#but she doesn’t wait for him and climbs ladders and makes a name for herself but to do that meets a man who can give her everything

[utterlyinevitable]

“‘The best thing a girl could be is a beautiful little fool.’”

“Okay, Daisy…” he chortles, because it’s absurd that this is the line their conversation has moved to.

“Gatsby? What Gatsby?” she mimics in the most breathy mid Atlantic accent she could muster. Palm up on her forehead and everything dramatic to prove nothing in particular. A jest. A joke. A levity on the situation before them.

“You’re not Daisy.”

“Then which of us is Jay?” There’s that breathy voice again. But this time it’s all-knowing, seductive. Luring him into another game to play.

He doesn’t say a word.

But she does.

“One of us is disrupting the life the others built. Flaunting and saccharine bravado without a care in the world.”

“One of us,” he’s quick to retort, he’s thought about broaching the subject since he saw her again, wasn’t going to bring it up. But now she’s comparing him to a tragically obsessed lover he’s got to play the card — “writes about it.”

He watches her jaw slacken and her face freeze with wide eyes caught in headlights. just as quickly as she was thrown she’s back to being cryptic.

“I’m not Nick,” she laughs off the absurdity as if he hadn’t just rattled her world.

He’s determined, “I’m not dying in a pool before the summer is through.”

“Interpret the classics however you want.” She shrugs and casts her gaze across the way.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Oubliette (3x08)

Trigger warnings: for references to child abuse, child sexual abuse, trauma-related violence.

She watches him sitting on the edge of her bed as he patiently waits for her to be ready to look at the photograph hidden in his pocket. Her eyes close as the sun from the window warms her face. In the light of day is the only way she can do this, she realizes: see a face she’s so desperately tried to forget in the dark. 

“I can only imagine how difficult this has been for you,” Agent Mulder admits. “It’s understandable you want to forget. But Lucy, sometimes remembering can help too.”

Lucy scoffs. “Remembering has never helped me before…”

She’s seven, laughing while playing Duck Duck Goose outside in the sun with her neighborhood friends. 

She’s eight, sleeping peacefully in her bed when a stranger slaps a sweaty hand over her mouth and whispers, “no one’s gonna spoil us.”

She’s nine, hiding in a corner when he blinds her with the camera’s flash. 

She’s ten, sobbing on the floor as he steals her innocence for the first time.

She’s eleven, falling to pieces when her cries for her mama continue to go unanswered. 

She’s twelve, clenching her fists in anger until her palms bleed.

She’s thirteen, hitting him over the head with a coffee mug and kicking him in the crotch, before climbing the ladder and finally, finally escaping. 

She’s fourteen, sixteen, eighteen… and she is numb.

She’s twenty, slinging rock and selling her body for money���

“Lucy?”

She gasps as her eyes snap open. 

She’s thirty, falling to pieces all over again.

“Lucy, do you need a minute?”

“I’m fine,” she manages to say around the lump in her throat. “You can show him to me now.”

“He’s probably changed a lot over the last seventeen years. Did you even know his name?” Agent Mulder carefully asks as he slides the 8x10 across her blanket. 

Lucy shakes her head. His name never mattered, only how unsafe his presence made her feel. 

“Carl Wade,” the agent continues “He worked as a photographer’s assistant. School pictures mostly. That’s where he saw Amy Jacobs.”

She’s shaking as she stares at the photo of the man who turned her childhood dreams into nightmares. Earlier, she’d told Agent Mulder not to touch her. That she doesn’t like to be touched, because she rarely trusts anyone not to hurt her. But she regrets that now. This man is kind, caring. Somehow she trusts he would never hurt her. 

“So what do you want from me?” 

Her voice cracks alongside her resolve. She hates being vulnerable; it makes her weak. That’s why drugs and sex work felt freeing to Lucy. She got to choose her john, held the power to give them permission before they used her, then got high to forget it.

She’s clean now and has worked really damn hard to turn her life around. Figures her past would fuck it up somehow. 

“I want you to tell me what you’re going through,” he suggests gently. “It might feel good to tell somebody.”

Her eyes flick up to meet his. “I feel like it’s happening all over again.”

She barely survived this Carl Wade the first time.

“You can actually feel what she’s going through, can’t you?” 

Lucy wants to laugh at how crazy that sounds, but the pleading look in the agent’s green eyes urges her to admit the truth. 

“I don’t want to go through this again.” 

“Lucy, she needs your help.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” she says automatically, but as soon as the words leave her lips, it dawns on her that it might not be true anymore.

Because she feels her again: Amy, invading her body, filling her up with a familiar fear so strong she nearly chokes on it. 

“Lucy…”

Car doors slamming outside the halfway house send Agent Mulder down the stairs, leaving Lucy alone with that goddamn picture.

She wasn’t lying to him before when she’d said she didn’t know where Amy was, or that she couldn’t help her. She can barely help herself. But she can’t ignore the overwhelming weight of remembering the evil of Wade pressing down on her. The same weight Amy is feeling right now.

A sudden urge to flee pulls her to her feet. Like an invisible string, Amy’s panic wraps itself around Lucy’s chest and tugs.

She has to go. It’s all so clear now. She has to go back. Through the woods, through the house — into the dark. Maybe she was never meant to leave it at all.

Lucy hears the other Feds arguing with Agent Mulder downstairs. Something about how her blood from her nose bleed at work was mixed with Amy’s blood. They think she’s working with Wade. That she’s done something awful to the girl. But they don’t know, have no fucking idea what unspeakable things she’d do to Wade now if she could. They don’t know what it’s like to feel fear so intense for so long it becomes part of you. 

Like how she has become part of Amy.

Lucy’s heart races. Agent Mulder is right. She and Amy share a special connection through their kidnapper: the fucking monster who ruined her life and forced her to waste half of it rotting away in darkness.  

She walks around her bed, slowly picks up the glossy image of Wade’s face, and rips it in half.

Tears blur her vision as she opens the window and climbs down the fire escape. Lucy has accepted the dark is where she’s been forced to fight for survival, ever since the night that bastard crept into her pretty pink bedroom and stole her from her bed. But no one else should have to. Her feet hit pavement and she’s instantly transported back there, stuck in that pitch-black hellhole, trembling with bone deep chills and never ending terror. 

Maybe thirteen-year-old Lucy never actually escaped after all. 

But maybe Amy Jacobs can. 

Maybe, the only way to end a nightmare is to dream it all over again. 

Read the other chapters of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Ao3

@monikafilefan

[fazbear-security]

The arcade was always quiet around the middle of June. The younger children were still in school, and most teenagers would rather spend their freshly-minted summer days playing the larger selection at cabinets at Eglantine’s Arcade Emporium downtown than the paltry few brand-specific games at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

And for the teenaged staff who worked the afternoon shift at the pizzeria, that was just fine.

“So...did you open it yet?” Jeremy Jr. asked as he leaned over the prize counter, looking pointedly at the the manila envelope poking out of his coworker’s unzipped bag sitting against the side of the counter. Said coworker shook her head as she finished tearing open a plastic merchandise bag, and started digging for its contents with one arm.

“Not yet.” Sasha shrugged as she tossed another Foxy plush up towards Ashton, who was balanced on the stepladder to restock the higher shelves. “I'm gonna wait for my break, because if it’s what I think it is, I’m probably going to cry.” She admitted. “And I don’t want to cry on the party floor, you know?”

“It’s not like there’s anybody around to see you, ‘cept us.” Jeremy Jr. grinned wide behind his glasses. “What do you think it is? Is it your college acceptance letter?”

“Pfft. No.” Sasha laughed out loud as she wrestled a child sized Chica doll out of its box and plastic bag next. “I’m not smart enough to skip senior year.”

“B***h, yes you are.” Ashton argued from atop the ladder, ignoring Jeremy Jr.’s hurried hush (”Language!”). “You took the final in three languages last year.”

“Because I failed the first two and Mr. Riggins put in a good word with the principle to get me both retakes.” Sasha set the Chica doll on the counter against the wall and smoothed out a wrinkle in her bib. “Being multilingual doesn’t make you a genius.”

“I disagree.” Ashton made grabby hands at the Chica doll until Sasha tossed it up to him, and he slotted it into the last open spot on the top shelf. “Some people can barely speak one language, you know.”

“Yeah, we call those people ‘customers’.” Jeremy Jr. planted his hands on the countertop and hoisted himself up to sit on the glass, ignoring Ashton’s disapproving glare. “Come on, Sasha! Show us what’s in the envelope! Isn’t it burning a hole through you?”

“Not as much as it is you, apparently.” Sasha lied with a smile. It was, in fact, burning a hole in her. She was sure (95-98%) that she knew what awaited her inside. She didn’t need to double check. She could wait until her lunch break in thirty minutes.

.......

“....okay, fine.” Sasha snatched the envelope out of her bag and climbed up to join Jeremy Jr. on the countertop. Ashton glared at the both of them for getting hand prints all over his nice, clean counter, but only hopped down from the ladder and stood on his toes to look over their shoulders as Sasha broke the seal on the envelope and fished out its contents.

She stared at the papers in silence, for a minute, before beginning to flip through them - checking all the initials and signatures, even though she’d seen them just months before. She’d gotten all dressed up in a fancy dress and heels, and shaken hands with the judge who’d signed on the bottom of all these pages. Right beneath Mike, and right beneath Jodie.

Her mom. Officially. Legally.

Sasha let the papers fall back together and took a breath that was shakier than she’d have liked to admit. She’d been an active participate in this process, but something about seeing their copies of the paperwork in full felt...different. More real. More final.

“Oh sh*t, I thought this legal stuff took months to come through.” Ashton laughed, but his tone was entirely benign. Sasha felt her eyes begin to sting as her coworkers threw their arms around her in a gangly hug. “Congrats, Sash!” Even though Jeremy Jr’s glasses were digging into her cheek, and the hard edge of Ashton’s name badge was pressing uncomfortably into her arm, the teenager didn’t push them off right away. She let herself be squished into the awkward, genuine hug for a few brief seconds before wiggling herself free and jumping off the counter.

“I gotta find Mike!” She left her bag sitting beside the counter and ran out of the prize corner, stuffing the papers quickly back into the envelope as she ran.

“Hey! There’s, like, three boxes left to unpack!” Ashton shouted after her. Jeremy Jr. adjusted his glasses.

“Ah, let her go. She’ll be back in a few minutes, anyway.” He jumped to the floor, himself, and reached for one of the remaining boxes. “This one’s full of those limited edition keychains. Do you have space for those?”

[splinteredhq]

CHARACTER INFORMATION:

**CHARACTER NAME:** Alecto Eris Carrow.

**CHARACTER FACECLAIM:** Sophie Cookson.

**CHARACTER AGE/DOB:** 32. October 18th, 1990.

**CHARACTER PRONOUNS/GENDER IDENTITY/SEXUALITY ETC:** She/Her, Cis female, Bisexual, Biromantic.

**OC OR CANON:** Canon.

**CHARACTER PROFESSION IF RELEVANT:** Cursebreaker.

**SCHOOL ATTENDED & HOUSE IF RELEVANT:** Hogwarts & Slytherin.

**ALIGNMENT (the order/death eaters/etc) + GENERAL OPINIONS ON THE WAR/THEIR SIDE:** Death Eaters. Alecto’s current involvement in both the war and the Death Eaters is as minimal as possible. She’s not done enjoying her freedom and isn’t quite ready yet to have her life dictated by someone else again. While she does resonate with her side’s views, she doesn’t think everything they do is 100% right.

**CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY:**

From the moment she was born Alecto’s entire future was decided for her. As a girl, she was useless to the Carrow bloodline unless she managed to make a respectable marriage into another important pure blood family and help her power hungry parents to further climb the social ladder. Therefore the young woman began preparing for this purpose from a very early age. Mrs. Carrow found the most obnoxious and severe tutors that money could buy and personally supervised her daughter’s progress like a hungry hawk.

Alecto had to be nothing short of perfect in order to stand out from the vast crowd of other well-bred pure blooded ladies waiting to be noticed. And, most importantly, in order to please her very demanding, overcritical mother. Anything below perfection was considered an insult to the family name and to the efforts they had put into raising her. Alecto’s failures were harshly reprimanded and her progress barely acknowledged. The older she got the more infuriated she became with the manner in which her parents and tutors treated her: like she was nothing more than a doll whose value they were waiting to increase so they could sell to the highest bidder. Unfortunately there wasn’t much that she could do to improve her situation, not unless she wanted to be disowned.

As a Carrow, she was since birth expected to become a loyal and adoring servant of the Dark Lord and later in life a skilled practitioner of the dark arts. The Carrows also believed strongly in pure-blood supremacy and did not associate themselves with anyone not of their blood status, values which they passed on to their children. While she didn’t much care for being anyone else’s servant, she was already a slave to her mother’ whims, Alecto embraced the other two concepts wholeheartedly. She put more work into the practice of dark and combative magic than she had ever put into piano or etiquette lessons. Slowly but surely she excelled, finally managing to gain her father’s momentary respect and admiration. It also helped to prove to herself that she was more than just a pretty little thing waiting to hang onto someone’s arm, she could be a force to be reckoned with on her own if she chose to.

The phrase which Mrs. Carrow fiercely and repeatedly barked into her daughter’s ear was: “Always be on guard and trust no one!”. Other pure blood girls close to her age were to be seen as competition, not possible friend material. At social events, or even in school, Alecto was instructed to be polite and cordial towards them, flashing smiles, complimenting dresses and making small talk, while secretly gathering any tiny piece of information she could later use to her rivals’ disadvantage. Life was a constant state of tension and competition in which she had to either emerge the victor or die trying. The only real friend Alecto has ever had is her twin brother, Amycus. There’s not a thing in the world she wouldn’t do for him and his wellbeing even when they find themselves at odds.

After graduation, Mrs. Carrow saw it unnecessary to allow her daughter work and therefore decided to keep Alecto at home and further educate her in the art of becoming the perfect pureblood wife. The decision was no less than infuriating to the young witch. She no longer wished to become someone’s possession, she longer to be more in life. So she finally decided to disobey and start the journey of becoming her own person. Needless to say she did not have her mother’s blessing to do so but she had somehow managed to gain her father’s approval. Call it curiosity, a lapse in judgment or genuine interest, the witch didn’t care. She was, for the first time in a long time, allowed to be her own master. So she took full advantage.

