazzled little brother and scooted his chair closer to the bedside, “Is now a good time to say ‘I told you so’?”

Daniel scoffed lightly.

“Corbyn’s not going to let this go easily; he’s not going to let her go easily. You should start thinking if this is all worth it.”

Daniel turned to glare at his brother quickly, wincing in pain at the speed at which he moved and he raised a hand to his neck. Christian sighed and took the ice pack from him to rest it against his neck for him and Daniel whimpered softly.

Christian continued before Daniel could speak, “I know you’ve been waiting to find your soulmate for your whole entire life but sometimes it doesn’t work out. There are so many people that never find their soulmate and they’re perfectly happy with someone else.”

Daniel sniffled a little, “I don’t want some other random girl. I want her.”

“You’re seriously going to get yourself killed fighting for this bird.”

“I don’t care.”

Christian looked up to his brother’s beaten face, his blue eyes shining with tears through his bruised skin. Christian sighed, shifting the ice pack to his jaw gently, “You love her, don’t you?”

Daniel’s nose scrunched up as he tried to hold in his tears but it only made his face hurt more and he groaned heavily through a small nod.

“No crying.” Christian shushed him softly. “It’s just gonna hurt more.”

Daniel took a small inhale to try and calm himself down, turning his head back to face the ceiling as Christian held the ice pack against his face for him. The brothers fell into silence for a moment, Christian just watching Daniel motionlessly even as his eyes started to flutter closed.

“Hey. No falling asleep.” Christian said strongly to wake him up.

“I’m so tired.” Daniel mumbled.

“I know, buddy. But we gotta keep an eye on you.” Christian explained softly as he shifted the ice pack to the purple bruise that was forming over Daniel’s cheek.

Daniel took a small breath, trying to keep his eyes open, “I wanna see Lori.”

“That’s not a good idea right now.” Christian whispered.

“Corbyn doesn’t gotta know.”

Christian cracked a small smile at his brother’s sleepy rambling, “I’m saying no because your face might scare her.”

Daniel turned slightly to face him and shot him a weak glare, “That’s not nice.”

“Those drugs are kicking in, aren’t they?” Christian chuckled.

Daniel pouted at him and nodded lightly.

“Yeah.” Christian smiled and brushed his hand through his messy hair. “You took it like a champ apparently. Jack and Zach called home after you were taken to the hospital and they said you didn’t even throw a punch back.”

“He didn’t let me.” Daniel pouted.

Christian let out a small laugh and Daniel’s lips perked into a little smile himself and the brothers shared soft chuckles together.

“Hurt so bad.” Daniel giggled. “He had rings on.”

“Shit, that’s not fair.” Christian tisked.

Daniel shook his head slightly in agreement. He licked his chapped lips a little before speaking shakily, “They matched the one that Lori wears around her neck.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I’m just glad you’re okay after such a bash.” Christian shifted the ice to another spot on his brother’s face.

“I’d take it again.” Daniel mumbled.

“Don’t say that.”

Daniel’s eyes raised to Christian’s, “I would. I’d do anything for her. I had her…I was so close to having her and suddenly she’s gone, y’know?”

Christian’s lips pulled tight, “Yeah. I know. I know all too well.”

“But yours wanted you. She just had to go home. Mine doesn’t want me.”

“Well…I suppose. But it doesn’t feel any easier.”

“Wanna trade?”

Christian couldn’t help but smile sadly at his brother, “That’s just fine; thank you though.”

“I don’t wanna see Corbyn again.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t wanna come back to work and have to see him.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll let the manager know what happened and I don’t doubt Corbyn will get sacked for it too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Corbyn punched me in the face.”

“Yeah,” Christian laughed lightly, “I know.”

“A lot.”

“I know. And I won’t let it happen again, okay?”

Daniel nodded lightly, his eyes starting to close again but Christian shook his shoulder lightly to wake him up. Daniel blinked up at him and Christian brushed his hand through his hair again.

“No one hurts my little brother. Not even my friends.”

“Are you gonna punch Corbyn?”

“No. Violence doesn’t solve anything.”

“You could knock ‘im out.” Daniel giggled sleepily. “You’re a big tough guy now.”

Christian swallowed thickly, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the side of the bed as he iced Daniel’s swollen face, “No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. All scary and leather-y.” Daniel reached out an arm to brush over the jacket that Christian wore.

“I thought I was, but I’m not.” Christian shrugged off the jacket as if looking at it was wrong of both of them and then gently moved back in to pat the bag of ice gently over Daniel’s split lip. “I was angry at the world when my girl left and I tried to find something to distract myself from all that hurt in my heart. And I think I just hurt you and made you feel really alone in the process, huh?”

Daniel hesitated, not wanting to hurt his older brother’s feelings, but then nodded slightly.

“Yeah.” Christian sighed. “And I’m sorry for that. But you know I’m still the brother you always knew me as, right?”

“Right.”

“Good.”

The two brothers fell into silence a moment in the dark room, Daniel fighting to keep his eyes open and both simply listening to their mother making dinner downstairs. Daniel’s breathing was shallow and his bare chest rose and fell under his bedsheets as he stared at the ceiling otherwise motionless. Christian iced his face without and word and wondered what was going through his little brother’s mind; in that mix of love-sick heartbreak, physical pain, and a touch of strong prescription pain killers.

Daniel shifted a little under the sheets, wincing as he moved, and smacked his chapped lips together a few times before running his tongue over them. He mumbled out a weak, “Chris.”

Christian leaned closer over the side of the bed to hear him better, “Yeah, Dani?”

A peaceful smile grazed Daniel’s beaten face, the heavy drugs in his system slurring his words behind his split lip and bruised jaw, but he batted his eyelashes up at his brother with a sweet and calm, “Lori’s eating spaghetti and meatballs for supper.”

[crazyasacupcake]

We Go On

Okay so this isn't Haikyu!! (I'm sorry...), but in September I will be taking part in a readathon created by Book Roast on youtube - the Orilium: The Novice Path Readathon. I thought of this scenario while listening to the playlist I had made for this readathon, based on my Earthling character Treya, and I hope that I've written it well. The characters and story are mine, but the world and species (Earthlings, Iltirian, Skaimorn, etc) belong to Book Roast. If anyone else is participating, best of luck on the path!

Warnings: some gore

Word Count: 4124

It’s like there’s a threshold, a moment in time or space which separates the Ruins from everywhere else she’s been so far, even though there is nothing really distinguishing it. Even if there isn’t a visible border – a visible line that says she shouldn’t cross, that she should go around, that she should turn back and go home – she feels it the moment her foot falls onto the land inside the Ruins. The ground is dead, but saying that would imply that it was ever alive in the first place; it’s grey and covered in a crust of ash, despite there being no volcano or sources of fire anywhere in the nearby area.

Her skin prickles, and not for the first time on this quest does she think about going back, back to the Inn, back to Cabbage, back to Aela – back to clearing tables and only practicing her element when she’s hidden by the blanket of night. This time, it’s not a longing pang that is telling her to forget the quest. It’s desperate, animalistic, with screaming alarms echoing over and over inside her head telling her to turn around and forget everything you saw here. It’s as if her entire body, her entire subconscious is on alert ever since that first footfall into the Ruins, it’s like she’s seeing herself from somewhere else, but she knows that’s not possible. She squeezes her eyes shut, holding them closed so tightly she sees starts swirling around the blackness, and when she opens them everything is normal again.

You need to get through this as fast as possible.

She fumbles as she pulls the map from her pocket, the same map that she had snuck from the Elves table in the Inn that day… how long ago was that now? She can’t remember, she can’t think, she can’t remember what Cabbage looks like, which makes her breathing quicken like someone much larger than her has grabbed her torso in their hands and squeezed – squeezed until her rips popped and her heart burst – because how can she not remember what he looks like?

To ground herself, she grasps a fist full of her cloak where it rests over the left side chest, the buckle over her right shoulder just like Aela had taught her so many years ago. She wraps the old fabric around her fingers, fisting it so tightly she’s afraid she’ll set it on fire – her fingertips are already starting to smoulder just the tiniest bit and she forces herself to calm down. She brings the cloak to her face, burying her nose into it and taking a deep inhale. It smells like the Inn; it smells like smoke and ale and the lavenders that Aela leaves in her room every couple of weeks, it smells like the same cheap, sickly soap that she uses to wash Cabbages hair, it smells like the air surrounding the Library.

It hasn’t been that long. It hasn’t been that long.

She waits until her heart slows, until she can’t hear the blood pounding through her ears, before she straightens up, suddenly remembering that the map had fallen from her pocket. It lays on the ground, it’s thumbed corners blowing slightly in a non-existent wind, and as she crouches to pick it up, she spots a figure standing in the rubble of the old temple. They’re shielded by half of a fallen column and the darkness that surrounds it, unmoving. They’re stood very awkwardly, one shoulder held much higher than the other, as if one of their legs was abnormally short, and she can’t tell whether they are facing towards her or away from her.

She picks up the map, cringing when the ashy ground crunches beneath her shifting weight, but the person – or thing as she would prefer to refer to it – doesn’t startle.

Maybe it’s dead.

According to the map, it should be a straight route through the Ruins, but the scrawled note beside the drawing makes her skin crawl.

Three steps forward and you’re not sure if time is linear, or if things you see are of this dimension.

She swallows, folds the map back up, and slips it back into her pocket, making sure the clasp secures properly before she begins. Each step seems to echo forever, the blinding white-grey fog swallowing it in the distance before sending it back to her, as if it’s trying to communicate. The further into the Ruins she walks, the more things she sees, hidden amongst the rubble or shrouded by the ever-present mist, each one unmoving, each one more unnerving than the next. Some of them are stood with their backs to her, some with awkward gaits like the first one that she saw. One of them was laying in the middle of what she could only assume was a collapsed house, his toes facing up towards the sky.

This one she stares at for a moment, and she is reminded of a time when she was younger, when her temper got the better of her far too often, when she would run away from the Inn at least once a month, always being dragged back to Aela by an Iltirian, a scowl on her face and flames in her eyes. The last time she had attempted to run away, the one time she didn’t need to be dragged back to the Inn because she had ran back on her own, she had seen a man laying in an alleyway near the Library, the toes of his boots pointed towards the sky. A human, a traveller – the kind they didn’t get many of in Darkmeadow – his mouth unhinged and his eyes wide, his hands claws at his throat. Her stomach had lurched, splattering her dinner over his boots, before she had stumbled blindly back to the Inn, her new shoes covered in her fear, her fingers smouldering and sparking.

She doesn’t feel that fear now, only looks on with her mouth set into a line.

Fear makes you stronger.

That person didn’t manage to create the same heart-stopping panic she had felt when she was younger, but the next one does.

They are sitting upright facing away from her, and from the angle she’s approaching at, she can see one of their legs stretched out in front of them. When she passes, she feels her breath stop dead in the middle of her chest, and as she tries to scramble backwards trips over her own feet, landing heavily on the ground behind her, her sword making an awful clang that seemed to make the already still surroundings even stiller.

The other leg is missing, not a clean cut or a healed one – it looks as though it’s been ripped from their body, dislodged at the hip and torn away without care. The skin is ragged and black with decay, and yet it still bleeds thick black blood onto the ground surrounding it. She watches the blood drip down in strands, sticking to itself even when it hits the puddle. Their hands are gnarled, not unlike the hands of the body she had found when she was younger, only the fingertips on these hands are blacked – not in the same way as the ripped skin of the hip, but in the same way as her fingers get when she gets too angry, setting alight and staying that way for too long.