Alecto took a job her mother had never deemed worthy of a lady, moved as far as possible from the family home and excitedly started an independent life. She’s still rather thankful for some of the skills her mother has forced her to gain since they are proving to be more useful than she initially believed. Part of the deal made with her father was she would have to keep in touch with the man and never do something that would put the family in a bad light with other respectable purebloods. Other than that, world’s her oyster now.

When the time came, Alecto took the mark and her place among the Death Eaters, waiting to serve Voldemort whenever he chose to call upon his subjects. She both loathed and enjoyed her newly gained position. While it came with some degree of power (which she could abuse in whatever free time she had) it also meant she was back to square one, at someone’s beck and call, which was less than desirable. Whenever able to weasel out of an assignment, Alecto will do so without a second thought. Voldemort already has so many adoring supporters, he surely won’t miss one who is less than interested in his person.

OOC INFORMATION:

**NAME/ALIAS:** Iz.

**AGE:** 28.

**PRONOUNS:** She/Her.

[crysalita]

Brahms the Boy

Brahms Heelshire x reader

Word Count: 3097

Warnings: Violence, Death, Cole

When I was asked to accompany Greta with her new babysitting job, the last thing I expected was to find a doll that we would be looking after.

I didn’t dare question why we had to look after a porcelain doll because I felt it would be rude to ask, and besides, this just makes everything easier for us.

The house was lovely, slightly creepy, but lovely none of the less. It was a big house for an elderly couple and sometimes I felt so alone, minus the constant feeling of someone watching me.

Every now and then I would here creaks in the walls, but I would brush them off being the fact that the house was quite old.

We were given a set of rules that we were to follow, most of them were okay. I didn’t know how I felt about rule number 4 and rule number 10, never cover Brahms’ face and kiss goodnight.

After finding out that Brahms was capable of moving on his own, I was beginning to be more cautious on the things I did, always keeping an eye out.

*

“Tell Greta to think about us getting back together.” Cole pleads. I was pulled aside so Cole could convince me to talk to Greta about their, long gone, relationship. “I love her, I really do.”

“She doesn’t want to be with you. She’s moved on.” I reply calmly. I noticed that the more I denied his pleas, the more he was getting angry.

I wince as he grabs a hold of my arm and pulls me close. “You better hope that she wants to get back with me, because if not, she’ll be saying good-bye to you too.” He threatens.

He lets go of my arm and allows me to walk away.

Greta was standing outside of the room, holding onto Brahms. “He wants to talk with you.” I mumbled. I covered my arm behind my back before reaching for Brahms.

I hold onto Brahms tightly as I wait for Greta and Cole to finish their conversation. “Why can’t he just leave her alone.” I whisper to Brahms. “I just wish he would leave.”

Cole was never a personal favourite, for obvious reasons, but I never had the heart to tell Greta all the horrible things he would say to me. She always seemed so in love, and I didn’t want to ruin that for her.

I walk up the stairs and into Brahms room where I lay him down on his bed. I do the usual routine where I tuck Brahms into his bed and left with a goodnight kiss before I walked back to my own room and went to bed.

*

I was awoken when I heard calls from downstairs, I instantly shot out of bed and ran down. “Greta!” Greta was ahead of me as she entered the room that Cole was staying in. “Get in here.” Cole grabs Greta by the arm and pulls her into the room, me following behind her. “What is this?” We were met with the words ‘get out’ written in, what I could only assume, was blood. “Was this you?”

“I didn’t do that.” My eyes land on Brahms sitting in a chair, directly underneath the message.

“Brahms.” I mutter. I rush over to Brahms where I pick him up and keep him close to me, making sure Cole can’t get to him.

“The doll wrote this? How do we know it wasn’t your psycho bitch friend?” Cole points a finger at me as he scowls. This doesn’t work in his favour as Greta comes over to me and stands beside me. “Ok, fine. It wasn’t either of you. It was the doll.”

With each word, Cole takes a step forward until he’s directly in front of us. “Give me the doll.” I shake my head at his demand and the second he takes another step, I take off running out of the room, tugging Greta to follow along.

“It was me; I swear. Just don’t touch Brahms.”

My lack of direction caused me to end up cornering us in a room as Cole blocked the door. “Give me the doll!” He launches himself forward and grabs Brahms by the legs, shoving me backwards to I hit Greta.

I fall to the ground from the shove, and Malcolm comes running in. “Hey! Get your things and get out of here!” He shouts at Cole.

With the help of Greta, I am able to get back onto my feet and my eyes lock onto Brahms who was being swung around carelessly by Cole. “You know, everyone just seems to be in a big hurry for me to leave. Maybe-” He turns to Malcolm. “Maybe you left that message for me. Huh? Or are you gonna say it was the doll too?”

“Just put Brahms down and we can talk about this.” I attempt to get Cole to leave Brahms alone, but it’s no use.

“Cole, you don’t understand-”

“No, I think I understand exactly what’s going on here. What’s so special about this doll?”

As I go to take a step towards Cole and reach for Brahms, Cole raises Brahms up and swings him back down, causing the doll to hit the edge of a chair and shatter into pieces. The ashes from the doll fly up and I am left in shock. “Brahms.” I mumble.

Suddenly, from inside the walls, we could hear the sound of movement. There were creaks and bangs as well as the lights beginning to flicker. “We need to leave.”

It was as if someone was walking through the walls as everything stopped when it reached a mirror. Cole approaches the mirror and puts his ear to it, in order to hear what’s inside. “We should really go.” Malcolm places a hand on both Greta and me.

“There’s something-” The glass smashes in Cole’s face as he is sent flying back, hitting the ground right in front of us, but that wasn’t what I was focused on.

I was focused on the figure that stood behind the mirror. “Y/n?” My eyes widen as I hear my name being called. “Y/n? Are you okay?” A hand comes out from the mirror followed by the person behind it.

The man hidden behind a mask comes out from the mirror and stands to his full height, towering over Cole who was on the floor in front of him. “Is that-” I begin, but I am cut off by Malcolm.

“It’s Brahms.”

“It can’t be.”

Malcolm runs forward to block Brahms from getting to Cole, but he shoved a way and instead takes a hit to the side of the head with a broken stick of wood.

The man then turns his attention back to Cole and gets on top of him. “Brahms!” I try to stop Brahms from hitting Cole, but once again I find myself on the floor. “Brahms, stop it!” I cry.

Brahms then proceeds to pick up a broken piece from the doll and stabs it straight into Cole’s neck. Blood spills out from the wound and my ears are filled with a chocking sound from Cole.

I stare in shock at the sight in front of me. “Y/n!” My head snaps towards where Greta was standing as she calls me over. This gains Brahms’ attention as he wraps his arms around me and holds me back.

“No!’ I hear his childlike voice whimper. A bit of me broke when I heard him say that, but he also just killed a man right in front of me. "Please, no.”

“Brahms, let her go!” Brahms’ arms tighten around me as he pulls me close.

Brahms’ turn us around and walks us towards the open spot in the wall.

I hear the sound of someone getting hit and then Brahms’ arms loosen around me, and I yanked out of his grip.

Greta holds on as we run up the stairs and into her room that she was staying in. By now I was breathing heavily, whether it was from the amount of running I have done today, or because of how terrified I am, I wasn’t too sure.

Malcolm frantically runs around the room as he looks for a way of escaping. “Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt us.” The door handle then begins to rattle as Brahms tries to get in.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he just killed Cole.” Greta replies. The rattling stops and we start hearing the creaking from inside the wall. “The closet!” Greta runs over to the door and slams it shut. I assist Greta in holding the door shut as Malcolm looks around the room.

A plank from the door is smashed in and Brahms’ arm comes through, grabbing a hold of me again. My hand reaches up to release myself from the hold, and as my hand connects with Brahms, I feel him go tense.

The door opens and Brahms is met with a hit in the face, or mask, from Malcolm who was holding a telephone.

We are, once again, running out of the room and heading into another. “Look.” I point over to the hole in the wall. “We can go through there.” I take the lead as we run through the inside of the wall.

We dodge past pipes and chunks in of the wall that is sticking out.

We find ourselves in a whole new room that looks to be where Brahms has been staying. It was messy and the room smelt foul.

I recognise some things in the room that were once mine, for example, bits of jewellery, notes, and even some clothes. “Y/n, over here.” Greta was standing by a bed, and it was then that I saw the makeshift doll that was wearing a dress of mine that I had lost. The had been decorated with all things that I had lost over the time that I was staying here, and I didn’t miss the magazines and tissues that were scrunched up around the doll.

Beside the bed, and on the nightstand, was a piece of paper. On the paper had the words 'I love you Y/n.’ I didn’t know how to feel about that. Whether I should be flattered, or absolutely mortified at how creepy this all was.

“We will not be back, the girl is yours now, to love and keep.” Greta was reading another piece of paper that she had found. “They were never coming back. He’s been living in the walls this whole time, watching us, or more Y/n. They knew.” Malcolm comes down and guides us to the exit.

I take one last look back at the room before I leave.

We climb down the ladder and quietly make our way out, the only source of light being from the gaps between the wooden planks.

We are stopped when the wall comes caving in and Brahms falls down on top of Malcolm. Brahms is kicked in the face causing him to fall backwards, this way we could drag Malcolm up to his feet.

I feel an ounce of excitement when we end up finding a door that would take us outside, but I also felt sad. I didn’t want to leave this house; I grew attached in such little amount of time.

“It’s locked.” Greta shoves herself into the door in order to open it, but I am too distracted by what is about to come.

Malcolm shoves past me and is tackled to the ground by Brahms.

Fists are swung left to right, but in the end Brahms is the one that comes out on top as he smashes Malcolm’s head into the ground.

“Y/n!” The child voice breaks through. “Y/n!” Brahms’ head turns towards me as I watch his eyes behind the mask. They light up when we make eye contact, something that made me melt inside. “I’ll be good, I promise.” He peers through the pipes.

I look back at Greta who was still desperately trying to make an escape. “Please, Y/n. Don’t leave me.” Brahms begs. Greta shakes her head at me, and I send her a small smile.

“Go, I’ll stay.”

“What? Y/n, no!” I keep my eyes locked with her, but I don’t bother saying anything. “Okay but be safe.” Greta gets the door unlocked and runs out.

I turn back to Brahms who held his hand out towards me. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” He says innocently. I hesitantly place my hand in his and he gently helps me out.

My eyes stray everywhere else but Brahms and Malcolm, who I wasn’t even sure if he was alive at this point. “Thank you, Y/n. You’re the only person that wouldn’t leave me.” Brahms speaks.

I didn’t know if he’s child voice made the situation better or worse, when he spoke, I felt as if he wouldn’t hurt me, or anyone for that matter, but by the two bodies lying on the ground, I knew that I was far from right.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you.” I remember all the times where I had whispered to the doll Brahms, that I would never leave him alone. “But it’s bedtime, and you know the rules.” His shoulders drop as he nods his head.

Brahms guides me through the confined space in the walls and even helps me step over bits that are sticking out of the floor. “I love you, Y/n. You will never leave me.” Brahms whispers. I silently nod along in agreement and then we are finally out of the small gap and are in Brahms’ room.

I walk over to the bed and lift the covers. “Lay down.” I order. He follows along with what I say and keeps his arms tucked underneath the blanket. Behind the mask, his eyes follow my every movement. “Good boy Brahms, now go to sleep.”

“Kiss?” He mumbles.

I debate on whether I should actually do what he says, but since he was following the rules, the most I could do was follow them too, even if he didn’t necessarily deserve it.

I slowly lean down until I am right above Brahms’, his eyes were piercing through me. I place a gentle kiss right beside the lips of his mask before I pull away, only to be stopped when Brahms’ sits up.

He doesn’t say anything, but instead releases his arms out from underneath the covers and pulls me back down to him in an awkward kiss.

The porcelain lips were cold against my own, and I was unsure of what to do.

I place my hands on Brahms’ shoulders and push him down. “Go to sleep Brahms.” I smile. I watch as his eyes close and then I walk out of the room, flicking the light off along the way.

I walk back downstairs to see Greta walking back in. “Y/n!” She runs towards me and pulls me in for a hug. “You’re okay.” She checks over my body.

“I’m fine but listen. I’m gonna stay.” I tell Greta. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at me with confusion.

“No, Y/n. You’ll-”

“Get Malcolm and leave. I’ll be okay, I promise.” Her eyes held a sense of sadness in them as they glossed over with tears. “He won’t hurt me; he just wants someone to stay with him. I’ll call you often, don’t worry about me, and don’t go to the police about this, please.” I explain.

It took Greta some time, but she eventually ended up giving in. “Okay, I won’t go to the police, but as soon as I feel that something has happened, I will be storming up that footpath, with murder on my mind, you hear me?” I nod my head at her threat.

“Let’s go get Malcolm, and check if he’s fine, I’m not even sure if he’s alive.” I lead Greta up to the room that I knew would lead us down to Malcolm, the only problem is that that was the same room that Brahms was in. I peak my head in the room to see that he was now sitting up right, staring over at us.

As soon as he sees Greta he stands up and reaches for a weapon. “Wait, Brahms!” I run forward and stop him from grabbing something. “She’s going to get Malcolm and then she’s going to leave.” Brahms eyes Greta with a look of anger. “They won’t bother us any longer.” His eyes snap down to mine and then he nods his head, pointing over at the trap door that leads us to the wall. “I will stay, I promise.” Brahms gets back into his bed, and I take Greta with me through the walls.

When we stumble across Malcolm, he was just waking up as he rubs the back of his head. “Malcolm!” Greta greets Malcolm with a hug as she checks his wounds.

“Are you girls alright? Where’s Brahms?”

“We’re fine, but Y/n, she’s going to stay here, with Brahms.” Greta tells Malcolm. He looks over at me like I was some crazy girl, which I couldn’t blame him for.

“Are you out of your mind? He’ll hurt you.”

“Then I’ll be the only one to blame. Look, I don’t want to leave him alone again, he doesn’t have his parents anymore. He needs someone.”

“That’s not your job to keep him company, he is a sick person who needs help-” I interrupt Malcolm before he can continue with his insults.

“I want to stay, Malcolm, and that’s that. Leave while you still have a chance.” The door to the outside was still left wide open from when Greta had run through, leaving them with the perfect opportunity to make their escape. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Greta.”

“Yeah, if you’re still alive.” Malcolm mumbles. He crawls out the door leaving myself and Greta alone.

“Be safe Y/n, please.” We exchange a hug before she takes off behind Malcolm and I shut the door, letting out a sigh as I do so.

I take my time walking back and when I finally reach Brahms’ room, he was standing up and waiting. “You took too long, I got scared.” He whimpers.

Brahms’ fiddles with his hands as he stands across the room from me. “How about you sleep in my bed tonight?” I’m not sure why I decided to say that, but the look in Brahms’ eyes was enough to make me not regret the offer.

He was happy, so, so was I.

[kaiqarker]

the watchtower’s lighthouse | stan vogel

pairing: stan vogel x reader

warnings: smut, swearing

summary: months after a disasterous first date with stan vogel, your paths cross once more when you’re lost within the depths of kern canyon national park during a thunderstorm and stan happens to have inherited a shift patrolling from the watchtower.

a/n: back from the dead because of this man. hope y’all enjoy :)

THE SKY EMULATED STAN VOGEL'S morals, consisting of gray unpredictability. If he was within the familiar walls of his assigned cabin, located along the grounds of Kern Canyon National Park, it would be an indication he wouldn't have to do much patrolling. Campers usually stayed put if there was rainfall, sticking to their own site and not off doing God knows what to the land Stan takes pride in preserving. Cascading a thick husk of superiority and knowledge was his favorite thing about the job, which is why he was disappointed he was stuck maintaining the watchtower for tonight.

The surveillance for the watchtower was run by a tight knit schedule of volunteers and the occasional firefighter that needed a change of scenery for a couple days. Needless to say with all the strange occurrences and sightings, there have been less and less people willing to take on the task. And now the duty was bestowed upon the park ranger— at least for tonight. He swore to himself that at sunrise he would be out of there and back to being the persistent, vexing gum stuck to the bottom of everyone's shoe.

Stan now sat in a wobbly chair, feet propped up on the desk and his trusty binoculars in hand. His surroundings were darkening, quicker than they would at his cabin because of the parade of trees towering over the area. He could mostly only see shadows and the outlines of the forest. His paranoia kept him on the lookout, knowing all too well what kind of perilous entities the park harbored, dark secrets he was trusted in keeping.

It was why his body jolted and he nearly fell out of his seat at a sign of movement. His hands itched to drop the binoculars and reunite with the shotgun propped up in the corner. His burst of anxiety was halted, however, once the lenses revealed a person. A wandering, soaked person clearly becoming victim to the thunderstorm that had been periodically easing and worsening for the past two hours.

Stan stood, walking over to the window with his binoculars hanging from the strap around his neck. He easily pried it open and stuck out his head. The drizzle of rain didn't reach him because of the roof stretching out along the perimeter of the watchtower, but he still felt the dip in the temperature. He estimated that it had dropped at least fifteen degrees since the start of the storm, the disappearance of the sun only escalating the drafty change.

He was about to shout down at what is most certainly a woman who had strayed too far from her campsite but then she twisted around, finally noticing the light emitting from up above. Recognization crumbles both of their attentive expressions. She becomes more than a drenched, carmine tank top, huddled body, and ropes of wet hair. He transforms into the exact opposite of a saving grace when his beige uniform and ironically angelic face are perceived.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is. Stalking your ex, eh?" Stan called down to her. The pattern of swift and drawned out words, swirled into a provoking and often mocking Australian accent, reached her ears over the light patter of rainfall.

She sighed, dramatically enough for Stan to see the rise and fall of her diaphragm. She considered turning around and braving the unknown of the wilderness again. If it wasn't for her sore feet and her prediction that she would develop some sort of hyperthermia if she stayed out in the cold, then she would've already been on her way.

"We went out on one date. You don't count as an ex," she clarified, craning her neck up at him. His smirk from knowing she was in a miserable condition and that he was the only one that could do anything about it ignited the first sense of heat she had felt in awhile. Her fists clenched against her crossed arms. "And you're the one with the pervy binoculars. On the prowel for half-naked campers, are you?"

He scoffed, winding his head to the side for a moment. "Enough with the bullshit. Are you coming up or not?"

In any other situation, he probably would've dragged their reunion out, teased her for being so helpless and naive. But she was shivering and looked so small curling into herself; it was a sight that played his heartstrings like a mystical harp. Even after a date gone wrong and the resentment that followed, he couldn't bare to see her like this.

She, on the other hand, still clung to some hesitation. Cozying up in a small, confined space with Stan where there were no other people around to ground her into the realms of sanity wasn't a compelling option. The both of them simply didn't get along. The nightmare of their date was very vivid in her mind, too, and she didn't want tonight to be a repeat of that.

Almost like nature could sense her doubts, thunder crackled and reverberated around the forest. Lightning flashed, incandescent and forbiding. The rain intensified, hitting her bare skin with a harsh force. Muddy shoes stumble forward a few steps but still don't gravitate towards the ladder.

"Better move your ass, sweetheart! Unless you'd prefer to get struck by lightning? Not to mention all the dangerous things lurking around that you haven't the slightest idea about."

Undeniable complacency was weaved into his taunt. However, it did get her moving. If she would've bothered to look up or if there wasn't such vast distance between them from their differing heights, she might've seen the concern nestled into glimmering, cobalt eyes.

Suffering through a climb where her wobbly legs and white knuckles were put the use, she eventually made it to top. Stan already had the latch swung open, bent down in the center of the room and waiting for her with an outstretched arm. Reluctantly, she took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her inside the watchtower.

"Crickey, you're freezing," he murmured. There was a softness to his features and the low timber of his voice. He'd even began rubbing over her fingers with his own, attempting to summon some warmth back into him, before he realized what he was doing and backed away.

"That's what happens when you get lost and separated from your friends and then get caught up in a storm," she summed up, monotonous.

"Your friends are idiots," Stan muttered.

She was about to deter the insults back his way until she suddenly felt a subtle weight on her shoulders. The scent combination of spearmint gum and lingering campfire smoke was sensed with a mere sniffle, and soon her hands were reaching up to pull on the sage green trim of his coat.

"You don't even know them," she settled for saying.

"They let you get lost, didn't they?" Stan's eyes found her wide ones, squinting slightly in familiar anger, but she could tell—this time at least—it wasn't directed towards her. "Yeah, bunch of mates, they are."

It was her turn to break the intimacy blossoming between them. She disconnects their stare that was inevitably going to convey all the unspoken feelings that still flourished inside of her to spare a glance over his shoulder. The furnace filled with a burning stack of dry wood lures her away from Stan, and she kneels down in front of it.

His hands go to his belt, elbows bent outward like he was posing as a chicken. He was unsettled by how consumed he was by his emotions. He wanted to give her space but then he finds himself reaching for her. He wanted to remain civil but the distaste in her tone and her infuriating, unreasonable glare casted towards him causes him to delve into his own hostile urges. The confusion of what to do and how to deal with her presence was boardering on insufferable.

But facing her, watching her beneath the firelight, the strain of his internal compass ebbed. He was no longer directionless or purposeless. The orange glare enducing a riveting shine to her hair and her tranquil countenance she upheld gazing into the flames had him feeling certain in just about every single thing that made the universe, the universe.

"You're staring," she whispers, a tremble in her reply she blames on recovering from the weather.

"And you won't even look over at me for a second." His observation coaxes her into peering at him, finding that he enclosed the distance between them by a few steps. A playful smile twitches across his lips. "What? Don't like a man in uniform?"

"I wouldn't be bragging about your outfit, Stan. You're a glorified Boy Scout," she remarks, rising from her position on her knees. Her thumb and pointer finger pinch the small, golden slate pinned to his shirt. "Even have badges and everything,"

"Get your grubby little hands away from my name tag. You're gonna smudge it," he grumbles, smacking her hand away; she lets out a humorless, short-lived laugh at his overreaction.

"Still an uptight asshole, I see."

"Still a mouthy brat, then?"

His retort makes her face harden. "Being honest doesn't make me a mouthy brat."

"Just inconsiderate?"

"You're preaching to me about being inconsiderate? You live off of ridiculing people. On our date, you insulted and humiliated our waiter because he didn't know the exact species of deer mounted to the wall."

"I was just taking a moment to educate him!"

"You called him a fumbling idiot who didn't know the basic fundamentals of biology!"

"Oh, like you were any better! Shoving your tits into the bartender's face to get free drinks!" He throws his hands up, easily overtaken by frustration and unresolved jealously.

"I know how much you make, Stan. You should be thanking me for that," she says slowly, deliberately, bringing up the one thing she knows will push him over the edge. He takes the bait, but she doesn't expect what he throws back at her.

"You're right. Thank you, sweetheart, for acting like such a slut on our first date that all anyone had to do for dessert was crouch down between your open legs."

Her mouth dropped at his statement. His exasperation dissolves to shock at processing his own harsh comment. He isn't able to focus on it for long, though, because she properly acts by allowing her palm to connect to his cheek.

Head snapped to the side, he can begin to taste a droplet of blood on his tongue, emitting from where his incisor pinched his bottom lip. He licks over the minor wound thoughtfully, heaving out a breath of false amusement. When he looks at her again, his face is dark and full of cruel intentions of revenge.

Stan surges forward and doesn't stop until her body crashes against the wall like she was just a bag of dismantled bones. His coat falls from her shoulders and slumps against the hardwood floor during the journey. His towering height and weight pin her in place, leaving her at the mercy of splayed hands and the relentless motions of his mouth against hers.

The awakening, leftover flavor of gum he must've chewed eariler just sinks in when he bites down hard on her lip. A whimper, the first sound she makes besides the ejection of a surprised gasp, is forced out her from the harsh gesture. A metallic taste replaces the one prior, one eager swipe of his tongue rolling past her parted lips.

The instinct to shoot her hands up and enmesh them in the soft, chestnut strands of his cropped hair is interrupted by an action of his own. He eases the intensity of the kiss, allowing her to breathe through languid, desperate puckers she reciprocates, but his fingers hook around both her bra and tank top straps, yanking them down her arms. She lifts herself out of them only to have him grasp the collar of her shirt and pull it down, her bra in tow, until they were just bundled material around her midriff.

Calloused hands fondled her breasts while his mouth diverts to her neck, sucking and nipping until her skin resembled the colorful patches of a quilt. She throws her head back against the wall, leaning into his touch and letting out the most delicate moans that had all of his blood gushing to the apex of his legs; she felt proof of it when he rutted himself against her.

Her forearms are squeezed between their bodies so she can reach the buttons of his shirt, manicured fingers working hastily and with not as much care she knew Stan would've liked, but he seemed to be too preoccupied by kissing her all over. Soon her hands were tugging up the white t-shirt he always wore underneath his uniform, and he helped her out by shifting it over his head and discarding it to the growing pile of clothes.

His chest was warm and inviting compared to hers. Her skin felt like cool marble underneath his fingertips, keeping her nipples pebbled and sweat from the heated exchange at bay. It was quite a contrast as their bodies continued to press together, her hands sliding along the expanse of his taut back while he concentrated on undoing her shorts.

"All mine," he mumbled against her jaw; it was certainly hard to disagree with him and all his handsy clutches and kisses that left her craving more.

"All yours," she confirmed softly.

The words barely left her mouth before she felt the heart-jolting sensation that was his hand sliding past her unzipped shorts and underwear. His fingers ran up and down down her folds, taking his time, ever the explorer. He often grazed her clit, encouraging her hips to arch into him for more direct contact, but he was careful to only give her a slight, fleeting amount.

"Stan." His name parted from her in a low whine—somewhat shamefully because she never thought she'd be in this circumstance, begging a hardass park ranger with a major superiority complex for a release.

"So wet for me. Awful naughty of you to get this soaked from one arguement with me, don't you think?"

She nuzzled her face into the side of his, nose brushing along his chiseled cheekbone. "Please."

"Aw, look at you. So sweet. You'd never think that you live to slander me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I am nothing but nice to you."

"Oh?" He inserts his middle finger into her, curling it precisely, while the heel of his hand grinds against her clit with every deliberate pump.

"Yes," she gasps.

Shallow pants gradually rack through her torso, and the ache of his throbbing cock becomes unbearable at the sight of her defenseless against his advances. He adds another finger, the grip and warmth of her slick walls causing him to shudder in anticipation.

"Such a little liar," he groans out after a particularly provocative contraction around his digits, one that rids him of whatever patience he had left.

He abruptly removes his hand from her shorts, something that makes her closed eyes flicker open. Her mouth immediately morphs into a pout and she squeezes his biceps in protest.

She isn't left waiting for long, hands on her hips guiding her away from the wall until the underside of her knees hit the edge of a cot. His mouth parts from hers once more, a sweet dragging of overlapped lips exchanged during the slow steps, so he can pull back the blanket. She looks over her shoulder at the neatly presented cot, which Stan must've brought with him along with his own fitted bedspread. She was now appreciative that he always came prepared.

Without having to be told, she crawled underneath the covers after ridding herself of the remainder of her clothing. Stan did the same once she was settled, becoming the final layer that draped over her body. The blanket and the crisp white of a top sheet stopped at the dimples of his back, and she was trapped in warmth, intensified by the glorious weight of his bare body on hers. Arms on either side of her head latch the cage as he leans down for another kiss.

"Don't mistake me keeping you warm as forgiveness. I'm still very mad at you. You drive me crazy," he sighs against her jaw, his eyelashes fluttering against the apple of her cheek.

"Don't mistake me moaning for you as an apology. You don't deserve one." Her strokes at the nape of his neck never faltered. Her thighs spread, legs winding around his, desperate for him to do something with his cock that laid twitching and swollen on her navel. "Well, you might if you fuck me hard enough."

"Shut up already."

Long fingers brick over her parted mouth in time with the repositioning of his hips, muffling the cries of consumption that came from him sinking inside of her. Eyes roll to the back of her head, almost completely sated by just the feeling of being filled. The head of his shaft glided against her most sensitive spot like a brush of shoulders, and her thighs tightening around his waist was her turning around, ready to chase shattering gratification.