An Earthling.

Of course, she would’ve noticed if she had followed their arms more, would have seen the bright red marks that had adorned her skin since the day she turned ten, but her attention was too focused on the Earthling’s face, or lack of one. Where the face should have been, was a crater like hole, also dripping that same stringing blood down itself, and she is reminded of the time she had found Cabbage leaning over the balcony, letting gobs of spit drop onto the people leaving the Inn. He had turned to look at her with wide eyes and the faintest beginnings of purple spots, the string of spit dribbling down his front in the same way that the blood is dripping onto this things ruined tunic. There are shards of bone protruding from where the eye sockets would have been, snapped sharp by whatever it was that had attacked them.

There’s nothing nearby that could suggest a possible weapon, and it made her ears ring with the realisation that this probably meant that the attacker had taken it with them, and was potentially still prowling through the Ruins for the next victim.

Get through this as fast as possible.

She pushes herself up, wincing at the pain from her now cut palms as she puts all her weight on them, and goes to step around the body, before noticing a piece of paper fluttering weakly inside a pocket on the Earthling’s jacket. She digs her nails into her ruined hands to stop them shaking, quickly pulling the paper away without lingering near it for too long.

Across the top of the paper is the same flowing script that she had seen every day since leaving the Inn. The Novice Path – the words still distinguishable despite the blood that had gathered on the edges of the page.

They were going to Orilium, too.

She doesn’t think on it for too long – she can’t afford to worry about it – instead dropping the map back beside the body, continuing forwards at a faster pace than she was before.

After about five minutes, hearing the whistling of the fake-wind through the Ruins many arches and alcoves, she becomes aware of another noise: a scraping stumble, as if someone was struggling to climb across all of the rubble, dragging their feet and digging up crusts of ash with each step, landing heavily as they tripped forwards. She doesn’t turn around, even though her skin prickles, because there is nothing here to be afraid of, this place has been dead for centuries, there is nothing in the Ruins that could possibly mean any harm to her.

It’s probably just another traveller on the Path, one that isn’t well acquainted with walks like this – maybe from Daerune.

“Treya.”

It makes her stop, not freeze, just slowly stop. It was as though the word was whispered into her ear, as if they had said it stood right beside her and not from however far back they really were.

They. He.

She turns, her mouth still that same stoic line – the same line she had managed to hide every emotion behind when Aela told her she needs to control her temper – despite the way she wants to scream and sob and drop to her knees and run towards him all at once.

Cabbage stumbles over another dislodged piece of ash, longer than his own legs, and lands with his hands outstretched in front of him, a little oof leaving his lips as he hits the floor. He looks up at her with watery eyes and a wobbly lip, and she forgets everything to run towards him, dropping in front of him and not caring about the noise she makes in this decaying place. She hooks her arms under his and pulls him into her, pressing his head into the crook of her neck, her nose in his still baby-soft hair, her tears dripping onto his skin.

She underestimated how much she would miss the two of them, her fake-brother Cabbage, and her boss – and also her sort-of adoptive mother – Aela. She thought of how difficult it must’ve been for Cabbage’s ten year old body to have to endure the trek, to have to follow her through so much, just trying to find her.

“Hi, Cabbage.” Her voice is harsh from days of no use, scratching her throat and coming out not sounding like her at all. “What’re you doing here, hey?”

“Aela told me the Skaimorn had taken you to be their ward instead – said that they needed a mean-tempered girl like you – and I didn’t believe her, not one bit, because why would they want you as a ward when I was right there! I followed you, saw your cloak as you were leaving, so I followed you all the way out here, but you’re so fast and I’m not tall yet so I couldn’t keep up that well.”

She runs her hand down his back, sniffling to herself despite her anger at him being so stupid as to follow her to Gods know where. “This was very silly of you, Cabbage, you should’ve stayed with Aela. She’s probably worried sick about where you are.”

“She’s not, I know she isn’t. Let’s go home, Treya – please. It’s so scary out here, I don’t like it.”

She keeps rubbing his back, and she suddenly frowns, moving her hand towards the top of his back, to the space just under his shoulder blades where the first nubs of his wings should have been. She remembered him running into her room with a grin missing a front tooth as he had launched himself onto her bed, proudly jutting his thumbs behind him towards the start of the bony spikes that would one day become a beautiful pair of wings.

Cabbage’s back shouldn’t be this smooth.

She pulls away from him, smiling, hoping he doesn’t see that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and cups his face with her hands. She rubs at his cheeks with both thumbs as he keeps talking, and she notices how his eyes are just the slightest too wide, his hair just the slightest bit too dark, his nose just the slightest bit too crooked. The spots on his skin aren’t the bright shade of purple they had been the day before she had left, but instead a sickly dark yellow.

“Or – Treya, we don’t even need to go back to the Inn at all! We could stay right here, couldn’t we! It’s pretty here, and I bet we could even build our own Inn, just like the one back in Darkmeadow!”

She curses herself for dropping her guard, for forgetting the old lessons – to not take anything at face value, to pay attention, to never let her feelings get the better of her, to always be on the offensive.

“I’m sorry, but you and I both know I can’t do that.” She doesn’t refer to it with Cabbage’s name, because it is not Cabbage. It is not her sweet fellow ward who cries with excitement every time a Skaimorn enters the Inn, it is not the little boy who followed her around like a stray puppy, even when she glared at him with her burning eyes.

It is not Cabbage.

And as soon as it registers she knows, her fingertips pressing harshly into it’s skull that’s wearing Cabbage’s face, her mouth back into that line, her eyes dark with black fire, the act is dropped. The wobbly lip disappears, the eyes become lidded as it stares at her with a bored expression that doesn’t fit Cabbage’s face at all; it’s the expression that makes her fury spike, the fact that this thing is tainting Cabbage’s image with an expression of disinterest and annoyance, and she longs to dig her nails into the skin just before its ears and just rip it off.

Her hands are already beginning to heat up; she can see the smoke coming from its skin in thin ribbons. The wrong coloured spots begin to muddle, rippling across its skin, flowing across the surface like water.

It still speaks in Cabbage’s voice, the boredom drawling his words and smearing them together. “Fine. Let’s try it my way, shall we?”

She ignites, her fingers burning with the type of heat that she can’t feel, that she’ll never know the true power of unless she sees it. The skin bubbles, warps, dripping off the skull in gobs as the hair catches, swallowing its face in a blaze of red and yellow. It doesn’t scream, doesn’t give any indication that it’s in any kind of pain, but even if it did she wouldn’t have cared. She wouldn’t have stopped, would’ve only pressed her palms further into its face as she is doing now, not even unnerved when its cheekbones crack and fizzle, not even when its blood splutters and hisses.

Only when there is no remnant of Cabbage left, when his baby-soft hair has burnt to ash and his skin lays in waxy puddles surrounding her, only when she’s staring at the blackened skull does she let go, letting the body fall backwards, looking not unlike a doll dropped by a child who longs for a new, more enjoyable plaything. She doesn’t lurch, doesn’t cry, only stares on with the same lidded eyes it had stared at her with, a smirk playing on her lips.

Look how powerful you have become.

She wipes her hands on the things tunic, longing to unbutton it and take it because it doesn’t deserve to lay there in a crude imitation of Cabbage’s ward uniform. She doesn’t because she has the feeling that as soon as she leaves the Ruins, as soon as another traveller enters, the thing will merge into someone else, trying to convince them to stay forever too. Rocking back onto her feet, she continues, now hyperaware of every slight noise, every piece of rubble dislodging and falling down a pile, every creak and groan as the old pillars are battered by the not-wind, every gasping breath and scratchy yell.

At those, she turns, at the same time surprised and unsurprised to see masses of bodies making their way towards her. The one that had panicked her, the one missing a leg and a face, dragged itself over the ragged ground with it’s clawed hands, being overtaken quickly by others, among them the first one she had noticed with the awkward gait, which she saw was because it was missing the bottom half of one of its shins.

It wasn’t so much fear that got her heart pumping, but annoyance and frustration. She set her feet, drawing her sword with her right hand and spinning it once, twice, three times, her brows furrowed with determination. Her hands were still hot, but she didn’t allow herself to let go yet. They had to get closer – the closer they were, the bigger the explosion, the more could be taken out. She tried to count them, gave up when she realised they were moving too fast for her to be able to not count them twice.

“Going in blind,” she murmurs to herself, shifting her cloak so that her right arm is just a bit freer. “The old way.”

She doesn’t even register the first one. It’s as if her body moved on it’s own, as all she registered was it dropping onto the floor beside her, sliced up the middle, it’s head split into two and leaking black blood onto her boots.

The second one she registers because it dodges her first swing, lunging at her from the other side, but she is nothing if not prepared. She raises her left arm, unleashing an inferno in the things face. Even if it doesn’t feel the pain, it catches it off guard for long enough for her to detach its head. It snaps at her heels with rotten teeth, and she brings her boot down with a crunch, not caring about the sudden silence of the thing.

The majority of the mass is almost upon her, the main body that she was waiting for, and she sheathes her sword back at her side, her lips turning up in a grin.

She cracks her knuckles, presses her fingertips together in a mockery of the prayers they used to do to the Old Gods when she still lived in Irtheria, her palms not touching, her fingertips barely kissing. She was proud of this display of her raw talent, a party trick that was unsuitable for most parties, something she had coined herself in her more rebellious years.

This is going to be fun.

Her lips part in a wild grin as they fall into the right distance, which she knows from many sleepless nights of practice, challenging herself to find her maximum distance – but also her maximum destruction.

She doesn’t need to say anything, she just needs to will it, and for once she thanks herself for having such an untameable temper that required her to let of steam more often than most her age.

The ground erupts, catching the middle of the crowd in a column of fire as wild as the hair on her head and the smile on her face, her eyes flashing with the same bright flame. She doesn’t bother to hide her excitement at the carnage, doesn’t care if she looks crazed because it worked.

Some emerge from the blaze, their clothes and skin alight, their features melting in the heat, eyes popped and dribbling down their faces, continuing to advance upon her without any need of their sight.

Time to go.

She spins, sprinting as fast as she can towards the boundary of the Ruins, towards the Falls. With each footfall, another burst of flame splits the ground on either side of her, her control waning as her heartrate increases. The normally tame flames on the ends of her hair grow, licking their way down her back, catching her cloak with their damning kiss, igniting a section of it to her dismay. Still, she doesn’t stop, whipping her head to the side to dampen the flames enough for them to not be damaging to the one thing she cares about.

As she runs, the cloak billows, the flames extinguishing – to her relief – leaving only a gaping hole that travels from the middle of her bicep to her elbow. It’s better than losing the whole cloak; she can deal with a hole. She doesn’t stop, the gurgling behind her enough to spur her despite the pain in her legs, despite the sword clanging harshly against her with every step, despite the fact that the boundary of the Ruins seems to be the edge of a cliff.

It doesn’t look this way on the map, but she knows from listening to the Ilterians in the Library that maps can lie just as much as men can.

If she stops, they’ll kill her. But if she continues, she might kill herself.

The Path is not impossible if you listen to its warnings.

They wouldn’t send you into the Ruins just to die.