Although slow, his thrusts into her were brutal. They held onto to each other like you would to ropes of a ruinous bridge connecting two cliffs, like they would be faced with a plummeting death if they were to let go. And yet, they were fighting along the wobbly planks, the semicircles of hip bones clashing together like medieval swords. It was all extremes, but neither of them would have it any other way.

He was making the most beautiful sounds above her. Through his ruthless motions, were breathy moans and whines of her name, the occasional praise intertwined into his enticing responses. Eventually, he allowed his hand to stop sealing her lips, sliding it down to clutch the flesh of her thigh with the promise of bruises. Her soft pleas and moans of euphoria joined his to create a symphony worthy of a ballet orchestra.

Strings of saliva conntected rouge lips to the marked skin of his neck, where she continued to suckle and playfully nip. The roll of their bodies picked up speed, both becoming impatient by the delicious ache they kept provoking, daring one another to spasm out of control. They craved for their muscles to become a tightrope and for the most intimate parts of them to pulsate from the finality of release.

"You've never looked prettier than you do right now. Your cunt squeezing me so tight, your mouth only able to form breathless whispers... completely wrecked. I love it."

"Please," she cannot help but beg, flickering eyes undecided on whether to shut her continue their hazy, half-lidded stare into his own.

"You want to come?" The inward pull of his eyebrows and the slight curl of his parted mouth way as well have been a mocking pout. "I know you do. I shouldn't even let you, though. You've been intolerable. I should just come all over your writhing body and leave you here without any satisfaction. Even if you were to finish yourself off, it wouldn't be enough. It would only feel subpar, and you know that, don't you?" His breath fans her face like the furnace had moments ago, and she can only whimper in reply. "Only I can sate you, sweetheart."

Her hands, whose nails had already inflicted damage to the freckled canvas of his back, sweep over his shoulders to cup his jaw. Her thumb strokes his jawline while the other ventures down the column of his throat, feeling the bob of his adam's apple with every constristing swallow he took. She could tell he was close, too, and decided to nod her head gently in agreement to his words, to wave her white flag.

Her surrender is reassured by fingertips dragging down her torso to her enlarged clit, granting bone-vanishing swipes that causes stuttered gasps and limbs going slack. It only takes a few seconds of coaxing rubbing for her release to erupt, the molten lava bursting from the pit of her stomach to electrify just about every nerve in her body. Her encompassing walls clutch around him so tightly that it summons a delirious climax from him.

His strenuous pace wavers, his hold on the cot becoming prudent, as if it was a buoy keeping him afloat through the thrashing waves of pleasure. White, sticky ribbons coat the inside of her thighs, and it's only when his heartbeat ebbs from his eardrums that he cracks his eyes open and collaspes into the small remaining space between her and the wall.

Stan speaks after catching his breath, remaining pants interwoven into his declaration. "This should've happened sooner."

"It would've if you weren't such a prick," she noted, sparing him a quick glance.

"Okay, maybe... I wasn't on my best behavior. But I was nervous. I liked you a lot. I wanted to impress you."

"And you thought bragging about how you're a know-it-all when it comes to plants and wildlife and the park's terrain was going to the trick?"She questioned, snorting at his logic. His nose twitch, an indicator of embarrassment, and she grabs his arm and tucks herself into his side. "You're such a dork."

He smiled at the gesture before she continued, "I'm sorry that I flirted with the bartender. I didn't mean to make you feel like you were second best or anything. Honest to God, I just wanted free stuff."

"Well, the cream puffs you got out of it were actually delicious," Stan admitted, tilting his head in her direction.

She smiled back at him. "I know, right?"

Stan may not be a prime example of a good guy but he had always took glory in being good at his job. That's what kept him going, that's what fueled him all these years. Now, he was considering what life entailed outside of that. Outside of the stressful responsibilities and government conspiracies and the never-ending studious tendencies. She came to him for refuge tonight, but, the truth is, he had been relying on her for a long time. To fascinate him, to stand up to him, to guide him back to where he belonged.

He felt like he was finally pursuing something that was more important than his duties here, than anything else he's ever experienced. He was an off-bound ship, cruising blind into the dead of the night, and she was a lighthouse, promising purpose and salvation from every bad thing that ever tried to sink him.

// idk who to tag but i think @sojournmichael @fckinsupreme & @instinctsxbaby might be interested (you’re all so talented)!

[kashimos-hajime]

the girl in purple (1/8) | r.b.

summary: In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. Or, four years ago, Bertholdt asked for a favour and you said yes.

WARNINGS: swearing, ass jokes, flashbacks and flashforwards, mostly fluff and banter, pining and angst at the end, bertholdt is our soft best friend <3 pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: pt 1 of 8 of a birthday present for the legend, the icon, the bad bitch herself, ISABEL!!@!@!@ @luciilferss​ ALSO, song not mine! it’s the sea shanty called wellerman.

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

You sigh, wiping the back of your hand before grabbing the next hay bale that needed to be lifted to the loft. Your back aching, you grit your teeth as you lug it towards the ladder. It’s the last one and after a sweaty afternoon, you just want to get into bed. Hopefully Annie did end up getting you supper—you had to work through it just so Shadis didn’t get your ass up tomorrow to finish the job.

“Here, let me help.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, glancing to see your savior and a warmth shoots through your body when you realize it’s Bertholdt. “You know if Shadis catches you helping me, it’s going to be hell to pay, right?” The boy smiles, shrugging, and you can’t help your own grin as he gestures for you to climb up. Skirting up the ladder, you turn around to take the hay bale and pushing it towards the corner before jumping down and dusting off your hands. Stable clean-up is never fun, but with autumn right around the corner, they all want to get a head start before the chill sets in.

“I wanted to ask you a favour.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you were in here,” you tease. “Shoot.”

“Well, we have visiting privileges next weekend,” Bertholdt continues as you walk around the stables, picking up tools as you make your way towards where the broom is leaning against the wall. The tall boy ambles after you and you shoot him an amused look, curiosity pricking at your fingers. 

Half-way through their training in the corps, and Bertholdt still manages to keep you guessing. You don’t know what it is about him, but your friend’s always been the quiet one. It’s part of why you like being around him, but you just wish his friend liked you. Annie seems more than fine with you.

Reiner, on the other hand, can barely even look at you. It’s a real downer.

“I was just wondering…”

“You should ask Annie,” you cut off before he can finish, picking up the broom to begin sweeping the stray hay into a neat pile. Bertholdt’s spine goes ramrod straight and his cheeks redden so intensely you can’t help but laugh. “I’m pretty sure she would say yes. You guys are friends, right?”

“Yes, but we’re—we’re not—why would I ask Annie, specifically?” he stammers. The horses neigh as you walk past, their necks stretching out for treats but you ignore them, heading for the entrance. “She could go with a bunch of other people.”

“Yeah, but she always goes with me.” Glancing at Bertholdt, your eyes narrow when he smacks his forehead, covering his flustered expression miserably. Poking him in the gut with the handle of your broom, you continue, “And she only likes a few people here. You’re one of them, Bertl.” 

“Well, if you think so. I mean, you’re her dorm mate, not me, so… argh!” he groans as you walk past him, sweeping. “You’re not helping!”

“Helping with what?” you ask innocently, not paying him a second look. You hear him let out a sigh as you brush hay to the back of the stables. “You’re the one who wanted a favour.”

“Yeah, and I still need to tell you.”

“Literally no one’s stopping you, Bertholdt.” Another resigned sigh. “Okay. Okay. Ask me. I promise I won’t tease you for the next ten minutes.” Turning around, you rest your broom against the post between two stalls. A horse nudges at your face and you scratch the stallion’s chin as Bertholdt walks closer. His eyes inspect your own expression, searching for trickery, but you only grin.

Then, he drops his crossed arms and says, “Someone wants to ask you out next weekend for our visit to Trost.”

“Er, okay? Why didn’t they just ask me themselves?” Crossing your own arms, you lean against the post, the lantern hanging above your head and casting everything in a warm glow. It softens Bertholdt’s smile as he shrugs mischievously. “Who was it?”

“Reiner.”

“Reiner?” His name is punched out of you, sharp with shock, and your broom slides off the post, clattering to the floor between the two cadets as you stare at Bertholdt. 

“Mhm?”

“Reiner Braun.”

“Yep.”

“We know the same one, don’t we?”

“Blond, makes ass jokes, this tall?” he shoots back, raising a hand that comes just near his ear. You nod. “Yeah.”

“But he hates me.”

“What? No, he doesn’t. Why would you think that?” Bertholdt’s eyebrows knit together and you stare at him incredulously, not sure if he’s joking or not. Shaking your head, you let out a scoff and bend down to pick up your broom to continue your sweeping. Mind a swirl, you try to reconcile the Reiner, who has never said more to you than ‘pass the grease’ during ODM maintenance and ‘you have dirt on your chin’ after forest exercises, with the Reiner who had to ask Bertholdt to ask you out for him.

Sounds fake, but you digress.

“Okay,” you drawl, unable to help the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “This was a good attempt at a joke, but you need to try harder next time.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I ever believe you?”

“Because I would never li—make something up like that,” he says, correcting himself, and you send him a strange look. “Just… when we get to Trost, you know that bakery that sells the stuffed cream buns. The one you mentioned before?”

“Yeah. Annie likes them,” you inform him pointedly, and Bertholdt’s mouth drops open to argue but he seems to think better of it this time.

“Yes, that one.” Fighting a furious blush on his cheeks, he continues, “If you’re there at noon, you’ll see I’m not lying.”

“And if I’m not there?”

“Reiner will be very sad for the rest of his life,” Bertholdt declares and you can’t help your serious expression from sliding off. “Will you please just consider it?”

Staring at your friend, you study his expression. It’s completely genuine, open, eyes wide and you feel a part of you melting at how adorable he is. For such a tall guy, he’s so goddamn gentle it blows your mind he’s a fighter. You can’t see him hurting even so much as a fly.

It’s for that reason you relent. Because Bertholdt’s never gone out of his way to scheme your downfall. He doesn’t have that in him. “Fine,” you say after a moment. “Fine, I’ll consider it.”

.

When Reiner steps back into the port city, he can’t help but think what he always thinks when he gets off a battlefield. Four years, and every thought is the same. Routine, almost. Or maybe, a habit to keep something alive.

And he almost takes comfort in it. That you would’ve loved it here. In Marley—Liberio, or otherwise. There are so many kinds of sweets, pastries, so many sights to see—the water stretches on for miles and miles, and you could’ve tried seafood. Maybe you would’ve liked it.

You never tried seafood. He promised. He promised—

Fucking hell. 

He steps out of the barracks, insides twisting into a tight knot as the sun blinds him. Lifting a hand, he squints and blinks, trying to get used to the brightness as people pass him by. Galliard’s voice trails after him like a ghost, and he scowls to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He feels like he hasn’t slept a wink, and his body aches in places so deep he can’t rub it out.

“I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself. And you were with that girl. Who was she to you, anyway, Reiner? Because my brother would have never cozied up with the enemy.”

Cozied up with the enemy. It’s as much as implying fraternization as anything and Reiner had barely chained back the words that would’ve torn both him and Galliard to shreds.

Don’t you fucking dare reduce her to just some promise I broke ever again. It stopped meaning something to me years ago.

Shaking his head free of Galliard’s voice, an image of you flashes through his mind to replace it and the urge to send a fist into his own face lances down his arm, but he barely restrains himself from doing so. Instead, he tightens his hand until his nails dig into his palm.

You’re always the one thing he can’t shake, nor does he think he wants to. 

Hollow, his feet drag his battered body towards the harbour. 

As he walks along the water, he hear some of the fishermen whistle and sing their shanties. It takes him a moment to recognize they’re all singing the same song, and he’s thrown back to when he came to the port the first time he was to go off to Paradis, how he committed the shanties to memory so he could take something with him to what was supposed to be an Island of Devils.

It makes his entire body ache, the uplifting tune filling his body up until he can’t possibly breathe. The way the sailors all sing together, smiling at each other—the camaraderie.

“Soon may the Wellerman come, to bring us sugar and tea and rum, one day when the toungin’ is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He misses that the most.

.

The sun is hanging in the centre of the sky as you glance from your plate to your surroundings. The fountain is full of life, people milling around the edges, tossing coins in and making wishes, and you hide a smile behind your hand when you watch a group of kids trying to flick their coins to the top most basin of the structure. The tiny plink-plink is barely heard, but either way, their groans of disappointment are far more amusing.

It helps pass the time at least, while you waste away your afternoon waiting for someone you’re not even sure will come. Dressed in a white blouse tucked into a long dark purple skirt that covers your pants, you cross one leg over the other as you wait.

You don’t even know why you’re here. Bertholdt had all but avoided your questions for the past week, and Annie didn’t budge, although, it’s harder for the blonde to slip. Being bunkmates helps, but not that much.

You keep people-watching, glancing up at the sky occasionally to see if any birds pass over, your bread untouched. Glancing up and down the street, you rest your chin glumly on the palm of your hand, elbow resting on the table. 

No pretty blond head in sight. 

Groaning, you lift your head when one of the waiters approaches, asking if you wanted anything more. You shake your head, a warmth spreading over your face and watching him go when a shadow falls over your table. 

“Oh, you got something to eat already.” 

Head jerking to the voice, you look up in surprise at whoever’s blocking your sunlight. Standing upright, your chair clatters against cobblestone as you clear your throat.

“You’re actually here,” you blurt out to both of their surprise and Reiner rocks back on his heels, running a hand through his short hair. His eyebrows struggle to meet his hairline and he smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry I’m late. Uh, sit down. I just… got lost.” You sink back into your chair and he takes the seat down across from yours nervously. He’s dressed in a pale green button up and darker slacks, but for once, he’s not scowling at you and you offer a slight smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m okay. Slow morning.” He nods. You glance at your plate and nudge it towards him awkwardly. “I got it for you. It’s my favourite. I dunno what Bertl told you about me, or… why I’m even here, honestly.”

He picks up the bun tentatively, and you look down at your boots as he takes a bite, too nervous to watch his reaction.