She takes a deep breath, giving herself that last push, that last burst of speed to get just far enough in front of them to take the leap, her arms pinwheeling, her legs still moving as she falls before she angles herself so as not to paralyse herself on landing.

The drop is not as deep as it had looked from inside the Ruins, ten feet at most, and her landing is mostly softened by a thick layer of underbrush that has been creeping out of the forest and began its ascent up the cliffs face. She rolls off heavily, landing on her back on an old dirt path, her chest heaving and her vision blurring as she talks to the Old Gods for the first time since she was ten, thanking them for giving her the strength to survive, though she knows that she alone is the cause of that strength.

Only when she sits up on that small path, only when she looks towards the cliffs edge and sees the creatures gathered and staring down at her, unable to follow past the boundary line, only when she is certain she is safe (from that task at least), does she let herself scream.

She screams until her throat is raw, then screams some more, clutching at her chest with her left hand, fisting the black fabric of her shirt as her voice breaks from anger and pride and that thin layer of fear that she has finally allowed to crest the surface.

For a moment, she just sits, panting, her mind spinning, her fingers smouldering. She thinks about turning back now, finding a way to go around the Ruins and back to Darkmeadow, collapsing in the doorway of the Inn and holding the real Cabbage close to her as she whispers her apologies to the both of them. It would make the most sense to turn back now, with how close Deaths fingers came to grasping her around the throat and dragging her down with him.

But she stands, brushes the dirt from herself, and starts down the path, her mouth set and her eyes lidded.

We go on.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 60)

Author’s note: THANK YOU so much to everyone who has joined me for this story of mine. I hope you enjoy how it ends. And don’t be too sad---there will be an EPILOGUE, and don’t rule out me dabbling more in this AU. I do love it a lot. :)

Warnings: nightmare, fear, referenced past abuse, food mention, injury and illness, some teasing

Word Count: 4520

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

Patton looked out at the Christmas tree on the table across the room, glimmering in the dimness. He knew that the twinkling lights that adorned it were technically the same kind as what Emile and Virgil used to light their home—he set his jaw at the thought, remembering recent events—but the multiple colors they glowed with made them feel very different. He didn’t think of Christmas when he saw the lights at home—they were just that, just lights to help them see, casting a warm glow in their house. He didn’t think of other things, either.

It was late; so Roman and Logan were both getting ready for bed; and Virgil was helping Emile with something; so it was just Patton at the moment, alone with his thoughts.

He’d seen Christmas trees before, even when he was a child, but never up close until much more recent years. Whatever the ornaments, whether the trees were real or fake, even the ones with tiny pine cones—they all looked pretty much the same to Patton. The others he’d seen had all been a lot larger than this one—a lot larger—but this one was familiar enough to make his stomach twist with discomfort.

It wasn’t the same, he told himself. This one was Logan’s. And if anything, today should have helped Patton associate the decorations with more positive things. And it did! This was, he could very easily say, the best Christmas he’d ever had. The closest he’d ever come to “celebrating” the holiday before now had been nothing like this. The three littles had gotten an entire sugar cookie to share, they’d watched movies and cartoons, and no one had even tried to  hurt Patton—the most important part.

Still, looking at that small, artificial tree with the rainbow of lights and shiny ornaments, Patton couldn’t help but reach back and touch the base of his neck anyway, just to reassure himself there was no wire poking out of his collar.

Smooth skin, with only the faintly discernible edges of scars as reminders of something that no longer was. He kept his hand there for a second, released a long breath, and put his hand back in his lap. He looked away from the tree.

He wanted to like the tree. He wanted to like Christmas. He just didn’t think he could. Not yet, anyway.

…

That night, Patton woke up screaming.

Roman jolted awake, ripped from his dream by the sudden sound, which was quickly but belatedly muffled. On the other sofa, Logan jerked in his sleep, making a small noise; but he quickly settled down again once it was quiet.

For a half second, Roman wasn’t sure what had happened. And then, as he looked towards the table against the wall opposite Logan, it clicked. Normally, he wouldn’t have been able to see much, but with the Christmas tree still lit on the other table, he could see exactly what was going on.

Roman opened his mouth, only to close it again, unsure if anything he could say would help.

He watched as Virgil, who had been sitting beside one of the bottle caps at one side of the table, presumably having gotten up for a drink, quickly grabbed his crutches and got to his feet,. He hurried back to Patton, who was shaking in the blankets, and dropped down onto his knees beside him. Emile, on his other side, had a hand reached out, but couldn’t quite reach Patton.

“Sorry—I’m sorry, I just left for a minute,” Virgil whispered, barely loud enough for Roman to catch the words. “I’m here.”

Patton let out a small sob, curling in on himself with his arms around his head, his hands at the back of his neck. Virgil scooted closer and put a hand on his shoulder. He noticed Roman watching them, then, and looked up sharply. Roman averted his gaze. The mouse-man untensed slightly, turning back to Patton.

A few minutes passed, the former silence filled with quiet murmurs as Emile and Virgil tried to comfort their friend and urge him back to sleep.

Roman had hoped that Patton’s nightmares had gone away in the months since he and Logan had taken care of him; but apparently, they hadn’t left their tiny friend. Did he still have them almost every night? Roman hoped not. The thought made him profoundly sad.

“Is he okay?” Roman asked softly, daring to speak once it seemed things had calmed down.

As Virgil glanced in his direction, a shaky, tearful-voice, said, “I woke up Roman?”

“No—no, no, no,” Roman said quickly, pausing to cough before continuing, “I was already awake.” It was a lie, and not even a good or believable one. Even tired and upset. Patton surely knew he was lying; but his words seemed to comfort him anyway. Maybe it was just the reassurance that Roman wasn’t mad. Another thought that made him sad.

“You okay, Pat?” Roman asked.

“Mhm,” responded his small voice.

“Just go back to sleep,” Virgil said, glancing at Roman once more before laying down beside Patton, draping an arm around him. (They weren’t on the box lid anymore, having decided it wasn’t necessary, so there was room for them to lie side by side.) “Everyone’s okay.”

Logan sighed in his sleep. Roman glanced at him, then looked back to the mouse-men. They seemed to have settled back down.

This clearly wasn’t unusual, based on the way they acted, Roman realized. Emile and Virgil had clearly both been upset by it, but they weren’t surprised. This sort of thing happened a lot.

Roman watched for a moment longer, an ache in his chest, before he settled back down and closed his eyes.

…

“Does he wake up like that a lot?” Roman asked quietly, leaning over on his pillows to look at the mouse-men properly.

Logan was currently in the kitchen, making breakfast. Emile and Patton were both still asleep, but Virgil was up.

Said mouse-man glanced at his friend, curled up barely any distance away, with one of Virgil’s hands still on his ankle as if to comfort him.

Roman watched as he clearly debated answering, then shrugged.

“…Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not every night.”

“Not… most nights?” Roman asked, hoping that Virgil wouldn’t confirm his fears.

Virgil paused again, then shook his head. “Just sometimes.” He grimaced. “More lately, with….” He gestured around at the room.

“Oh.” Roman’s heart sank. That made an unfortunate amount of sense. Being here probably reminded Patton of things he’d rather not remember, even if Roman and Logan were trying their best to make all of the mouse-men comfortable

“It’ll be better when we’re home,” Virgil said firmly.

“I hope that’s soon,” Roman told him.

Virgil looked at him sideways for a second, looking mildly surprised at the truth in Roman’s words. “Me, too.”

…

“Hey, Pat.”

Patton stretched, yawning, and rubbed at his eyes, which still felt a bit sticky with dried tears. “Hey, Virge,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Want some breakfast?”

Patton rubbed at his eyes again, then nodded, pushing himself into a sitting position and looking around. Roman was still on the couch where he’d spent the night, sipping a drink through a straw and carefully not looking at them. He seemed tired, and he was still pale, but he looked better than he had the previous day. Patton could barely hear the wheezes accompanying his breaths. He was pretty sure that meant Roman was getting better, which was good. He hoped he’d stay that way.

Across the room, meanwhile, Logan’s couch was empty. The blanket he’d used was neatly folded and placed with the pillow at one end of it. Patton could hear him in the kitchen, probably making their food.

Finally, Emile was still sitting up in his box, his face turned away from Patton. Judging by his lax position and the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, he was still asleep.

“I was gonna wake him next,” Virgil murmured, following his gaze.

“He can sleep ‘til the pancakes are ready,” Patton murmured, his nose twitching as he caught the unmistakable smell coming from the kitchen.

“Yeh,” Emile mumbled in his sleep, as if unconsciously agreeing.

Virgil bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “Yeah, sure. We can wait a few minutes.”

Patton pushed away his blankets and twisted slightly until his back popped in a satisfying way.

“How are you doing?”

Patton was aware of Roman’s gaze darting their way as Virgil asked the question, before quickly retreating.

“I’m fine,” he said cheerily. Virgil looked doubtful, so Patton dropped the smile. “Really. I’m okay.”

Virgil glanced him up and down, then nodded. This was probably only because Logan had just come into the room, balancing three plates in his arms. Patton was glad for his timing, watching as Virgil moved away to nudge his brother awake. He didn’t particularly want to talk about last night just yet.

Logan handed Roman a plate, put another near where he would be sitting, and placed the final one on the table for the littles. Its contents were arranged in a smiley-face, the bottle caps containing the butter and syrup forming the eyes, the three bottle cap plates forming the nose, and the round, penny-sized pancakes themselves forming the smile. The arrangement seemed like a very un-Logan-like thing to do. Patton had a feeling he’d been told about what had happened the night before, and this was his attempt to try to make him feel better.

“Thanks, Logan,” Roman yawned, digging into his own pancakes, which were drenched in syrup and butter.

“Thank you,” Patton said quietly. Logan nodded and stepped away, settling down on the couch opposite them and getting ready to eat his own share.

Once the littles had their food divvied up, and since they’d now been left relatively alone, Patton glanced at Virgil, who’d been watching him through the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath and let it out gradually.

“Really,” he said under his breath. “I’m okay.”

Virgil glanced away. “You didn’t seem okay last night,” he countered softly, spreading butter on his pancakes.

“I’m fine now, though. I’m okay. I know I’m safe here.”

“But you still get nightmares.”

Patton shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help if my imagination runs away from me.”

Virgil frowned at him, looking sad.

“It’s not like this never happens,” he protested.

Virgil just kept frowning.

“I’m trying,” Patton said. “They’re getting better. I do know I’m safe here. It’s just hard. I… I don’t think those things will actually happen again, I know they won’t, but… sometimes, when I’m asleep, I guess I forget for a bit.”

Virgil nodded minutely, watching him.

“You still have nightmares too, don’t you?” Patton glanced at the end of Virgil’s shortened tail.

Virgil’s tail twitched uncomfortably.

“You don’t yell, or anything, like I do sometimes.” Patton said, “But I know.”

Virgil sighed. “…Not often,” he said, which was his way of admitting Patton was right.

“And do you really think Em will let you anywhere near there again, even if you wanted to go?”

Virgil looked at Emile, who gave him a protective look that even his current nearly-bedbound state couldn’t diminish, then shook his head. “No.”

“So you know that it won’t happen, but you still have nightmares anyway.”

Virgil didn’t answer.

Patton looked up, thinking. “It’s like… I don’t know, sometimes I dream I can fly. It doesn’t mean I wake up thinking I have wings. Or… or if you dream you’re being chased by a car. You’ve never been chased by a car, and you don’t plan on going in any busy roads, but the dream happens anyway. It’s like that.”

“I suppose,” Virgil allowed.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Patton said, practically begging for Virgil to believe him.

Virgil reached out and took his hand. “Look, I believe you, okay? You say you feel safe, great. I’m glad you do. I just worry is all. I hate it when you’re so upset.”

Patton swallowed, then let out a wry laugh. “Believe me, I’d rather not have those dreams, either.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have left you last night.”

Oh. That was why Virgil was so upset about this particular nightmare. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I knew,” Virgil protested. “I knew you sleep better with someone there. It doesn’t always work; but you do; and I still left, just to get that stupid drink of water.”

Patton poked at his pancakes with a fork. “Well… it’s like you said. It doesn’t work on all of them.”

“It might have for this one, we don’t know. And—and I should have realized, right? You were avoiding looking at most of the Christmas stuff all day yesterday, and then last night you kept staring at that tree, like….” He gestured vaguely.

Patton felt his face redden. He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed that. He glanced over at the humans, to see that they were clearly trying not to listen, and failing miserably. Emile hadn’t touched his food.

Virgil worked his jaw, then dropped his voice. “Something happened with Christmas, right? With her.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes it does. Of course it does.”

Patton shook his head. “No, it doesn’t,” he said more vehemently. “It doesn’t, because I’m not there anymore. I’m not there, I’m here, with you and Em and Roman and Logan, and I’m not there, and I’ll never see her again, and it doesn’t matter because I’m here and I’m safe and—” His voice grew too choked up to continue. He swallowed, and finished, “It’s over. Mar… Marissa’s gone.”

They were just memories. Memories that haunted him and sometimes still plagued him at night, that had left scars on his body that would never disappear; but they were still just memories. Nothing more.

Logan and Roman had stopped pretending not to be listening. They glanced at each other. Logan quietly got up and unplugged the Christmas tree, moving to take it away.

“W-wait,” Patton said. “You don’t have to….”

“I know,” Logan said. His voice sounded a bit choked. “But if this upsets you, I would like to remove it.”

“It’s n-not the tree,” Patton protested. Not the tree itself. It was what the tree reminded him of. That was no different than blaming Roman and Logan for what another human had done to him. Roman and Logan were not Marissa. And besides that, Patton had really enjoyed their celebration together the day before. He didn’t want to let memories of her ruin that for him, or to ruin Christmas as a whole for the humans.

Logan hesitated, unsure.

“Please?” Patton asked.

Logan slowly set the tree down.

“It’s your tree,” Patton said quietly, unsure if they could even hear him properly anymore. “Not hers. It’s—it’s different. You’re different. You won’t hurt me.”

He realized belatedly that Virgil had come over and linked their arms, pressing their legs together. Patton let himself lean on his friend just slightly.

“You’re my friends,” he finished, his throat threatening to close up.

A few seconds passed.

“We are,” Roman confirmed, his voice firm.

Emile reached out, and Patton took his hand, sniffling.

Logan nodded. “We are,” he repeated quietly.

Patton let out a small laugh that was more of a sob, and Virgil hugged him.

It took a while for things to settle again, but finally, they were all able to go back to eating their breakfast. Roman cracked a joke about some human thing or other that Patton didn’t quite understand, but it made Logan snort, and soon enough they were all able to return to comfortable conversation. Everyone was talking and smiling and even laughing, and Patton was just eating breakfast with his family—with all of his family—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He still avoided looking directly at the Christmas tree, but that was okay. Maybe he’d never be over what he had gone through, not completely. Maybe none of them would. But they were together, and Patton not only had people who cared about him, but he knew that he did. And he knew that they would help him get through whatever difficulties he might have as he began to heal.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

…

The new year rolled around before they knew it, and the humans and littles celebrated with cupcakes and by watching celebrations on the television. They could also hear the occasional firework outside, but they were far enough away that their occasional intrusion was more amusing than anything else.

Virgil commented that humans must be crazy, setting off explosions in the sky like that just to look at the colors, but he had also been wide-eyed with awe as he said it, staring at the fireworks on screen, so Roman and Logan had just glanced at each other knowingly. Patton had loved the smiley-face shaped ones, and Emile had been just as enraptured.

Roman briefly lamented his misfortune of not having a dashing fellow to kiss at the stroke of midnight, only to smile at them all and truthfully say that, despite this, there was no where else he would rather be.

…

With the new year came the time to return to school, and to work.

Logan went back to work on the second, eager to continue a project he was working on. His only regret was not being able to see their tiny friends as often.

As for Roman, his asthma had gotten much better since he’d been discharged from the hospital—he’d needed his inhaler a few times, which had clearly alarmed the mouse-men; but by the time he was meant to go back to work, Roman was ready to do so.

And yet.

Roman quit his job the day before he was scheduled to return, with absolutely no remorse. His manager could send someone else out to collect shopping carts, someone whose job it actually was. He felt a little bad about possibly causing a scramble for rescheduling everyone else, but… not bad enough to not do it. He had a feeling Martin would have to pick up those shifts himself until they found someone else.

(Logan had high-fived him when Roman announced the news, but would never admit to having done so).

Roman went right into finding another part-time job, hopefully a better one. Logan suggested freelance art or writing, at least while he kept searching for something more stable, and the idea had made Roman’s face light up.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

The transition into the new year also meant that Emile was continuing to get better, and that, soon enough, he and his family would be going home. Already, he could do multiple laps around the table before needing a break, the bandages on his head had been removed, and the limp in his sprained ankle was hardly noticeable.

Finally, one month to the day after Emile’s ill-fated supply run, they decided they were ready.

It happened to be a Saturday, and both Logan and Roman were home for the full day to help them prepare. And to say good-bye, this time around.

Roman’s heart was heavy as he watched the growing pile of fabric from the mouse-men’s former beds—minus Emile’s own Up blanket, and one that Patton had kept to fashion into a makeshift backpack—that Patton and Virgil were working on piling together at the edge of the table. Roman picked it up once he was sure the fabric was all there, slowly got up, and walked past Logan, who stood at the kitchen table, hypothetically going through the now unnecessary supplies that had once been set out for their guests, but in actuality staring down at the table like the pattern of the wood grain could tell him how to get their friends to stay.

Roman put a hand briefly on his shoulder as he walked by. Logan hummed in acknowledgement.

When he returned, Logan had stopped searching for the secrets to the universe in their kitchen table and was instead talking to Virgil about what medical supplies he might need to take home, while Virgil filled his backpack with his suggestions. Meanwhile, Patton sat at the little bowl of nonperishable nuts, seeds, and dried fruit, filling his blanket-turned-backpack. Emile was resting, since he would need his strength for their journey.

Roman looked around, wondering what he could help with, and spotted the drawings he had made for the mouse-men, set aside along with a few that they had made themselves over the past month. He hummed, then walked out of the room, quickly returning with a couple of thin pieces of cardboard, scissors, and tape. He skillfully packed all the drawings together, double-checking that he had them all, of course, and lightly taped the pieces of cardboard shut. This way, hopefully, they could bring all the drawings home without damaging them.

“Thank you,” Patton said shyly as Roman handed them back.

Roman just nodded, glancing away. He lowered his hands, leaving his fingertips on the table.

Patton looked a little sad at his expression. “This isn’t bye forever,” he said.

Roman glanced back. “…It’s not?” As much closer as they had all grown, he couldn’t help but fear that this would be the last time he got to see Patton, Emile, and Virgil. He knew Logan feared the same, even if they hadn’t talked about it.

Patton shook his head, set aside his backpack, got to his feet, and slowly approached the edge of the table. He dared to pat one of Roman’s fingers, making Roman’s eyes widen. “It’s not.”

Roman may or may not have gotten misty-eyed at that point.

A few minutes later, once he felt ready to speak again, Roman spotted Virgil, walking over to where Emile’s bag sat. He sat down and began taking out the broken glass, regarding each piece with a glare, clearly intending to use the bag for some of their supplies.

“Let me get something to clean that for you,” Roman said, his gaze falling on the dark stain on the strap.

Virgil paused, glanced at the same stain, and nodded before going back to what he was doing.

Finally, everything was ready, and there was no putting things off any longer, especially if the mouse-men wanted to get home by dark.

(Did that even matter, inside the walls? Roman wondered. He had no idea. He wondered if it would be rude to ask.)

Emile and Patton sat together on Roman’s hand for a ride up to the shelf where one of their formerly hidden entrances was, to help cut the length of their trip a bit shorter. Virgil had wanted to go with Emile, but he was clearly terrified at the thought of being held, and he had finally relented and agreed that Patton going with was good enough for such a short trip. He still squinted at Roman in warning, though, of course.

They waited until Virgil had climbed up through the wall to meet them, Emile leaning on Patton for support. Once he appeared, he pulled one crutch free from where they were tied to his back (his new ones—the old ones, he had left behind.) Virgil stepped out and made to usher his brother and friend into the wall, only to pause, looking back at the humans.

“Don’t tell anyone about any of this,” Virgil he reminded them, even if, as Roman suspected, the mouse-man knew it was unnecessary.

Roman, who had sat down on one of the sofas to catch his breath—he hated how much things still wore him out, even if it had gotten much better—offered him a half-smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. We know you guys are secretive. Besides, who would believe us if we went around talking about mouse-men? We’d probably get thrown in a mental ward.”

Virgil started to nod, then came up short. He blinked, then tilted his head, looking baffled. “Wait, what have you been calling us?” he asked, starting to laugh despite himself.

Roman felt himself color. “…Mouse-men?” he repeated, embarrassed. Apparently that was not the correct term. Which, okay, maybe made sense, since he’d come up with it himself, but it was a good name! They were tiny men with mouse tails. It made sense!

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Emile had cracked a smile, and Patton covered his mouth, his eyes crinkling in amusement as he tried not to laugh.

…Okay, that was worth Virgil making fun of him.

…

Logan looked keenly up at Virgil, sensing an opportunity to learn something before their guests left. “Do you… well, does your species have a proper name? One you’d be willing to share?”

The not-“mouse-men” glanced at each other. Patton hesitantly nodded, Emile inclined his head, and at their go ahead, Virgil cleared his throat.

He had a false start, then said, “We’re littles.”

Logan paused, momentarily baffled. That was an adjective, not a species.

Roman grinned, still slightly red, but now with his eyes sparkling. He leaned forward on the couch “Oh, like blackbirds! It’s simple… I like it.”

Logan made a thoughtful sound. “That is true. It is a succinct name that conveys all needed information.” Except, perhaps, for the tails, but Logan supposed that that only stuck out to him because he was a human and didn’t have one.

“Wait, so does that mean you call us “bigs”?” Roman asked.

“…I’ve heard some littles do,” Emile admitted awkwardly. “But we just go with “humans”.”

Logan couldn’t tell if Roman was disappointed by that news or not. “Thank you for trusting us with that information,” he said, inclining his head. “Have a safe journey home. I’d ask you to call when you make it, but… that seems rather impossible.”

“Yeah,” Patton shrugged.

“I’ll assume, instead, that if you don’t return, that everything has gone well,” Logan decided aloud. He straightened, and smiled, his chest feeling tight as it sank in that this, right here, was the end. For now. “We should not keep you any longer, I suppose,” he said reluctantly, hating that he was even saying this. “Good-bye, and the best of luck to all three of you.”