What if he hates sweet things? What if he can’t drink cow milk? Don’t you remember? What if it makes him shit his pants—

“Oh, wow. I need to come to this place more often,” Reiner mumbles, taking another huge bite and your gaze flits to his face as he chews. His eyes are focused solely on the bun in a way that reminds you a lot like Sasha, and the corner of your mouth pulls into a pleased hint of a smile. “This is heaven…”

“You like it?” 

A noise escapes the blond and eyes jerk to meets yours as if he just remembered you were there and you tear your eyes away, clasping your hands together on the table. You close your eyes. Can the embarrassment just swallow you up already?

Reiner clears his throat, taking the cup of water left out for him after a quick point and your nod. He drains it to buy them both time, and your thumbs rub together. If you just walk away now, would it be too bad? You could probably find Annie or Jean pretty easily. Bertholdt’s probably just exploring the city with… if you had to hazard a guess, maybe Armin? They both like the architecture—stuff like that.

Honestly, you have no idea.

Porcelain rests against wood as Reiner nods. “I do. I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

“Er, yeah. Since I was a kid. We didn’t have much, uh, variety, so stuff like this was kinda a delicacy. I grew up at this orphanage where we worked the fields.” You shift in your seat as Reiner continues to eat, and you sigh silently to yourself. Why did you give up an afternoon looking at paint supplies with Jean for an awkward date like this?

Wait, this is a date right? That’s what Bertholdt said. Ask you out. Those were his words, right?

“Where are you from?”

“Just inside Wall Maria, so when Shiganshina was breached, we had more time to move inward,” you explain briefly. “But we mostly ate what we grew for crops. I mean, it’s not like we could buy cream buns every day, you know?” Reiner nodded silently, and you give him an uneasy smile, feeling the need to elaborate. “Ever since we joined the corps, they send me money for birthdays and stuff. I don’t know.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, I just thought you might like the bun.”

“Even though you think I hate you?”

“Wha—“ A strangled noise comes out of your mouth. “Who told you that?”

“Why would you think that, anyway?”

“Because all you do is glare at me,” you say pointedly. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shoot him a narrowed look. “And scowl. And you generally avoid being anywhere near me. I mean, do I stink to you or something, Braun, because I have news for you—“

“I don’t hate you. I actually really like you,” he tells you bluntly, cutting your rant in half, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Reiner looks down at the empty plate, crossing his own arms and leaning forward on them. 

“Y-you like me?” you stammer and his cheeks redden.

“I mean, if Annie likes someone, I’m inclined to believe that they’re worth my time.”

Frowning, your shoulders slump. Gears turning, your expression scrunches up as you think aloud. “But, you asked Bertholdt to ask me out for you. Unless this is a dumb dare—wait.” You sit upright, twisting around to see if any of the other boys are milling around the plaza. Scanning for brown hair, or grey hair, or even blond hair, your cheeks begin to burn at the idea that someone’s watching you embarrass yourself but a hand on your elbow brings your gaze reeling back to Reiner.

A smile curls his lips impishly, but his eyes are resolute, calmer. Even still, he looks like he’s trying to fight a small panic rising up inside him, just like you are as he tells you to relax.

“This isn’t a dare,” he says. “I’m not that cruel.”

“I’ve seen you do worse to Titan dummies.”

“Exactly. I just wanted to get to know you better. Bertholdt offered to help me out since you guys are already friends, and I thought what the hell.”

You turn that explanation over in your head tentatively and a part of you recognizes it makes sense. Despite your hesitation, you know you only said yes because it was Bertholdt who asked you.

Otherwise, how inclined were you to say yes if it had been Reiner stalking up to you and asking you to hang out in Trost? How likely would it have been that you would be sitting here instead of walking along the stalls with Sasha and Connie?

“I’m kinda ashamed I don’t know you that well,” Reiner continues, fighting off tones you can’t decipher laced in his voice. Your brow furrows. “But I want to fix that, if you’d let me.” 

Dazedly, you repeat, “Fix… that?”

He nods and you simply stare at him, trying to get your mouth to work. It’s like he stole all the words from your mouth and time seems to slow as your lips part.

Absently, you realize his hand is still touching your elbow, fingers firm but not tight, and you swallow, studying his expression. Golden light plays on his face, sharpening the shadows of his nose and cheeks and lips, and yet everything about him seems to soften. Normally, you see him as hard rigid lines, like the shape of armour, and there is always an imposing aura around him that has become more muted now that he’s sitting beside you.

And you believe it. That he doesn’t hate you.

Maybe he really, really doesn’t, and you’d be an idiot if you don’t take up the offer.

So you stand up abruptly, and pull your arm out of his grip before slipping your hand into his.

“Fine,” you annouce, pulling him up. His eyes widen and you lead him away from the café with a small grin to yourself. A new plan begins to formulate in your mind as they step into the welcoming sun. Reiner’s long strides catch up to yours and he falls into step beside you. His stare burns into your cheek and you only tighten your grip on his hand as you lift your chin haughtily at him. “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but then a smug smile pulls at his mouth and he squeezes your hand back. “Sounds perfect, creampie. I promise, I’ll be perfectly honest.”

“Creampie?” you repeat dumbly, eyebrows shooting up and a horrible burning licking at your heart. Reiner gives you a vulgar smile and you let go of his hand, shaking your head and smacking his arm before looking down at the ground. Half of you wishes the ground would open up and swallow you whole—the other half thinks you’ll die of embarrassment before that. “How do you even know what that is?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You straighten up, spine straight as an arrow. Flustered, you stutter, “That’s none of your business.”

He tilts his head back and laughs. “Guess that was your first question, then, huh? Bold start. Surprised me, too, creampie, so that gets you bonus points.”

“What? Wait—no! That doesn’t count!”

.

Walking past the hospital every day, it feels almost ritual to look past the gates and into the courtyard. Sometimes there are patients milling around, doing their daily physical activity, or nurses and other workers walking through to get a break from all the depressing shit that must be going on in there, and Reiner always, always, wonders if he should be in there with the rest of them.

It’s why he turns his head on reflex now, peering through iron-wrought gates. No one’s inside except for a pair walking through the path and he stops for a moment, watching. 

One of them is most definitely a woman, a hat covering her head and a long coat the shade of plums. A white Eldian armband is stark against the shade of her clothes. Meanwhile the other looks like he’s been dragged through hell. With one leg, he hobbles along with his crutch, black hair streaming past his shoulders, and he’s ragged, white shirt kind of messy from where Reiner stands. The Eldian armband is wrapped tight along his bicep. But he stands straight-back, shoulders set, the gait of a soldier. Pride keeps him up, not strength.

He’s too far away to hear them speak, and they stick to the shadows of the hospital, but after a short moment, the woman wraps an arm around the one not desperately holding onto the crutch, leaning in closer towards the man as if he has the most riveting thing to say.

For a moment, it is not a woman in a purple jacket and a veteran with one leg but two cadets walking the streets of Trost, sunlight shining down on them warmly. The blond boy leans to listen to the girl beside him, smiling until he thought his cheeks would fall off.

“This is your last question, Reiner. Make it count.”

“Hm… alright, if you could do anything in the world, anything at all, what would you do? No Titans, no soldiers. Let’s say there was no war at all and you had unlimited resources, yadda, yadda, yadda…”

“Oh? Hm… I’d want to live where there’s a lot of water. Like a lake or something. I’d get to try all these foods I’ve never thought of before, and I’d, uh… I don’t know what I’d do for money. I guess I’d figure it out somehow.”

“Chopping down wood sounds fun.”

“Yeah, right! I’d rather chop my fingers off. Hm… Maybe I could raise some kids, like I was raised. Give them a home.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I dunno. I like being responsible for things. It makes me feel like I’m needed, I guess. I don’t want a kid to grow up lonely like I did.”

“That… that sounds nice.”

“You could visit, you know. As long as you chop the firewood.”

Reiner blinks, and the two are gone. Not a hint of them are in sight, and a soft breath slips out between his lips. He must’ve been seeing things.

Shaking his head to himself, he turns away.

.

The past year and a half has been turbulent since you became friends with Reiner, but for some reason, you don’t think you would change the thing. 

Not even when Connie would come at ghastly hours in the morning because “CAN YOU PLEASE TELL REINER TO STOP SNORING? We would but we’re too afraid of being crushed by the weight of his entire body. Thank you! You’re the best, seriously.”

Or when they’re studying and Reiner makes one too many jokes about how he could fuck a Titan, despite Bertholdt’s resigned sighs and you throwing a book at him, and it only gets you, “Keep acting like that and I’ll take a bite out of your juicy ass next, creampie,” and a heat that kisses at your face.

Not even after reclaiming Trost and losing yourself in his arms.

You feel something inside you shatter as the smell of ash tickles at your nose. Walking past the combat medics base they set up for the parameter of the recovery effort, you don’t even look up at any of your friends still left as you walk past. Your entire body burns from the aftermath of Trost, and you wonder if you’ll be able to even get up in the morning as you limp over to a secluded alleyway and lean against the stone.

You don’t know if you’ve ever fought for that long or hard in your life, and you can’t feel your legs anymore as you sink to the floor.

Too many bodies. There are too many bodies.

“Hey.”

Looking up, you pull your mask down when Reiner stands before you. Tearing the fabric off your neck, you draw your knees up and rest your arms on top of them, the mask hanging off your fingers limply. A strange relieving wave washes over you to know he’s still here, even surrounded by so much death.

“Hi,” you murmur. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agrees simply, leaning in beside you and sliding down. Their knees knock into one another as he tugs his own mask down. Sweat glistens along his skin and his sleeves are rolled up as he clears his throat. “I’m glad you made it out.”

You smile faintly at him but it flickers out before it can find a place on your face. Looking at your hands, you imagine the rough skin of calluses forming on your palms still and you wish you could rip your gloves off but every part of you is too exhausted to move now. Softly, you tell him, “I’m glad you made it out, too. There are a few of us I haven’t really caught sight of. I know Eren’s squad is dead. I—“ you stop yourself. No way Reiner is interested in the fact that you had taken their deaths in stride because you had to in the moment and now you don’t think you can feel at all— “but… Marco. I haven’t seen him in days. Jean hasn’t seen him either.”

“M-Marco?” Reiner whispers and your eyes lift to look at him. “You haven’t found him yet?” Gaze widening at the colour draining from Reiner’s face, your stomach flips and a dread fills your entire being as you sit upright, your legs sliding down, your arms falling to the ground to prop yourself up. Lungs tightening, your lips part as if to form his name but no sound comes out.

You know what his silence means. His silence is death spelt out in glaring red letters—the same shade as blood. 

But Marco?

Why Marco? A caustic voice screams inside you and your nails dig into the cobblestone as Reiner turns his face away, jaw clenching. Trying to breathe, the air stalls in your throat and your gut clenches as your gaze drifts to the street full of combat medics and doctors, other soldiers who still walk. What—what do you mean Marco isn’t one of them? You want to grab Reiner by the jacket, shake him until he makes sense, but instead you search for freckles behind every mask, stumbling to your feet. Marco never did anything wrong. He was supposed to join the MPs. He was our… our leader. He never did anything wrong.

He never did anything wrong. Never. Never. Not Marco. It can’t be. The thought tumbles through your head as you push yourself to your feet but your knees nearly give in on the first step and you stumble to the other side of the alleyway with a harsh noise. Shoulder crashing into the stone, your eyes squeeze tight and hot tears pour down your face as you clench your teeth, trying to chain back the sob that’s working through your body. Head hanging, your mouth pries open as an ugly moan comes out of you, so deep inside you that you want to crumble.

Days seem to pile onto your shoulders until you think your bones will break and your fingers curl into tight fists as you try to stop the tears from falling, but they keep coming, tracing your nose, pushing everywhere and everything is so hot. Shit, you can’t even breathe—

Hands take your shoulders and you let out a ferocious scream, thrashing yourself out of your grip but fingers only slide to your biceps, pulling you away from the wall as your boots slip against the cobblestone and then hands are on your wrists, pushing away your blind fists.

“Let me go! He’s dead, isn’t he?” you scream as he lets go of you for just a second to wrap his arms around you and you let out a shuddering breath as he crushes you in his embrace. “Reiner! Tell me! Marco’s dead!”

“Yes! Yes, he is!”

His words spear through your skull, sending electricity down your spine and your entire body goes limp as he collapses to his knees, you with him. Your arms at your side, your eyes blink open and you feel fresh tears fall down your face as he cups the back of your head, holding you to him and as something wet seeps into your shoulder, it’s as if you are set on fire.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

 On their own accord, your arms come up under his and fingers hook onto his shoulders. Chest to chest, you swear your heart beats in a mournful beat with his, and his entire body collapses against yours. Eyes closing, you press yourself closer, hoping that the heat of his body will chase away the cold that’s rapidly spreading through your body.

Reiner’s arm around your waist tightens. You swallow hard against his shoulder.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers against your neck, wet cheek pressing against your jaw, and your chest stutters as you try to remember how to breathe.

“Reiner…”

You barely breathe his name. It only makes him curl tighter against you.

.

Liberio is colder at night than he remembers. He has to pull the blankets up to his chin, and still, he shivers.

Rolling onto his side, he can nearly imagine you staring back beside him, smiling, hand reaching to touch his face, and his eyes flutter shut when your fingers seem to pass through his cheek.

In his mind, you’re wearing the white blouse and long purple skirt again, long riding boots covering dark pants, innocent smile on your face as you wait for him in the noon sunlight. 

By then, he had known there weren’t any devils on Paradis, but he’d never seen an angel until he saw you cast in gold.

[maybe-theres-hope]

Tarlos ficlet - “You Like My Costume?”

For all y'all firefighter!Carlos babes :) 

@howtosingit @pragmaticoptimist34 and anyone else who likes this kind of thing <3

1.6k | ao3

TK is actually kind of bummed to be working on Halloween.

Sure, it’s not like he has to work Thanksgiving this year--he somehow finagled the day off and he has yet to tell Carlos that he will be making a surprise visit to the ranch for dinner and he absolutely can’t wait to see his fiancé’s face when he walks in--but he was kind of looking forward to doing the cutesy couple’s costume thing. He’s a sucker for that kind of thing, and he’s bummed, okay?