“Good-bye,” Roman put in, sounding as miserable as Logan felt. “We’ll miss you.”

Patton looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded, wiping at one eye. “Bye.”

“Thank you,” Emile said. “For everything.”

Logan gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Of course.”

“You’re always welcome to come back,” Roman said, sitting forward slightly. It was a hopeful invitation, one that he seemed unsure would be accepted.

Patton smiled down at him. “I know. See you later.”

Virgil cast the two humans one more glance, nodded curtly, and then the three littles disappeared into the wall.

Roman and Logan couldn’t help but wait a few minutes, but they didn’t return.

“It’s not forever,” Roman quietly reminded himself.

“No,” Logan agreed, finally looking away from the shelf. “It’s not.”

[lolathepeacocklord]

Chapter 3 – Helping Hand

  “It’s not safe to be walking around all by yourself. There’s a lot out here that can and probably will try to kill you.” The new stranger took Smith’s hand and started to pull him away down the alley. He progressed down to a dead end and opened up a door to the left, which led to a very dark room inside the building. The place was relatively large, at least compared to other buildings in town. It probably had three floors. Smith was very hesitant on walking into the pitch black room. That guy seemed to just disappear into the abyss.

Why was he even following him? It could be some loony that was gonna kill and eat him. It’s been a damn long time since he’s met anybody nice out here. And the fact he talked normally like him was also a bit confusing. Were sane people more common then he thought they were?

He grunted and inhaled sharply- tightening his grip over to bleeding wound. Oh yeah, he just remembered why the guy dragged him here in the first place.

  The smoker gained the courage to take a step into the house, and hissed when he got a light shined in his face for a split second.

“Sorry, sorry!” The man said, a little bit panicked. “We… Don’t have electricity here really. There’s a backup generator in the basement. It’s out of gas though.” He twisted the flashlight a bit and made it’s spotlight larger so the room could be seen better. Now that more of the place was visible this place looked like a run down motel. Well it was the literal apocalypse, so of course things are gonna be trashed, but he still assumed the highest rating this place ever got was three stars. Even that felt a bit generous.

   The man had gone off to get both that flashlight and seemingly a medkit. “Could you sit down please? I’d like to take care of that sooner rather then later.”

“Yeah me too.” Smith murmured and sat down. At least the guy seemed to know what he was doing. He started to help clean around the wound which hurt like fucking hell. Smith still felt on the cautious side with this man, just because he met him about seven minutes ago. He didn’t even know the guy’s name.

“I’m Alex by the way.” He had a gentle little smile on his face. “Sorry for grabbing you off the street so suddenly. I just didn’t want you to be out in the open too long. Especially if you have an open wound.”

“Smith. Thanks for the help.” Well at least they were getting to know each other. He would have done this mini surgery by himself, but… This was a bullet. He’s dealt with slashes and cuts and stuff, so there was a tiny bit of experience there with stitches. But he’s never taken a literal bullet out of himself before. Or anyone else.

  “Are you… Sure you know what you’re doing?” The smoker asked nervously.

“Yeah! I’ve been having a little practice recently. I got a friend who is a bit reckless. He’s… Been shot more then once definitely.” Alex rummaged through the medkit and eventually pulled out some pliers. They didn’t look… Too rusty. “Just letting you know, this is about to hurt. A lot. So just keep yourself braced.”

Smith tried to force himself to look away from this, but would continue to glance back a lot. The wound for some reason looked bigger then it did earlier. Wider. At least it gave a little more room for Alex to insert the tweezers, and it hurt like hell. Alex needed to grip his wrist just so he didn’t rip his arm away from him. The little bullet was deep in there, and blood continued to pour from the wound again. The smoker grunted slightly and clenched his teeth hard, resting his chin in the palm of his other hand. After several agonizing minutes the little piece of metal clinked onto the tabletop and rolled around in a tiny circle. Alex and Smith both sighed with relief. “Worst part’s over. Good job!” Alex gave a thumbs up and cleaned the wound the rest of the way now. There was a mediocre set of a needle and thread, so he continued to carefully stitch up the wound again. He knew what he was doing… Mostly. The apocalypse has really been helping him learn a thing or two in the medical field. At least enough to treat multiple bullet wounds and occasionally the claw marks and gashes from melee weapons.

    Alex looked up at Smith every once in a while to just kind of... Get a look at this guy. He stared at the hole in the wall nervously, having green catlike eyes. And the schlera was a bright yellow that almost seemed like it glowed. Or maybe it just reflected light well or something, he wasn't sure. His hair went all the way down the back of his neck and curled a bit at the end. The right side of his head was shaved and he had several piercings on his ears, and one on his remaining eyebrow. He had a tiny little scar more on the right side of his lips. He seemed like he was a Hispanic American mix. Definitely an interesting looking guy.

  “There we go, good as new!” Alex said happily, closing the kit again as Smith examined the work with the bandages. Nothing felt loose, and most of the bleeding seemed to be stopping. "Thanks, um... Alex." Smith said, returning a tiny smile. The guy sure seemed optimistic, especially since it was, oh you know, the end of the world. Suddenly Smith felt incredibly awkward.

    "So um... Are you just, like, some tumor guy?" He asked, getting a confused look from Alex. "What do you mean?"

"Well you're clearly not a survivor. Or well, an immune survivor. And you got the whole tumor mess going on there." Smith put his elbow on the table, resting his head in his palm. "Wish I was as lucky as you. Not single tentacle hanging out as far as I see."

Alex continued to stare, looking just as awkward and confused as Smith felt right now. "I'm... Not a smoker. Have you- never seen a boomer before?"

Smith blinked. "A what now?"

  Alex took in a deep breathe and sighed gently. The flashlight on the table began flickering. He grabbed it and smacked it against his palm a few times before getting the regular shine back. “There we go. You should really keep batteries anytime you find them. Big, small, medium- you never know what they’d come in handy for!”

“… Right, uh… I kinda wanted to know what a boomer was? And you keep talking about these other people. Who exactly- what- I’m a little lost right now.”

“Right right, sorry.” Alex quickly put the light back and began to tell the smoker everything he knew.

  “I saw some guy behind a building throwing up everywhere, really violently. I went to see if he was alright. He had these growths starting to grow on his arms and face, and I asked him if I needed to call an ambulance. And then he just… Without any warning at all-” He looked like he might throw up as well. “Dear god, the guy just blew up like a balloon- blood and shit going everywhere. P-People thought I committed a murder, and there was a security camera nearby thank god. I was let off the hook just because people had no idea what happened there. The investigation didn’t last long because, well… Heh. Ahem- I started to get really sick and well, look where I am now. Yeah.”

   Smith felt bad for bringing up such a touchy subject. The guy seemed genuinely ashamed he had become this monstrosity, so that made him feel even worse. He tried to change the subject somewhat and said “How are your other friends doing? They doing… Well?”

The two were quite for several minutes, just staring at each other. Alex eventually grabbed the flashlight and rose from his seat. “Come with me, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

   Smith became increasingly more worried as he was given a tour around the motel. A lot of the walls and doorways were outright demolished, and at this point he was a little scared to ask who and what would have caused that. Alex’s low-context answer somehow made it feel worse.

“For the type of infected Brutus is, he’s actually a bit smaller compared to other infected. Doesn’t mean he can’t cause a ton of destruction.” He said, sounding like he was just talking to himself, because this was not giving Smith the answer he wanted regarding the destruction. At least he made it sound like it was their friend? Whatever this Brutus thing was. Alex eventually turned over to one room and gently knocked on the door before slowly opening it. “… Hello, you awake?”

   There was another destroyed wall (lovely) inside the room, so that was… Something. The room itself was more interesting. Whoever lived here seemed to horde a lot of blankets and pillow, and a big mattress too. It looked a bit squished though, and there was a big blanket that was clearly made by sewing together a bunch of other blankets. More off to the corner of the room was a huge pile of pillows and blanket. The uneasy part was was the fact a hand was sticking out from the pile. A hand with very, very long claws.

   “She doesn’t like super bright lights. So if you wanna wake her up ever, just… Don’t do that.” Alex turned off the flashlight and walked over to speak to the pile of pillows. Smith looked around nervously at the dark building and checked again to see if a hallway lamp was working. The answer was no, and he sighed softly. He suddenly felt a tingling in his throat and put his hand over his mouth, coughing repeatedly. He was doing his best to keep it down, so he tried moving down the hall a bit. Alex then came out and waved at him. “Blance is up! Just- whenever you’re done doing you.”

   Smith forced down the coughing fit surprisingly, and watched a woman walk out the doorway, mumbling something to herself. The claws were really intimidating, and she kind of seemed to have a resting bitch face. That or she always looked angry when she got woken up to meet random strangers. She wore a baggy keyhole sweater that was a bit of a tan color, a dark gray denim skirt, and some pantyhose that were pretty raggedy and torn up. She didn’t wear any kind of shoes. Or at least not at the moment? Yeah, who went to bed with shoes on. And unless you were there to witness it and had a sharp memory, you probably wouldn’t be able to find anything in that room.

“So you’re the new guy?” She asked, looking at Smith with slight distaste. She looked a couple inches shorter then Alex and had long dirty blonde hair that covered most of the right side of her face. She brushed it out of the way to squint at Smith, and Alex turned the flashlight back on by now. She cringed at the sight of him having even more tumors then her friend right next to her. “You smell awful, god.” Well, she clearly wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Smith was glad to see she still had both of her eyes in their sockets, unharmed and everything. She let the hair fall back over her face and Alex asked “Where did Brutus go Blance? I’m sorry to interrupt you starting a nap, I just haven’t heard him.”

“Heard him?” Smith asked.

“Yeah, you can definitely hear him walking around. I’ll show you why in a minute.” Alex said. “But this is Blance! Blance, this is Smith. He is a smoker, and Smith, she is something called a witch-”

“I can already tell why he has that name. Just his voice says it all.” She murmured, and didn’t give Smith time to react to that comment. “Also I’ve been… Asleep. For a while now. I thought you would know where he was.”

Alex stared blankly at her. “No… I said I was gonna check the building next door, see if it had anything there. You were supposed to keep an eye on Brutus. He does seem to hang around you more anyways.”

  Smith watched the two go back and forth, just trying to figure out who the hell had been looking after this Brutus guy. He was starting to get the impression he was some sort of child, but how could a child destroy a building like this? Not like throwing things off shelves and breaking vases- actually destroying the place. He just wanted to know what the fuck was going on with these new infected her was meeting. Was that really so much for him to ask?

And that’s when things really started to go down.

   Alex literally screamed like a girl when they all heard a huge crash outside. Not directly outside, but really damn close. Maybe just behind the building near them. Immediately after the crash a car alarm was going off like crazy. And then they heard the sound of a horde coming over.

“We might’ve just found him.” Blance said, and started running away, and out through a hole in the building, Alex stammered a bunch and tried to stop her before running off in a different direction of the building to get something.

“What the hell’s happening!?” Smith yelled.

  “Sorry, I-I’m so sorry. I haven’t been telling you anything about that, I just- Thought it’d be better to introduce you first.” Alex had gone over to a closet where there were a ton of guns stored. “Jesus, where did you get all these?” Smith asked, staring in awe.