They’re out on a call that’s frankly more of a time waster than anything else since the fourteen year old in question wasn’t actually suffering from alcohol poisoning but rather he’d yarfed because his friends had dared him to drink a teaspoon of dish soap--honestly, kids these days--so things are looking pretty mellow so far for the evening. He half expected full-moon level type calls tonight but in all honesty he’s been kind of bored. Which really makes it doubly crappy to be working. There’s not even any excitement. 

“At least we’re off at 11, you’ll get to see the last of the trick-or-treaters,” Nancy says with a smirk. 

“Who trick-or-treats at 11 p.m.?” he asks. “By then it’ll just be the dumb teenagers TP-ing old people’s houses and that’s if anyone actually does that anymore.”

“What, you’re too old and married for those kinds of shenanigans?”

“Screw you, I’m not old, and I’m not married yet,” he quips back at her.

“Mmmhmm. Coulda fooled me.” She’s smiling her mischievous smile, the one she gets when she’s contemplating how to jump-scare him in the bunk room in the middle of the night because one time he yelped in such a high-pitch that she nearly peed herself laughing, and she’s been trying to recreate it ever since. 

“Hey, the thrill is not gone, I can promise you that.” Now it’s his turn to smirk back at her.

“Ugh ugh, okay, don’t wanna hear about it.” She waves her hands in front of her face like she’s shooing away fog. “And TK? I mean that. Whatever it is you’re going to be doing tonight, I never wanna hear about it, okay? Just...please. Keep it in the bedroom. Everyone’s going to be making enough assumptions as it is.”

He turns to look at her from the driver’s seat, puzzled. “What do you mean, tonight? What’s so special about tonight and why are people making assumptions? Carlos had to work until half an hour ago anyway, so we’re probably both going to just pass out when I get home. Also, what do you mean ‘assumptions’?”

She just smiles at him again. “Just drive, Strand.”

When he pulls the rig into the bay at ten minutes past eleven, TK just wants to shower and collapse. Boredom held out for only so long before giving into three separate calls where the patient coded on the backboard. He’s tired, he’s hungry, and he feels like he will never be clean of all the sweat. His fingers are aching and his shoulders are sore. He’s never been more ready to just slip into their sheets at home and pass into blissful oblivion. He can’t even make himself look up from the floor as he walks toward the locker room. 

“Hey TK! Why don’t you say hi to the new probie?” Mateo’s voice is nearly a giggle, and it actually causes TK to lift his head. With great effort. 

“Huh? We have a new probie? Whose first shift is on Halloween? Who did he piss off to manage that?” TK asks, following Mateo through the kitchen.

It’s Paul who answers from where he’s leaning against the archway leading back into the bay where the ladder truck is parked. “No one. You might be a little peeved that he took your old turnout gear, but I really, really doubt that.”

“What?” Now TK is just thoroughly confused. 

“Yeah,” Marjan says when he rounds the corner, “and it doesn’t fit him all that well, but I also highly doubt you’ll be upset about that either.” She’s practically glowing with mirth. 

“Okaaaay...what’s with everyone? Is this some kind of Halloween prank? Is someone going to jump out and scare me?”

“Trust me, it won’t scare you. Just...don’t scar the rest of us once you see it. Behave yourself until you get home,” is Nancy’s last line before she turns and practically runs up the stairs. 

TK darts his gaze around to the rest of them, brow furrowing. 

“Just go, man. We’ve been keeping this from you for like a week and we want to see the fruits of our labor,” Mateo says, shoving at TK’s shoulder so that he walks toward the ladder truck.

Still confused and slightly nervous, TK rounds the back of the truck and looks around to see what it is they’ve conjured up to prank him with. He scans the floor, wondering if someone in a scary mask will slide out from under the truck. He moves around to the other side while still in the team’s line of sight, looking back at them for some kind of indication that he’s on the right track. Marjan points subtly up and he follows with his gaze. 

His mouth goes instantly dry and his breath stops. He might gasp, but he can’t be sure.

“Hi babe. Happy Halloween,” Carlos croons in a low voice, though he’s blushing slightly which removes some of the effect. 

TK can only stare. His old turnout gear, indeed.

His fiancé his perched on top of the truck, casually leaned against the ladder and looking down on him. His hips, clad in baggy pants only held up by bright suspenders are slipped forward just so, inviting TK’s eyes to travel up the long line of his glorious body. The AFD t-shirt is straining at the seams, defining every muscle in his abs and pecs, the suspenders caressing against the hard planes of his chest, peeking out from the turnout coat hanging open. 

When Carlos notices where TK’s eyes have gone, he lifts himself out of his ridiculously sexy lean to stand and shrug out of the coat. How on earth anyone can make the removing of standard-issue PPE look so goddamned alluring, TK will never know. The movement causes Carlos’ shoulders to flex, and the cotton of the t-shirt nearly gives out. TK catches a peek of his own name in bright orange lettering across the back of the coat before it’s casually flipped over one massive shoulder, clinging to one finger. 

“I...holy shit,” is all he can say. He has been robbed of his entire vocabulary. He can hear his team snickering at him from the kitchen, but he pays them no mind. The view from here is much better. 

Carlos blushes a bit more, and tosses the coat down to TK, who catches it dazedly. Then, he watches as his absolutely gorgeous fiancé nimbly climbs down the footholds on the side of the truck like he’s done it a thousand times before, and between drooling and sucking in subtle breaths of air TK’s eyes are drawn directly to his ass. It’s a marvelous sight. 

Dropping down lightly onto the floor with a tiny bounce in his step, Carlos turns to face TK in all his glory. TK’s gaze once again runs the gambit from his shoulders down his torso, right down to his own spare pair of boots. 

Carlos saunters closer, knowing full well what he’s doing and loving every minute of it, the bastard. “So, babe,” he says in that same low voice, closer this time. “You like my costume?”

TK still can’t really form words. He might stutter a bit, but he’ll deny it later.

Carlos leans in close--presumably to deter their audience from hearing his next words, which are whispered directly into TK’s ear. 

“I chose to dress up as your secret fantasy,” he says, his lips caressing the shell of TK’s ear. He shivers, though from the words or the touch or the outfit or all of the above, TK can’t say. The next words he hears don’t help matters much.

“What do you say I rescue you from work? Take you home and give you some mouth-to-mouth?” 

TK can hear the desire behind the words, but he can also hear the tiniest giggle at the blatant dirty talk that Carlos actually doesn’t do that much of, and it makes his heart melt. This man is everything.

When he regains some coherency, TK decides to give back as much as he’s gotten. He runs his hands down Carlos’ torso, nearly dropping one suspender completely off his shoulder with his vigor in grabbing a handful of pectoral muscle. 

He leans back in and says into Carlos’ ear, “Well, have you still got your uniform in your car? It might be a bit big on me, but I think I’d look good in nothing but your utility belt. Should I handcuff you to the bed, firefighter Reyes?”

He leans back just enough to catch Carlos scrunching his eyes shut and biting his lip--desire written into every line of his face--and suddenly remembers their audience. This is not a free show, no matter how much help they provided Carlos in surprising TK with this. “Take me home, now.”

“You got it, babe.” With that, Carlos bends down, grabs TK by the waist, and lifts him like he weighs nothing. TK is thrown over his shoulder in a full fireman’s carry to the tune of his team, his friends, whistling and catcalling as he’s carried off to Carlos’ car. 

Yeah, this is a good Halloween. Maybe the best one yet. 

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (9)

Word Count: 13,197 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack), smut (period sex, cunnilungus, blowjob, throatpie, body worship, mommy kink), brief fluff, toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: If you are still reading this series, I wish you the best of luck. Please leave a review if you can and let me know your thoughts. - 🐰

You were every mother’s blessing – kind, caring, intelligent, obedient. She watched you stumble and fall many times but you manage to catch your footing with a smile. Despite your yearning for independence, your mother kept you in her embrace as all mothers do. In some ways, it would be loving; things like helping you choose the venue for your wedding and holding your hand while you inquire about using chiffon instead of silk for your veil. You were such a wonderful daughter that she didn’t wish for a son even when you decided to carve your own path rather than follow your father’s footsteps into medicine and entrepreneurship.

It’s why your mother sits in the parking lot of your apartment complex, dumbfounded beyond belief, teeth gritted. She looks up at your window to see Jungkook staring back down at her, unable to read him. She holds his steel hard gaze, daring him to look away or pull the curtains close.

He doesn’t take the bait.  

Pulling the shifting gear and rolling out of the parking lot, she peels her eyes away and takes several deep breaths.

There is no way on God’s green Earth that you fell in love with a middle-class photographer. Of all people, of all the men in your circle, affluent men coming from money both new and old, you couldn’t have fallen for a lowly photographer who doesn’t care about you enough to know his place and leave you be. How could Jungkook not know that you aren’t meant to live like this? How could he be so selfish as to hope for marriage when he could barely afford the ring he wants to slip onto your finger?

Your mother throws back her head and cackles. The only reason you were able to study abroad during college, the only reason why you could walk into an upscale neighborhood and look like you belong there, is because she followed the natural way. She never loved your father, not even once, but he was a good husband and an even better financial asset. Not only did she not have to lift a finger after tying the knot, but she also became part of the untouchables.

There’s a sense of power and invincibility that comes with wealth. It comes softly, like a whisper of wind that keeps a dandelion intact; it’s invisible to the eyes but she can feel it when she shakes hands with politicians, celebrities, businessmen and women, important people doing important things.

It took nearly twenty years of work. Getting close to the Kims, making sure you attend the same school as their children, running into Namjoon when you visit their vacation home, and letting his parents witness what a great wife you would be for him – it was all going so well. Puberty treated you well enough too that she didn’t need to consider getting you minor cosmetic procedures when you graduated high school. Sure, you could lose a few more pounds, but you were healthy and fit to give the Kims, and her, the grandchildren who will guarantee a new generation of wealth and prosperity. Gone are the days when she could only dream about creating the perfect family, respected by the social circle and the general public. You, her lifelong project, made it all come true.

Yet, life proves to be cruel once again.

As soon as she set her eyes on Yori she knew she was trouble. She didn’t object when you stayed out later and wore a bit more makeup than what was deemed graceful for a woman of your age. She knew that if she’d raised her voice, you would be compelled to rebel (it didn’t help that you were as stubborn and thick-skinned as your father). However, she wanted to warn you, just a tiny bit, that Yori is the kind of girl whose eyes strayed to find a new target and you were a hair away from standing right in the middle of that mark. She knew, because Yori had the kind of eyes she had as a twenty-year-old woman who climbed that very same social ladder.  

You were such a good daughter, so intelligent and transparent, that she believed you would have the backbone to come into your mother’s arms at the first sign of danger. It looks like you were just as clueless as the rest of the sheep you called your bridesmaids.

A Jeep honks from the next lane as she swerves into the street and bangs on the steering wheel with the heel of her hand, her Cartier bracelets clanking together in unity. The light turns yellow and she stomps on the accelerator, lurching the vehicle forward.

At the end of the day, she knew it was her fault. She could have warned you earlier, planted seeds of doubt in your mind, even pull Namjoon back into your arms if you realized soon enough; but alas, your day was chosen to be one of desolation and misfortune. Her poor daughter, the apple of her eye, the one precious gem of a person who would propel the family into royalty, whisked right away from under her nose.

She shakes her head, tires screaming as she veers into the next semi-busy lane, watching the sun disappear into the horizon as the familiar roads darken.

Letting you mourn on your own terms was the biggest mistake of her life, second to not following her gut feeling and keeping Yori away from you. She knew about this photographer lover of yours who has the face of an angel and seem to follow you like a puppy wherever you go. From a distance, she’d watched you wrap your arms around him and kiss him with such fervor in a public space she felt bile rise for the first time looking at you – her most precious creation acting like a hussy for all to see.

The boy seemed to be in love with you as much as you depended on him. She waited until you would be sick of him like the ones you took to bed after the wedding night (yes, she knew about your shameful conquests). She waited countless nights, praying that you would come to your senses, that you won’t refuse her advances, until months later she sees you living with him and sharing meals and completely forgetting about her. Yes, she had been mainly focused on making sure the investors haven’t pulled out and that you still had a name for yourself after the wedding. It wasn’t an ideal response as a mother because you needed help and she knew you’d throw a hissy fit but you must understand that while you had been taking men to bed, she had been busting her ass saving what’s left of the family pride.

The Kims also attempted to salvage your reputation, but they won’t do so at the cost of Namjoon’s name. The true reality is that parents will only care for their own blood in the end.

It’s why she finds herself confused and drenched with sweat when the car halts in front of the white villa lined with jasmine bushes. There’s a new gate installed, probably to keep away reporters during the first few weeks after the wedding incident hit the papers, and it momentarily angered her that she must now ask an intercom to enter a space that should have been a gift to you from the Kims.

Her hands tighten around the steering wheel with the intent to squeeze something warm and pulsing. She still remembered the day Yori knelt on the floor of your dressing room and she still remembered the strands of hair that squeezed her fingertips as she tore the whore’s flower hair clip off her head. The yelling, the panic, the uproar, the whispers that came from the guests – it was humiliation to the tenth degree.

Wiping the bead of sweat off her temples with the back of her hand, your mother hushes the engine and places the key in her coat. She steps out of the vehicle and marches up to the gate and buzzes in, huffing when her heels wobble on the cobblestone steps.

A few heartbeats later, Yori’s voice pours through her ears and reached into the crevices of her scalp like a dull headache.

“Hello?”

She leans forward. “It’s me.”

There’s a long pause before the gates click open and the stone stairway up to the front door reveals itself with a moist gleam. The garden sprinklers die down just as she steps onto the platform and makes her way up to the front door where Yori is leaning against, one hand on her stomach, the other hand tucking her fringe away from her face. She notes that the knitted silk dress, tied above the swell of her belly, is from the latest Prada collection.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she smiles. “Come in. Welcome to my home. I apologize for the mess…I had a baby shower earlier today and help is gone for the rest of the week.”

Your mother wanted to rip that smug grin off her face but she kept her eyebrows still and her lips soft.

“Excuse my intrusion.”

She walks into the spacious living room, eyes quickly glancing at the stacks of presents on the couch and the empty bottles of sparkling water and champagne sitting on the coffee table. She can recognize, just from the color of the boxes, that the gifts were not cheap. Had you married Namjoon, this would have been your palace.