“This city has really dangerous litter nowadays. Here-” Alex just shoved a gun into Smith’s arms. He gave him this heavy baggy too, and when he opened it up he saw why. It had a ton of magazines for the gun. Alex grabbed himself a shotgun and shoved a bunch of shells into his pockets before he shut the door. He started to run off in the same path he saw Blance go, but stopped in his tracks for a minute.

   “You don’t have to come you know! Just keep that on you in case you need to defend yourself.” Alex told Smith, who was keeping close behind him.

“No no no, I wanna come with you. Just so I can know what the hell is happening around here.” Smith said. “You guys may need extra protection, and I’m glad to provide it!

   Alex smiled at him, still seeming very panicked. “I’ll explain all of this later, don’t worry.” He said and patted the smoker’s shoulder. “Just brace yourself- you’re going to see a lot of weird things from here on out.”

Smith didn’t take in how right those words were going to mean in the next several minutes. Alex didn’t even know what was gonna be in store. All they knew was that the witch ran away, there was a horde, something happened with a car, and they just needed to go on from there. So the two kept their guns in their arms, waited for an opening so they weren’t just running directly through a horde, and just followed the zombies over to the noise.

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 20: Not in Kansas Anymore (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Day twenty: “Toto, I have a feeling we’re Not in Kansas Anymore”

Prompts used: Lost, Field medecine 

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Golden Wind) 

Mista whump today! (And Dadbbacchio)

If you guys have been enjoying my stories, you can support me on Ko-fi ^_^

Read on Ao3

Read on FF.net

~~~~~~~

Abbacchio stared at the 'no signal' symbol on his mobile phone and snapped it shut with a curse, refraining from throwing it into the woods for all the good it was.

He and Mista had gone on what was supposed to be a simple mission. Stop two drug dealers who were working out of an old hunting cabin in the woods. Unfortunately, what they uncovered was just part of a larger operation who would probably soon be finding out something was wrong and getting out of the city. He had to call Bucciarati to warn him about it, but there was no signal.

Worse, they had followed one of the dealers to their hideout and were deep in the woods, with no memory of the way out.

Even worse than that, Mista had gotten shot.

Abbacchio glanced over at his companion. The young man was leaning up against a tree, breathing heavily, a hand pressed to his still badly bleeding stomach. His knees were shaking, looking like he was going to fall over any minute.

Abbacchio gritted his teeth. He had to get Mista out of here, back to the golden brat so he could get fixed up, but it looked like that wasn't going to be happening any time soon.

"Nothing?" Mista asked breathlessly.

"No," Abbacchio growled. "But I should be able to use Moody Blues to retrace our steps out of here." He called his Stand out as he spoke and had him rewind about half an hour.

Mista nodded and pushed off of the tree with a grunt, taking a couple steps before he let out a strangled groan, and collapsed pretty heavily to his knees.

"Kid?" Abbacchio asked cautiously. "You gonna make it?"

Mista bit his lip and somehow pushed himself up again, Abbacchio lending him a hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gotta…gotta breathe through it."

Abbacchio glanced at the blood that was seeping from beneath Mista's hand, soaking into his pants. He wrapped an arm around Mista's back as Moody Blues finished the rewind and took Abbacchio's form.

"Alright, hopefully this will work," Abbacchio grunted as they started off.

They'd only been walking for a couple minutes before Mista got way too heavy against Abbacchio's side and stopped, doubling over.

"Abbacchio…I—I gotta stop. I can't keep going anymore…"

Abbacchio paused Moody Blues and looked at the timer. It was probably another fifteen minutes to the road.

Blood was flowing freely from between Mista's fingers. He was losing way too much blood, and Abbacchio didn't think he had fifteen minutes if they didn't try to do something about his wound.

"Look, just leave me here. Get back to the car; call Bucciarati at least."

Abbacchio thought about it for a second, but shook his head. "No. I'm not leaving you out here. There were only two of them out here, but we don't know if more will show up." He glanced at Moody Blues again as the Stand watched him curiously, then back at Mista. "Look, it's only a few minutes back to the cabin. They might have some medical supplies. You think you can at least make it back there?"

"I—I'll try," Mista croaked, and Abbacchio got a firmer hold on him and practically carried him in the opposite direction, recalling Moody Blues again.

The trip back to the cabin wasn't easy. Mista really was suffering and as hard and gruff as Abbacchio might be on the outside, he hating seeing the kids in pain. His kids. He might find Giorno annoying, but he would give anything to have the golden brat here now so he could heal Mista.

Now he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.

They made it back to the cabin and Abbacchio kicked in the door. The two bodies were lying out back where they'd made their final stand, but the place was a mess. Abbacchio cringed as he dragged Mista to the back and lowered him as carefully as possible onto a dirty cot. He supposed it was better than nothing.

"I'm sorry 'bout this," Mista whispered weakly.

Abbacchio cursed and crouched. "It's fine. It's not your fault. Let me look at it?"

Mista swallowed hard and carefully peeled his shaky hand away from his wound.

Abbacchio grabbed his wrist to help, and his eyes widened at how much blood started to flow from the bullet wound.

"We need to slow the bleeding before I can even try to do anything with this," he said, and grabbed Mista's hat off his head.

"Hey!" the younger man protested then cried out in pain as Abbacchio pressed it to his wound. He winced. He was sure the hat wasn't clean enough for this, but they didn't have a lot of options. It was better than the grimy blanket from the cot. At least it was Mista's sweat on the hat.

"Keep pressure on this while I see if I can grab some stuff."

He looked around the cabin swiftly and saw a small camp stove which he quickly turned on with a pan of water, then found half a bottle of liquor. He licked his lips. He wished he could justify drinking it, but it would be better as a disinfectant.

Not surprisingly, there were no bandages, but Abbacchio was prepared to rip his coat up if he needed to. No needle and thread either. Abbacchio pursed his lips. This wasn't going to be fun.

He found a lighter, and with that and the hot water, he came over to the cot again, where Mista was weakly trying to put pressure on his injury.

"Find anything good?" he asked.

Abbacchio set the stuff out on the floor and pulled a knife from his pocket. He pulled the tail of his coat around and cut into it before ripping off a good hunk, dipping part of it into the scalding water.

He pressed his lips together. "Well, considering how bad you're bleeding, and since we don't have a lot of options, I'm probably going to need to cauterize the wound."

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

Abbacchio raised his hands. "I don't want to do it either, but it's either that or bleed out. Besides, you're the one who let Fugo fix you up with staples and duct tape once."

Mista winced and paled impossibly further. Abbacchio didn't blame him. It wasn't going to be pleasant. But at least Mista would probably only have to deal with this until they got back to the headquarters and Giorno could heal him properly.

"But first," Abbacchio sighed. "We're gonna have to get that bullet out."

Mista's breath caught in his throat. "How?"

Abbacchio looked down at the knife. "Don't have a lot of options."

Mista's eyes widened and his lip trembled. "Seriously?"

"Mista, come on, this wasn't a through-and-through. If we have to walk back, that bullet needs to come out or there might be more damage."

He swallowed hard, and thunked his head back against the bed. "Okay. Do what you gotta."

Abbacchio bit his lip and nodded. He reached out to pull Mista's hand away from his wound again, and used the scalding rag to clean the blood from his skin. Mista flinched, shifting slightly.

"Easy," Abbacchio murmured. He finished, pulling the rag away and prodding the wound, pulling a soft cry from Mista's throat.

"I'm going to work on getting the bullet out now. Just try to relax."

"Are you freakin' kidding right now?" Mista gasped.

"It'll make it easier if you relax," Abbacchio growled and picked up the lighter he'd found, running his knife through the flame.

"A-Abba…" Mista murmured, blinking up at him. His dark eyes were clouded and dull from the pain. "If I die here…"

"You're not gonna die here, idiota," Abbacchio told him firmly. Mostly, if he were being honest, for his own benefit. He was really no skilled surgeon at all. The little he had learned had been on the job, and in places and situations similar to this. The fact was, they'd gotten lazy with Giorno around. Too dependent on his healing abilities. So, when things like this happened, they seemed like the end of the world.

The knife cooled, and Abbacchio took a deep breath. He couldn't put this off another minute.

"Okay," he said and pushed Mista's sweater further out of the way before inserting the knife into the bullet wound.

Mista instantly tensed up, crying out, and grasping the edges of the cot. "Merda!" he gasped.

"Hey, I said easy," Abbacchio told him, pressing his free hand to Mista's chest, trying to keep him still, leaning his elbow against Mista's thigh. "If you don't stay still I might damage something. Don't make me tie you down."

Mista squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, hands clenched around the sides of the cot until his knuckles whitened. "O-okay. Do it."

Abbacchio took his blessing and shifting the knife in the wound carefully, trying to find the bullet.

Mista let out a strangled cry, twitching, tears leaking out from under his closed eyes. Abbacchio tried to ignore it. Get the bullet out. That's what he needed to do. Don't think about who it was. That it was one of his kids…

The knife struck something metallic and he huffed a sigh of relief. "Almost got it," he said. He twisted the knife and Mista screamed, but the bullet came up and he forced it back through the hole, snagging it and tossing it aside.

Mista whimpered, eyes fluttering as his head lolled to one side.

"Hey," Abbacchio snapped, reaching out to pat Mista's cheek briskly. "Stay with me right now, okay?"

"S'rry," Mista murmured.

Abbacchio was getting more worried. Mista was shivering now, and it wasn't that cold out here. He was probably going into shock too, along with everything else. Abbacchio would have to work fast. He pressed the cloth back over the wound, stopping the fresh flow of blood that was trickling over Mista' side.

"Just a little more. I need to close it." He reached for the bottle of liquor, and yanked the cork out with his teeth.

Mista's eyes fluttered. "Bruno's gonna be mad."

"Shut up, stronzo. This is for you," Abbacchio growled and removed the cloth, pouring the liquor liberally over the wound.

Mista howled. He curled up onto his side as Abbacchio hurriedly pressed the cloth back against the wound and gripped Mista's shoulder.

"Mista! Hey," he said, rubbing his shoulder before moving to the back of his neck, trying to get the boy to relax. "You need to lie flat. Come on. Let's get this over with."

Mista shook his head, tears streaming out of his eyes. "Oh god, it hurts," he whimpered.

Abbacchio bit his cheek to bleeding as he cupped Mista's face gently, running his thumb through the tears. "Hey, easy. You're gonna get through this. Hear me? We just gotten get this closed up, and get back to the road so we can get you home for Giorno to heal up, okay? Just gotta keep you from bleeding out until then."

Mista took several gasping breaths before he calmed slightly, and Abbacchio ran a hand through his short hair before gently pushing him flat.

He took his knife up again, and flicked the lighter on, waiting until the blade got hot.

He glanced at Mista, barely conscious and pressed his lips into a thin line.

He stood and swung one leg over the cot before sitting on Mista's legs, his other hand pressing firmly into his chest to keep him as still as possible. It wouldn't do for him to flail right now.

"W-what are you doing?" Mista murmured.

"Just a little more, then we're done," Abbacchio told him and unceremoniously pressed the blade to the wound.

Mista screamed, and bucked under him but Abbacchio sealed the wound, choking on the smell of burning flesh, then pulled the knife away.

Mista was limp underneath of him now and he swiftly got off the younger man and crouched, cupping his face between his hands and peeling up one eyelid.

"Mista?" he asked.

No reply.

Abbacchio cursed, and turned to ripping up the rest of his coat tail, making bandages, which he tied around Mista's middle and then simply got his arms under Mista and hefted him up with a grunt.

Mista was not small and light like Narancia or Giorno, but Abbacchio would carry him anyway.

"Moody Blues," he said, and his Stand reappeared. "Resume the replay."

He followed his Stand to the road with his precious burden, and didn't just find the car he'd come in, but another.

"Abbacchio!" Fugo's voice called and Abbacchio looked up to see him and Giorno rushing toward them

"What happened?" Giorno demanded.

"He got shot, but the dealers are dead," Abbacchio said tersely, hefting Mista into the back of the car before climbing in and resting the boy's head on his lap. "Can you heal him?"

"Of course," Giorno replied, instantly falling into action.

Abbacchio sighed in relief, watching Giorno's Stand heal Mista as Fugo called, presumably Bucciarati, to tell him they had been found.

On the car ride back, Mista groaned and opened his eyes, staring up at Abbacchio.

"Hey…" he croaked. "What happened?"

"Giorno and Fugo came looking for us," Abbacchio told him, squeezing his shoulder unconsciously. "How do you feel now? Giorno healed you."

Mista carefully sat up and pressed a hand to his stomach. "Better. Little sore." He glanced back over at Abbacchio. "Thanks. For what you did."

"I'm sorry I had to, kid," Abbacchio said sincerely.

"You still saved my life," Mista said with a small smile. "I won't hold the method against you."

Abbacchio snorted, but reached out and ruffled Mista's hair. The young man ducked with a growl.

"You do owe me a new hat though."

"I think I could manage that," Abbacchio replied.

[go--ask--alice]

Exordium

And So It Begins: Part II

[Author’s Notes: This is the third and final part of Alice and Joker’s first night together] 

🃏 Joker

👑 Alice

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

👑 Well hell.. good job Alice! Way to scare him away! *I curl up into the blankets feeling sorry for myself, too afraid to go after you.*

🃏 *I try to get rid of my hard on by aggressively jerking off in the bathroom. I don’t turn to my usual “mental material”. All I can think about is you. I close my eyes and see our first meeting and then our blueberry pie interlude and I think about how you taste. Nothing is happening except that I’m getting harder and more frustrated. I scream out and throw a bottle of cologne leaving glass bits everywhere. Now I smell like a Gucci store as I abuse my dick.*

👑 *I shake my head and try to convince myself that I’m not hurt. All my belongings are strewn about the kitchen, they’re the only clothes I have with me.* Just suck it up Alice… *I climb off the bed and wrap a sheet around my body like a giant towel. I pause outside the bathroom door, placing a hand on it but I don’t knock. I hear glass breaking and it makes me jump and I run from the room.*

🃏 *What the fuck am I thinking? She’s in the next room and I’m sitting here jerking myself raw. I don’t fully trust her but she doesn’t seem harmful. I stop and cackle. This is sort of funny to me. I decide to waltz in the room with an even larger boner to make you laugh.* See Alice look what happens when Daddy plays… *Notices you are gone.* By himself…. *Where did she go?* ALICE!!!!!!!!!!! *I practically yank the door off the hinges.* ALICE!!!!!!!!!!!

👑 *In the kitchen I pull on my jeans and search for my shirt. It’s sticky with pie filling so I grab yours, it’s stained but still wearable. I pick up my cut up panties and shove them in my back pocket. Walking over to the large sink I run the water and try to clean my shirt a little bit. While it soaks I begin cleaning up the huge mess we had made.*

🃏 *I run down the stairs in the nude and see you and in my haste fall down the last three steps landing on my ass.* ALICE!! *I yell unnecessarily as you are right there in front of me.*

👑 *I stack the pie pan and forks near the sink and look for a rag to wipe the counter with. I mutter to myself as I work.* You knew better Alice… he’s The Joker for fucks sake! You really think you can walk in and make him “normal”?? He doesn’t do normal. *A loud thud brings my attention to the kitchen doorway.*

🃏 *I try to compose myself. I stand up and lean against the railing.* Alice… what… umm…what are you doing? *Heavy breathing.*

👑 Oh.. *Sigh* just cleaning up a bit. My clothes are a mess but I don’t have anything else. *I drop the rag on the counter and take a tentative step towards you.* You seemed to need a bit of space? I didn’t want to push you.

🃏 Wait… why are you actually cleaning this? I can bring in a house cleaner!

👑 Well it is sort of my fault.

🃏 *I grab your hand and put it onto my erect cock and grin.* That is the only thing that is your fault. *I then pull your hand to my temple.* Now this mess? I can’t blame you for that. *Cackles* And what’s this outfit about? *Points at you in jeans and bra with you washing your stained shirt.*

👑 Well I wasn’t about to raid your closest, and we definitely aren’t the same size. What else am I supposed to wear?

🃏 *I put two hands in the air towards you.* Ok ok ok.. I get it. Daddy had a mood swing and now Alice is feeling snappy. Watch your tone with me. Besides, you looked just fine the way you were.

👑 A mood swing?? I half expected you to come down here and throw me out just as I am.

🃏 Throw you out? THROW YOU OUT?

👑 I thought I did something wrong..

🃏 *I grab your hand and start dancing with you.* You make me feel like dancing kiddo! You’re not going anywhere except shopping with Daddy!

👑 Really..? *I feel my lip quivering.*

🃏 *Leans in to kiss your lips.* Really.

👑 *My body goes slightly limp in your arms, relief flooding my system. I pull away from our kiss.* Why? Why did you run away from me? What did I do? *My head is spinning with ‘what if’s’.* I know you aren’t a typical man, but please give me a little insight.

🃏 You my sweet, didn’t do anything. You see… I’m a bit of a lunatic. *Crazy eyes at you.* Sometimes, when it feels too good, the voices tell me I’m going to get kicked in the dick. *Grabs your chin and kisses your cheek.* I haven’t let anyone occupy my mind the way that you have. I can probably work on my… *Waves hands.* ..articulation.

👑 *A part of me feels so terrible for the life you must live in that head of yours, but you also don’t seem like the type to be pitied.* Oh Mr. J… *I run my hand down your jaw.* I’m sorry if I overreacted. I’m sure that didn’t help any.

🃏 Well… I was oblivious until I came out of the bathroom doll face. I was working on the *Glances down* situation you created. *Grins*

👑 Then why did you leave in the first place?? Did you think I wouldn’t take care of the problem I create? *I reach down and wrap my hand around your still present erection, I feel your muscles twitch as I touch you.*

🃏 *I almost feel embarrassment but instead I feel my lust bubble up.* I didn’t want to give you power over me.

👑 *My touch stays gentle but firm, I continue to slowly stroke you.* You know, I can still take care of you. *I try to lead you backwards out of the kitchen, I remember seeing a plush couch of some sort when we first arrived.*