“I’m in the middle of decorating the nursery. If you don’t mind…” Yori says, not bothering to look back as she makes her way up the stairs. She didn’t have to turn around to see that steam is coming out of your mother’s ears. “Can you help me with unrolling the mat in the hallway? I can’t bend over very well.”

Your mother trails behind in place of answering, watching Yori’s hip swing side to side as she makes her way up the stairs and then turn to leer down at the older woman. It’s a bit laughable, Yori thinks, as your mother pretends not to ogle at the stacks of Tiffany blue boxes tucked beside the living room couch like shoeboxes. Her face flushes when she meets Yori’s eyes once more but she doesn’t comment as she follows the young woman into the hallway just a few feet away from the stairs. Her head turns at the smell of fresh paint to see the nursery on her left, the door left open as if the room expected her arrival.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Yori fixes her fringe once more. “He needed to attend a conference in Ginza. I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“There’s no need.” She leers at the stacks of presents next to the crib. More aquamarine boxes, all neatly stacked according to size with the smallest at the top.

The younger woman leans against the tall, heavy vase next to the wall leading into the hallway to the East wing. “If you say so.”

There’s no reason for your mother to be here. It should be you instead, coming back to tie loose ends and perhaps inquire about Namjoon’s injuries if you cared enough. Compared to your mother, you didn’t have much of a backbone when it comes to relationships and it makes it so easy for men to take what they want and go. It’s what made you a bore, what gave Yori the power to pull Namjoon right into her bed and have him calling her name like a prayer.  

“Did you forget basic manners?” Your mother finally snaps, beady eyes darting from side to side to admire the nursery that could have been a snapshot from a furniture magazine. “Not even offering a glass of water?”

Yori only smiles, motioning to the unrolled mat slumped against the wall, adjacent from the staircase.

“I assumed whatever you wanted say would be quick as you came uninvited. You’d probably think the water is poisoned even if I offered any way.”

The older woman glances at the rug – no doubt imported from Dubai with its elegant coloring and silk touch – then walks over to it before tracing her fingers around the rolled edges. She shouldn’t have accepted to do such demeaning housework but given how she pulled into the driveway unannounced and that the woman is heavily pregnant with no help around, it was only fair. She may have left behind her patience with Jungkook but not her manners.  

“Why did you have to pick that day to tell her?”

Yori’s eyebrows raised just slightly before falling back down to its former position. She puts a hand over her stomach and walks towards the giant vase again, rubbing her fingers over the cool lacquered surface. Namjoon’s parents had a thing for porcelain she just couldn’t wrap her head around.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you wait until the marriage ceremony to tell her you were screwing her husband?”

“Husband?” She cocks her head to the side with an incredulous widening of her pupils. “Last time I checked he only had a fiancée he rarely saw who ran away with some pretty photographer the first chance she got. I’d say that’s far from married.”

Your mother shakes her head. “Answer the question,” she looks down, chin trembling. The world is falling apart, her dreams are nothing but a pebble in quicksand, and you no longer cared. “Please.”

Yori watches, in a way one watches a fly buzzing around a piece of fruit, the older woman bring her hands together in front of her like it has taken all her energy to ask such a question. Maybe for a moment she considers telling the woman the truth. She considers telling her that you broke her heart first, that you had the world succumbing to your every need, that your mother’s greed doesn’t only belong to her but you too because you made Seokjin your lap dog while Namjoon promised you a future. She considers telling her about the night she saw you laying like a swooning damsel in distress as Seokjin – the only man she had to beg for attention – suckle your tits like you were getting paid for it. She considers telling your mother that her daughter is the two-faced whore here, not her. She considers telling her that you touched what belonged to someone else first.

But what difference would it make? What would it change? The baby is still due in a handful of weeks, Namjoon is set to take over the company once he gets his shit together and his nose heals, and you’re perfectly happy with a new and exciting boyfriend of yours. The truth doesn’t set anyone free, it just makes sure the shackles aren’t too tight.

Yori turns her moist eyes away towards the living room downstairs. She walks over to the railing, resting her wrist on the copper before she stares down at the half-eaten cake on the coffee table with utmost disgust, as if she can still smell the overly sweet frosting with too much blue and pink dye. Catching her voice, she brings the smile back onto her face.

“I picked that day,” she turns her head, just slightly to catch your mother’s expression. “Just because I wanted to watch her look as pathetic as you do now.”

Your mother’s lips part, hands falling to her sides.

“It just happened. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s…all?”

Yori chuckles, her empty gaze falling back down to the cake. “That’s all.”

Years of planning, years of giving you the best education the country has to offer, years of making sure you never have to suffer as she had, years of shaking hands and kissing the ground the Kims walk on, only for this girl without new or old money to come and…

Before your mother can think, she lunges forward and grabs Yori by the ends of her hair, twisting the locks around her wrist as the younger woman gasps and shrieks. Her swollen stomach hits your mother’s side as she screeches and uses both hands to grab at her taught hair, pulling away to place as much distance she can. The heel of her ankle catches the edge of the first step and she watches the older woman’s eyes widen as she slams, back first, into the steps and then bounce off the next step as her jaw and skull slams into the copper pipe railing. Yori’s stomach hits the corners of the last several steps before the swell of her belly squeezes inwards, the final gurgling scream ripping out of her throat as her vision turns black and the house falls in silence.

It all happened so fast. Your mother watches with her hands over her ears, chest pounding and bracelets clattering as her limbs turn cold and her knees buckle.  

Her eyes widen, more and more, as the pool of blood around Yori’s head expands until there lays maroon halo around her crown. She’s lying flat on her stomach and it takes another moment for the trembling woman to realize that, in the silence save for her own labored breathing, the bump is no longer there.

“Oh my god…”

Curling over to the side, your mother’s jaw falls open and the remnants of her early lunch spills over one of Yori’s shoes ledged between the railing and the first step. She empties her stomach until there is nothing left, her knuckles white as she grips the railing for support. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she descends down the staircase, back pressed against the wall and eyes darting from the body to the tinted windows with burgundy curtains tied to the side. When she reaches the body, she trips over Yori’s limp feet as she quickly dashes to the living room to draw the curtains close, her neck craning from side to side as she finds any opening where an imaginary eye might witness the ultimate sin. It was only when she finds herself in the kitchen, washing her hands that she realized she had, in fact, stolen two lives.

Yori, and the baby who never had the chance to see daylight.

…

You’re sitting in a bathroom stall, turning over the small flash drive between your fingers when you hear the clattering of heels against polished tile and the sound of handbags slumping on the counter. One of the women walks into the stall next to yours, undoing the tampon wrapper as if she were scouring for the winning lottery number written on the string.

“Did you see Jin with her again?” The woman outside of the stall says and you recognize her by voice. She works for the accounting department and regularly walks into your office for weekly reports.

“I was keeping an eye of him. It’s annoying that they work together now so he’s always all over her.”

No doubt this conversation is about you.

“Tell me about it. I bet they’re fucking, you saw how he looked at her.”

“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” The toilet flushes and you can hear her shrugging her skirt back up to her thighs.

You hear a gasp. “Oh my god, you’re right. It’s that young guy who keep bringing her lunch, right? She didn’t break up with him?”

The stall opens and both women are in front of the counter. You’re stuck in your seat, not knowing whether to kick open the door or to interrupt the conversation but with Seokjin’s flash drive in your clammy hands, you struggle to even breathe.

“They’re still together. Looks like that photographer dick is too good to give up for the office hunk.”

They laugh like hyenas – that high, shrieking kind of laugh that makes their red lipstick bleed onto the corners of their mouths.

“They’re so out of her league. What do they even see in her? She’s painfully average. The only thing she’s got going on is a good wardrobe.”

You keep your head lowered when they walk past your stall as if they could see you. They pull on the paper towel lever until they can rip a generous piece and wipe their hands.

“She’s rich. She’s probably only working here because it keeps her humble or some bullshit like that. You know how girls with daddy’s money are, thinking they’re doing charity for working like the rest of us-”

You don’t hear the rest of their conversation, glad that your face no longer feels hot but you’re angered all the same. Jungkook’s visits, for this reason, had made you nervous in the beginning because you know they’ll talk and come up with their own little villain fantasy about you. It doesn’t bother you as you keep work separate from life (something Jungkook had been interrupting much to your discomfort) but hearing it in person ignited the kind of angry tears that has you cursing at yourself for letting yourself be disturbed by it.

You grab your handbag off the hook, place the flash drive back in your pocket, and unlock the stall before pushing the door open. You wash your hands in haste as the air had become suffocating in the aftermath of the two women. Wiping your wet hands down your black slacks, you let your wavy hair down and let it frame your face to hide your flushed cheeks, making sure that your eyes are no longer moist and your nose isn’t pink. What a way to end a workday.

When you arrive back at the office, most of your coworkers are gone except for the new interns organizing papers for tomorrow and the occasional workaholics making coffee in the makeshift cafeteria. You just hope you won’t run into the two women if they choose to swing by for whatever reason but, thankfully, it was never a common occurrence. They never did above the bare minimum any way.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you slump back down your office chair, squeezing your nose bridge as a wave of exhaustion wracks havoc in your pulsing head.

“There are some more sandwiches in the fridge, please help yourself if you’d like.” A student intern says as she carries a crumpled file under one arm, peering from above your divider.

“Oh!” You exclaim, your head darting towards the room Sora left in a mess before turning back to the girl. “Thank you, I’ll help myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gives a short nod before leaving, the glass door squeaking as the office once again is filled with the sound of coffee machines whirring and papers shredding.

The USB flash drive sits heavy in your pocket as you wave goodbye to the last person leaving your department with a cup of coffee. She nods, smiling, and pushes out the heavy glass door and you silently hope she won’t forget to return the mug before leaving the building. You listen to the clacking of her heels fading before turning back to the work computer still logged into your account. The saturated blue screen is harsh on your vision and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut, turning to look at the clock on the wall momentarily to keep yourself grounded.

Jungkook can call at any minute as your shift is coming to an end.

Maybe it would be easier to do this with your phone turned off but knowing him, he would worry enough to drive over to make sure you’re safe.

Within the gray walls that surround your cubicle, you should feel secure. Yet, some part of you wonders if he would suddenly appear behind you and wrap you in his arms before asking you what you’re up to. In this nightmare of a scenario, you can also feel the antagonizing gaze of the two women.

Looking back down at the USB, you’ve come to realize that you have bigger things to worry about. Some part of you feels just as disgusting as a cheater taking off her ring in the presence of another man.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

You’ve rehearsed the same mantra in your head at least a hundred times within the same hour (before you had the unfortunate chance to overhear that unpleasant conversation) and it sickens you that this is a phrase that Namjoon would have used to justify his time with Yori. It’s a cheater’s mentality – a cowardly way of shifting responsibility away from themselves without considering the consequences when the truth comes to light.  

With a sigh, you pull the flash drive out of your pocket and flip the black casing open until the lid hangs off its hinges to reveal the silver end. You look around once more, taking a deep breath, and push the end into the appropriate slot of the system unit. The USB flashes a neon green light, pulsing as it loads, before it dims and a small ping pulls your attention back to the screen.

The file explorer window expands, showing a ZIP file among an array of photos that had you squinting to observe. You jolt straight from the seat as your phone rings. Cursing under your breath as you note an incoming call. You’re just about to turn back to the screen when you recognize that the number flashing across your screen isn’t Jungkook’s but your mother’s. She never called at this time and if she did, she would have texted you first to make sure you weren’t in a meeting.

Just as you reach for the phone, it stops ringing and you contemplate turning it off. But something tells you you should have taken the call. When the phone rings again, causing you to flinch, you let it vibrate twice before swiping across the screen.

In exactly five minutes, you will regret ever picking up the call. In ten minutes, you’re running for your life.

…

Jungkook paces back and forth with his thumb between his teeth. If he bit his nails any shorter, he would pierce through skin. Your voice still rings in his ear as you cry into the phone, your tires screaming through the speaker as you speed through the streets back to the apartment. He’s sick with worry, wondering if you crashed into a tree of if you decided – on a whim – to handle this situation yourself. Because you called him immediately after you left work, he has a feeling you wouldn’t do anything stupid but today has been especially unpredictable.

First, your mother coming to meet him. Second, the same woman pushing Yori down the stairs and threatening you to take care of it. If he’d heard you correctly, the old wench even mentioned she would make his life a living hell if you don’t head over immediately. Some mother you are. It pisses him off to no end that you had to live with her for half of your life but it makes him even more upset that you’ve been hiding your mother’s behavior, throwing excuses about how much she worries when she’d call in the mornings and leave voicemails that you delete without listening.

He changes into a pair of jeans and an old university sweatshirt that is a bit too tight on the cuffs. When he hears the sound of your heels clack on the other side of the door, he barely had the time to wrap his head around such a God-given opportunity.

As soon as the door swings open you’re falling into his arms, wracked with sobs as he engulfs your entire torso in his arms. He presses your head further below his neck, reaching behind you to grab his coat off the hanger and wrap it around you before kicking the door close in case a neighbor passes by. You can’t bear to lift your head, trembling as your teeth chatter and your pupils are wide with fear. He’s never seen you like this – not even during the wedding night – and it makes his insides squeeze as if someone had reached in him and pressed a hand against his organs.

“I-I don’t know w-” you sob, “I don’t know w-what to do. I can’t breathe. Jungkook-”

He hushes you softly, threading his fingers through your hair with his thumbs curling around your ear. He tilts your head up towards his gaze, watching your tears trail down your face and onto the coat. Between gasps, you’re wailing, your throat tightened to the point that even his name sounds like nails on chalkboard on your lips.

“Noona, you have to breathe for me. Inhale,” he brings air into his nostrils as demonstration, “and exhale. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, swallowing first before you mimic and close your eyes. Jungkook brings a hand up to your chest, digging underneath the coat to feel it pounding against your ribcage.

“Keep breathing, noona. It’s going to be okay, keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over the chiffon and you find yourself leaning your forehead against his chest in exhaustion.

You wish you could stay in his embrace forever. Locked inside this warm and unassuming apartment, away from your mother, away from the past that has now resurfaced in the worst way imaginable – you wish you can curl into his arms and never leave. That…or you just want the world to swallow you in a deep well and leave you to starve.