🃏 *I walk with you as I talk.* Just… You can’t fix me. So if that’s your angle just know Daddy J is a broken clock that chimes when he feels like it, and sometimes when he doesn’t. *Chuckles sadly.*

👑 Oh my darlin Joker I don’t want to fix you. I want you just as you are. But maybe with a bit of a user manual? *I stop as we reach the couch and I push you down, letting go briefly as I settle on my knees infront of you.*

🃏 You are so beautiful on your knees.

👑 *I run my hands up your thighs.* Oh Mr. J.. you say the sweetest things sometimes. *I rake my nails down your inner thighs* So now that you’ve got me here, anything you’d like me to do for you sir?

🃏 You know what I want. *Chuckles* You want to see me beg baby doll?

👑 Heh no sir. You don’t need to beg. I just want to hear you say it. *I lick the very tip of your cock.* Please Daddy, lemmie hear you say all the naughty things you want this pretty mouth to do to you.

🃏 *I lean in very close to you.* I want your pretty little mouth to take all of my cock. I want you to suck on it and lick it and look me in the eyes as your pussy drips while you do it. Can you do that for Daddy? *Heavy breathing.*

👑 *My breath is ragged.* Yes.. yes Daddy, I can do that. *I move in close between your thighs, my hand sliding up and glancing over your balls. With very calculated movements and take you into my mouth, as deep as I can.*

🃏 Ahhhhhh….. *Instant relief as you put me in your mouth.* Good girl!

👑 *I grip your thighs as I hold myself still, your cock hitting the back of my throat. I calm my breathing and pull back, one hand wrapping around you as my mouth starts a steading rhythm.*

🃏 *I grip the seat and wrap my other hand into your hair.* Fff…. fuck! Oh god Alice!

👑 *I run my tongue from base to tip and let you fall from my mouth. I look up at you and tilt my head to one side.* Yes Daddy? *I don’t wait for a response, instead I keep my hand pumping and swirl my tongue around your smooth wide head.*

🃏 Alice you feel so fucking good baby.

👑 *I stare up at you as I run my tongue along the underside of your cock, tracing the veins down your length. I can only hope that my eyes convey how you make me feel.* And you taste so good Daddy. *I rub my thighs together to relieve some of the tension, the material of my jeans feels rough against my sensitive clit.*

🃏 Come here Alice. *I start removing your bra.* Your breasts are beautiful. Let Daddy see them again.

👑 *I sit up a little bit so you can remove my bra completely.* Like what you see Daddy?? *I lean foward, looking up at you with big doe eyes.*

🃏 *I groan and pull you closer to me and reach out to cup your breasts.* Little minx… *I grab the waist band of your jeans.*

👑 *I let out a sigh as your hands caress me.* Why what ever do you mean sir?

🃏 You enjoy playing coy pumpkin pie?

👑 *I giggle.* Maybe…?

🃏 *I start running my hand over the crotch of your jeans.* Mmmmm.. *I use my thumb to circle your clit slowly through the jeans.*

👑 *I bite my lip, trying to surpress a moan.* Daddy.. I want you to cum for me, please? Don’t you wanna cum down my throat? *I reach down and grab you again, loving the feeling of our hands on each other at the same time.*

🃏 *Your words wash over me and an evil desire to cum courses through me.* Open your mouth for me. *I barely wait for you to comply and I’m holding you by the back of the head with a desperate need.*

👑 *I try to relax and breathe through my nose as you fuck my mouth. My cries are muffled and I try not to panic, I asked for this and you didn’t hesitate to comply. I look up at you and practically fall apart, your eyes have a feral look in them that makes my pussy gush with need. I can’t wait to feel you cum. I need to see as you let go, my lips around you, waiting and willing to swallow every drop.*

🃏 *I snarl and purr at the feeling of your wet mouth wrapping around my engorged cock. I’m fucking your sweet little mouth at hyper speeds now as my orgasm builds. I roll my neck and when I get back to its starting point I find your eyes. The subservient look in your eyes, telling me that you want me to own you, to violate you… it rips through me. I can feel myself starting to cum. It is coursing up through me with heat. You are still looking at me with such need that it feels like a prayer.*

👑 *My eyes go wide and I brace my hands on your thighs as you let go. Your face contorted in the ecstasy of your release. A moan vibrates deep within me as I feel your hot cum hitting the back of my throat. I struggle slightly against you as I try to swallow everything down. When your body finally starts to relax I pull away, giving you one last long drag of my tongue over your spent cock. I sit back and lock eyes with you. I know my gaze is clouded with a desire I don’t fully comprehend. My voice cracks as I try to speak.* Tha…thank you s-sir. *I lick my lips.*

🃏 *I fall back feeling like I’m whole again.* Alice… *Pats lap.* Did you swallow every little drop?

👑 Mhmmm I did Daddy..

🃏 Good girl. Come sit on Daddy’s lap.

👑 *My bones feel like liquid as I crawl into your lap * Daddy.. did I make you feel good? *I nuzzle into your neck.*

🃏 Mmmm my sweet little Alice… you made Daddy feel like a brand new man. *Kisses your forehead.*

👑 *I place small light kisses along your jaw.* Good. You deserve to feel amazing!

[backtobackbakubabe]

Baby its Cold Outside (PART 7)

Bakugo x Reader 

Who let the dogs out!

Words : 2489 

PART 1 HERE, PART 2 HERE, PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE PART 5 HERE , PART 6 HERE PART 7 HERE PART 8 HERE PART 9 HERE PART 10 HERE PART 11 HERE PART 12 HERE PART 13 HERE PART 14 HERE

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You had your headphones in. Listening to a podcast while you did your daily physical therapy. You were almost done. Only a week left and you could technically be cleared for hero work. Key work being technically. 

It was something you and Bakugo had been discussing at great length recently. For obvious reasons he would be totally okay if you retired from being a hero, but he knows that he can’t put you in a bubble nor should he keep you from your dream job. 

You were proud of him for even considering it an option. He understood what it was like to be a hero, and he understood how hard it would be to quit. He also knew first hand how hard you had worked to get to where you were and it’d be a shame for your career to but cut short. 

The thing was.... you weren't sure. You absolutely loved being a hero, but you were sill having a hard time with the psychological repercussions of being shot. No matter how hard you tried you still freaked out over loud noises and you hated going outside alone. You just had this weird irrational fear that they were going to come back and finish the job. 

You hadn't voiced these worries to anyone. You were nervous that if you said it out loud they would think you were unstable and then you would be permanently benched. Doomed to desk jobs and paperwork. 

You wrapped up your workout and headed back to the apartment. You kept your headphones in while you walked which Katsuki scolded you for constantly. Saying it was dangerous and anyone could sneak up on you. But you couldn't help it. Drowning out all the noises of the city that made you jumpy was imperative to make sure you got home without having an episode. 

Usually once you got within a mile or two of home you would just teleport. Ever since you woke up your range had been much larger. You decided that it must be like a muscle. The more you used it the stronger it got. Teleporting all those girls out that night had pushed you into the miles range now. Although you have no idea how you ever managed 15 miles, let alone how you did it on accident. 

Today was a nice day though so you decided to just walk. 

You were probably a block or two from home when a hand came out of no where and grabbed your shoulder. Panic seized you for a few short moments before your instincts kicked in. You raised your arm and swung out to hit your attacker. But it did no good because they just caught your arm with one hand and ripped your headphone out with the other. “And that is how easy it would be for someone to attack you when you walk around with headphones in.” 

You rolled your eyes at the familiar red head as you teleported to the other side of Kirishima. “And that’s how easy it is for me to get away... Did Bakugo ask you to do that?”

He just chuckled, “No he didn't, but he did send me to tell you his phone got destroyed today while he was chasing down an arsonist. He’s going to be late tonight and might possibly pull some extra hours and work a graveyard shift.” 

You pouted slightly at the thought of being home alone the rest of the night. “Well I was going to make some dinner, you are more than welcome to join.” 

Kirishima narrowed his eyes at you, “Say we can order in and I’m down. No offense but I’ve heard stories about your cooking and I’m not really in the mood for food poisoning.”

You leaned over and started slapping his shoulder repeatedly, “Bakugo is a fucking liar! I am a perfectly good cook! He just never lets me!” 

Kirishima started laughing as he acted like he was going to put you in a headlock, “Whatever you say Y/n. Lets just order anyways. It’ll be my trea- AHH!” 

Kirishima let go of you in an instant as you looked down to see a small german shepherd that was probably no more than a year old with his teeth sank into Kirishima’s pant leg. “What the hell! Where did he come from?” He shook his leg a few times. Not really bothered by it considering it didn't break through his hard skin. When he finally shook the dog off it immediately backed up until his butt was practically between your legs facing Kirishima almost as if it was daring him to come any closer. “Well would you look at that? I think you have a friend there Y/n.”

You tentatively reached down and scratched the dog on his head. He softened at your touch and his tail started to wag. “He must have thought you were trying to hurt me... He doesn't have a collar.... Maybe I could -”

“Y/n so help me if the next words out of your mouth are take it home.. Bakugo will flip.” 

You smirked, “Well thats what he gets for leaving home alone. You know I’d call and ask him, but wouldn't you know it, I don't think his phone is working.” 

“Oh boy... you’re lucky he loves you.” 

It took no coercion to get the dog to follow you home. In fact all you had to do was say “Come on boy” and he followed you the whole way home like the literal puppy dog he was. 

Once you got him inside you made a little makeshift bed for him out of and old blanket of yours. You used a damp towel to get some dirt off of his paws. Katsuki was very compulsive about keeping a clean and organized home. If he came home to muddy paw prints on his hardwood floors it would be game over. 

You sat on the floor and the pup ran over and plopped down in your lap. His tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth while his tail was going a mile a minute. “Who’s a good boy? Huh? Is it you? Are you a good boy?” 

He flipped over and showed you his belly and gave a soft woof as is to confirm that he was in fact a good boy. 

“He already seems to be attached to you.” Kiri had a worried look on his face. 

“Well good because I’m already attached to him too. And I’ve already decided I don't care what Suki thinks. We’re keeping him.” 

Kirishima just rubbed his neck, “If you say so. I’m going to order us some food. You want me to order him some white rice or something?”

“Oh! Good idea! With chicken too! Make sure you tell them no seasoning though. Completely bland. We don't want him to get an upset tummy. We need to make a good first impression and I don't think pooping on the floor would be the quickest way to Katsuki’s heart.” 

“Well if there's anyone who knows the secret access codes to Bakugo’s heart it’d be you. Just do me a favor and don’t get your hopes up too high. I know he loves you and all. But you and I both know he doesn't like surprises, or messes.... or anything that cant take care of itself...” 

You snorted, “Well I guess we’ll consider this practice for a baby.”

Kirishima dropped his phone... “Baby? Did you just say Baby? You're not like...” he motioned to his stomach with wide eyes. 

“Oh no! Sorry no I didn't mean like right now. But you know eventually I’d like to have kids. This could be good practice for him.” 

He looked relieved, “I hate to break it to you I don't think Bakugo has a paternal bone in his body.” 

You shrugged, “I didn’t think he had it in him to be a good boyfriend either yet here we are. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He seemed to think that over a bit, “Yeah I guess that’s true. I always knew you two would end up together though. He never shut up about you at UA. He was always, ‘Did you see y/n today at training? She looked so good!’ ‘Hey do you think if I asked y/n to study she would think it’s weird?’ and my personal favorite , ‘If one more fucking extra looks at her ass I swear to god I’m blowing the place up!’”

Your eyes widened, “Okay fist of all that is probably the best Bakugo impression I have ever heard. Spot on my friend. And second of all.... NO FUCKING WAY? Was he really like that? All I remember is him pushing me around and yelling at me in training.” 

“Oh he was smitten from day one. He could hide it from everyone but me.” 

Your food arrived and you and Kirishima continued to swap stories from UA. You telling him all about the behind the scenes gossip you and Mina would get into about him and he told you about all the times Bakugo almost asked you out but chickened out. It was a good night. 

He walked outside with you as you let your new, still nameless puppy go potty. Then he took off to go home. Saying he couldn't wait to tell Mina all the new things he learned about her. You just chuckled and waved goodbye. 

Now it was time for the tricky part. Every time you would crawl into bed the puppy would hop up as well. He would curl up to your side and it was so cute. But you couldn't push your luck so you would pick him up and put him on his blanket on the floor. Then a few minutes later he was back in the bed. 

The cycle continued for a while before you finally just got on the floor and cuddled with him until he fell asleep. Then you gently go up and snuck into bed. Not that it mattered because right as you fell asleep he jumped up and laid down near the end of the bed. Keeping your feet nice and warm. Everything was going alright until around 5 am when your boyfriend finally got home. 

“OI! What the fuck is this?” 

You bolted upright to see your dog now standing over you protectively, head bowed low as he followed Bakugo’s every movement with his eyes. 

“Hey don't yell! He doesn't like it.” You gave the dog an affectionate pat on his head and he seemed to calm down a bit. 

“Oh well forgive me if I hurt some random ass dogs feelings. Where the fuck did it come from? Who does it belong too?” 

You started to look anywhere but at Katsuki. Mindlessly petting the dog as your nerves settled, “Well Kiri walked me home as I expect you asked him to and we were kinda play fighting and this dog came out of no where and basically attacked Kiri to get him away from me because he thought he was hurting me. But he's actually really sweet and he seems to really like me and -” 

“Y/n... what the fuck where you thinking? Do you know how much responsibility a dog is?” 

“Well Katsuki I was thinking that now that I’m basically at home alone all day, stressed the fuck out may I add, that it would be nice to have some company. Not only does he like to cuddle but he’s also a perfect guard dog! Wouldn't you feel better on overnight shifts knowing that he’s here to help keep me safe?” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Y/n....” 

“Please Suki... We’ve already bonded. Honestly I think he would really help with my anxiety. I haven't really told you because I didn't want you to worry... but I’ve been a little... uh nervous.. leaving the house. And I feel like It would be easier if I had him with me. Pleaaaaaaaaase”

He sat on the edge of the bed and scratched the dog behind the ear, “Have you named it yet?” 

You beamed at him, “No not yet, I wanted your help. I’ll name him Lord Explosion Murder if you want I don't even care I just want to keep him...” 

He smirked, “That won't be necucesaay... What about Lucifer? Because I swear this dog is the devil. He tried to corner me in my own apartment when I came home.. You were right about him being a good guard dog.” 

“Does this mean we can keep him?!” You practically held your breath while you waited for an answer. 

“Uh I guess. But you’re the one that needs to take care of him. I already have to take care of you. I’m at my limit..” 

You lunged at him and wrapped your arms around his neck, “Oh my gosh! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I love you so much! You're the best boyfriend ever!” 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. So what are going to call him?” Katsuki climbed in bed next to you and pulled you to him. The dog settling in by your feet again. 

“Not that Lucifer isn't a great name babe but you know I was kind of thinking about Zuko. He’s our favorite character from Avatar the Last Airbender and he’s a fire bender kind of like you so... I don't know. I guess I just kind of liked it.” 

He huffed, “I don't bend fire y/n. My sweat explodes. Hence the name Lord Explosion Murder.... but yeah.. I guess I could get on board with that.”

Later that morning you could hear the door softly close as you assumed Katsuki took Zuko out to go to the bathroom. Already doing exactly what he said he wasn't going to do. When he came back inside you could hear him talking to Zuko as if he were a human. 

“Alright so I’m only letting you stay because she likes you. As if she really thought I was going to tell her no. She took three bullets for me and thought I’d tell her she couldn't have a dog... yeah right. I’d give her ten dogs if that’s what she really wanted.” 

The sound of him filling up a bowl of water echoed from the kitchen, “But don't get too comfy because you have a job to do. You need to be the man of the house when I’m not around. And don't for a second think you can steal my cuddle time when I get home at night. You have her all damn day. When I get home it’s my turn... You got that?” 

There was a faint sound of Zuko panting as if they had gone for a run, “I guess you are kind of cute..”