“We have to tell the police.” You tremble. You can’t imagine the repercussions, not to mention the heartache of seeing your mother behind bars. She’d rather hang herself than end up in prison, you know that much. You’d sworn to your father before his passing that you’d keep her safe and you’re already thinking of running away.

“Noona…”

“We do. We…I have to. I-I mean it was an accident,” you’re suddenly peeling yourself away from him, bringing your hands up to rub your face. “They’ll give her m-maybe three or four years at most, right? If it was an accident it won’t be…”

Jungkook comes up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing up and down. You’re shaking again, tears streaming even quicker than before and the nausea is causing you to falter from side to side.

“Kookie, I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do, I’m going crazy. I don’t know what to do.”

He places his forehead against the crown of your head, staring into the distance. You feel his fingers tighten around your arm before he’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his weight upon your collarbones.

“Do you trust me, noona?” He whispers.

The fridge hums in the distance. You nod.

“Yes…I trust you. With my life.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your body, slowly, as if you were anticipating a monster and not a man, until you can look up at his face. He’s rubs his thumbs over your tears and moves down to your chapped lips, swollen and pink from your incessant gnawing. Your lips part just slightly as you exhale, keeping your eyes locked onto his loving eyes. He looks so angelic under the kitchen lights, the yellow bulbs blurred by the moisture in your eyes to form a halo around his long fringe. His hair is parted in the middle to form a curtain around his structured face, casting a shadow over his eyes in the semi-darkness. You can’t see him clearly with the lights behind him but you can sense his confidence, his reassuring grip on your cheeks; he’s no longer the boy from the night before but a man who is willing to keep the promise he made to you.

“I can help you.” He whispers softly once more, his voice lowered. “If you take me to the body…I can help you, noona.”

He holds your gaze, his thumbs still rubbing softly over your cheeks as if to coax the words into your skin. The implication isn’t lost on you but your body reacts first, fingers shaking as a fresh wave of sweat prickles down your back.

“W-What do you…” you trail off as your breathing grows heavy. Jungkook puts a hand on your chest once more as he did before, rubbing softly over your chest to calm your pounding heart.

He holds you close, breathing in your skin once more as his own eyes sting with unshed tears. Fate is a terrible thing and for every moment of bliss with you, he must pay the price; except, this price is a new opportunity to secure you by his side and earn your mother’s silent approval. It’s okay, Jungkook thinks, he can do this for you. He has the resources, the will, the strength, the plans – the only thing he can’t predict is your mental well-being in the aftermath.

Will you lose respect for him? Will you still love him? One thing he was sure of was that this was the only chance to keep your mother from arranging a marriage partner for you. He must go through it to not only save your sanity, your mother, but your answer when he puts one knee on the ground and opens the velvet box he keeps on top of the fridge for the perfect time. Oh how the universe responded so quickly to the day’s worries.

“Back then…when you said you would…”

Kill

“…You would do that for me. You really meant it, baby?”

Jungkook brings your head back under his chin and keeps you there, rocking from side to side as if to lull you to sleep.

“I meant every word. I’m not afraid, noona, not if it means I can protect you and your family.” His eyes darken as he tangles his fingers into your hair, twirling the ends of your waves between his fingers. “You love me, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then I need you to listen to me.”

With great reluctance, he pulls you away and holds your palm in both of his larger hands. Your eyes are closed, whether from fatigue or concentration he doesn’t know until your brows scrunch when he speaks.  

“Call your mother when I tell you to and tell her you’re on your way over. If she asks why you didn’t answer her previous calls, tell her you had an emergency at work. Reassure her and make sure she doesn’t touch anything more than she’s probably already touched by now. Don’t mention that I’m coming with you, understand? She might panic and bring attention to herself if there’s any witnesses.”

You nod continuously, creating a mental checklist. Call, inform, excuse, reassure, move.

“And noona?”

You look back up into his eyes.

“You…you won’t hate me after tonight…would you?”

How could you fathom it? With his warm, sincere stare and willingness to walk to the ends of earth for someone as plain and unlovable as you, you should be on your knees worshipping him. You don’t understand how he can think of you hating him when he had so willingly put his entire life at risk without reluctance. You aren’t asking him to fetch a forgotten carton of milk at the corner store. You’re asking him to clean up the mess your mother made, a mess that can tear your entire world apart, a mess that has nothing to do with your boyfriend who has no boundaries to prove his devotion.

You shake your head. “I could never,” you breathe.

You hold him this time, letting his body bow towards your trembling figure as he breathes in the scent of sweat and perfume on your neck. You give him a moment of peace. You wanted him to remember this touch as after this night is over, you don’t know if you’ll be the same person. You don’t know if he’ll be either.

He goes over the plan once more and leads you to his car. When Jungkook straps you into the passenger seat and turns the ignition key, you curl your fingers around your shaking knees. He notices your anxiety and takes the closest hand in his before letting your palm rest over the gear shift. He places his own hand on top of yours, gripping tightly when he shifts and maneuvers the car out of the parking lot and onto the road before unclenching.

The sky is pitch black and the moon stalks from behind. You count every tree, read every sign, tense at every sign of a police car passing by, and sniffle when your burning eyes refuse to calm. You don’t register where you are until Jungkook lets go of your hand on the shifting gear and undo his seatbelt. You’re inside the garage of his studio, surrounded by wires, cardboard boxes, plastic bins, and office supplies. When you grasp his arm, letting out a small cry, he hushes you instantly, bringing your hand up to his lips to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“I’ll be quick, noona. I just need to get some things, okay? I’ll be right there-” he points to the very back of the car – “in view.”

You swallow, nodding before uncurling your grip from his arm.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint for Jungkook not to coo at your desperation. He missed this dependency of yours (he had only seen it during the wedding night and the necklace argument) and for once he wonders if he went a bit too far with his role as the sweet and needy boyfriend. He’s not acting in a way that he doesn’t want to but he is guilty of dramatizing some of his pleas and affectionate touches. He knows, in his head, that he is a man. He’s stronger, taller, capable of committing a crime and not just cleaning its aftermath, and will eventually be the father of your children. He’ll tug his collar open to expose his vulnerabilities, but he will show you his strength too. Tonight is a blessing from the universe that will, finally, keep you where you belong: at his side, looking at him, and needing only him.

You watch as Jungkook swings open the trunk of his car and load three large plastic bins and pile photography equipment – tripods, developer fluids, camera bags, lighting equipment, and even a small monitor. And then you see the last box of supplies: rope, black plastic bags, gloves, masks, bleach, towels, and tape. When his eyes meet yours, he flashes you a small smile between his labored breaths, the kind you’re used to seeing after you make love to him and he’s spent, sprawled on the sheets with an arm over his perspired forehead. The car jolts slightly as pushes the back door shut and hop back into the driver seat, adjusting the temperature in the car, muttering something under his breath, and latching his seat belt back on.

He keeps both hands on the wheel. “Noona…make the call now.”

You’re frozen, hands clasped together on your lap.

“Kookie…”

You’re having doubts. He can see it in the way you can’t even bear to look at him. He digs through your pocket and presses your cell phone on your lap. When the lockscreen awakens to the photo of you two, you feel your heart anchor to the bottom of your stomach.

“I-I can’t do it.” You shake your head. “We have to go to the police. I can’t live without you, I can’t live without mom, we’ll get caught and I-” You press your hands to your face, your hoarse sobs lodged deep in your throat before it rips from your chest in the kind of wailing that makes Jungkook’s own heart squeeze. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Yori either e-even if it means my family…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He sees himself in you. He sees himself as the teen boy who let Taehyung drag his scalpel across his father, then his mother, before encouraging him to give it a try. You’re a virgin. Even if tonight worked out perfectly according to his plans, you’d still be a crime virgin. It was your mother who pushed Yori, not you. Knowing how empathetic you are, how tender you are, it might as well be you who pushed the woman down the stairs. He knows your fear all too well and he knows just how quick your hummingbird heartbeat is underneath his coat that you’re wearing. You’re just like him.

“You’re beautiful, noona.” He places a palm over your clasped hands and brings his other hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ears and strumming your cheeks with the back of his fingers.

“No one deserves your kindness. It fucking upsets me,” he swallows, allowing his eyes to water, “that even a mother will take advantage of that kindness.”

You sob into his hand, leaning your temple against the head rest. He’s right. How many times have your mother, before Jungkook came into your life, morphed you into something you’re not? The days you spent trying to please her, comparing yourself to other children she would complement to get a reaction out of you, letting yourself be a pawn for when she wanted something from your father that either required money or the right handshake. You still love her above all because she’s your mother but there’s no denying how much it still touches every part of your life from your relationships to your career. Moving away from her and letting her fade into the background was a true feat and it pains you that all that effort crumbled away and you’re left in a bigger mess to clean than before. If only you hadn’t taken the fucking call.

Maybe this was your fault. Maybe, if you hadn’t been such a hard-headed person, she would never had driven over to Yori’s place and none of this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have to get Jungkook involved either, as willing as he is.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Jungkook slouches back into his seat, putting his hands back onto the steering wheel. “Don’t you, noona?”

You nod, keeping your head lowered.

“Then be good for me and call. I’ll take care of you and I’ll take care of everything else. I’ve never broken that promise, not now, not ever.”

Jungkook hopes that’ll work. He’s rather annoyed but not at you, never at you. Why couldn’t she tumble down those stairs too instead of giving you such unnecessary stress? This kind of stain would be terrible for the baby had you been pregnant. It’s tearing him apart watching how different you are now compared to this morning, leaving the apartment in comfort only to come falling into his arms in tears. He came to the conclusion that you’re simply too pure for the world.

Oh how romantic tonight would be if you were honest with yourself all along. Claiming to loathe your mother with the strength of a thousand suns only to act like this when she shows up with baggage. Jungkook can’t blame you for you shared a majority of your life with the wench, but he finds it exasperating that you can’t see how little of your pity people like her deserve. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t be the love of his life if you weren’t so sensitive and caring.

It was with great relief that you mustered the courage to swipe across the phone screen and type your mother’s number.

He clicks open the garage door and the vehicle begins to descend down the elevated lot.

“M-mom? I’m on my way now…c-can you tell me where you are? It’ll be okay…I know mom, I-I’ll be there soon…”

…

You feel eerily calm as Jungkook drives past your mother’s car parked in the front of the gate to circle around the perimeter of the fence. He doesn’t recognize the new gate but he’d climbed over the old ones many times to watch you on the balcony. The metal may have changed but the level of security should be the same given that the villas are built a good distance apart between trees and the residents – people with mostly new money – keep to themselves. Lodged between a large tree and a partial opening in the back gate that is no doubt left ajar by your mother, Jungkook step out of the vehicle and press the door close before coming over to your side.

He’s relieved that you’re no longer in tears but your hands are still freezing cold despite the heat turned to the max inside. Your eyes are wandering and your breaths are labored as you press your body close to Jungkook’s.

Your mother is waiting near the door, her head poking out just slightly in the darkness and you can see the familiar row of bracelets on her wrist. She seems to have aged several years in just the last few months and the reason for her demise is standing next to you.

“Are you insane?” She seethes as she pulls you by the arm into the dark house and keep her eyes on Jungkook whose gaze bore into her skull. “How could you bring another-”

Jungkook barely had the time to secure your grip on his arm when you gasp, flinching back to hit the chess table next to where he’s standing when you see Yori’s pale arm stretched out from beneath a mat. The deep crimson shade of blood had congealed on the marble, partially smudged by the mat above her weighing her corpse down. Deep inside you had hoped that at least the baby could be saved, by some miracle, but the damage is far too great. Accident or not, a police officer finding this scene would not consider a light sentence if you mother decided to confess.

The older woman’s jaw is clenched, no doubt suppressing the panic she too feels hammering inside her as you hang off of Jungkook arm, trembling still. She looks up to your boyfriend and finds herself jolting awake when his eyes are peering down at her. He looks kind, sympathetic, soft, as if he is still sitting across her on your couch, eager to prove that he can be the son-in-law she’s been looking for all along.

“You should head home for the night. I’ll handle the rest.”

She scratches at her bracelets, her nails tugging the gold free from her skin. “B-But…where are you taking her? Anyone will find it if she’s buried in the yard.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer the question.

“Please go home and make sure there are no witnesses. I know you didn’t inform anyone before coming here,” he turns his head towards the body, “so go home as if you were never here. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

It’s evident the older woman is relieved by the way her shoulders slump but her gaze is still firm as she measures her trust into the young man who is in full control of your heart. Your eyes are still on the body when your mother takes your hands in hers and gives a squeeze.

“Sweetheart…” she croaks. She knew she gave birth to such a dependable, obedient daughter. You’re every mother’s dream and she makes a mental note to come back to your apartment with more boxes of food and perhaps make amends. There are far too many misunderstandings and miscommunication; it’s no way for a mother and child to live.

However, when you rip your hands away and take Jungkook’s hand in yours, her face crumbles.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” You hiss, your voice straining. You’ve never spoken to her like this and didn’t think about doing so until you saw the body, the mess your boyfriend has to clean. “You did this to us.”

“Wh-”

“Leave me alone. Please, mom. Get out of here, okay?” Your eyes glisten and you wipe away the droplets before they have the chance to fall. “It’s…we’re putting our lives on the line for you. It’s the least you can do now…so please…”

Between your pleas and Jungkook’s silence, your mother bites the inside of her cheek from saying anything more and turns back the way you came in. You watch her figure recede into the darkness, her shoes clacking softly on the cobblestone path. She turns back to look at you before the door closes and for once, you earn the most genuine apology you’ve ever received and this time she didn’t even need to open her mouth.

When the door falls back into place, Jungkook gives your shoulders a comforting rub and leads you towards the staircase, reminding you to breathe. He feels a bit more relieved that your mother didn’t raise too much of a ruckus. How could she when he’s the one getting his hands dirty? It’s what the perfect son-in-law will do and after this night is over, he’ll no longer have doubts about her approval. She wouldn’t have a valid argument anyway – not when he had just proved that he’s willing to go to the ends of Earth for your family and stability.

You’re too cute, Jungkook thinks, as you breathe through your nose and exhale through your lips. You’re a mirror image of his virgin self coated in blood, panicked but euphoric, angered but more than relieved to be rid of the parasites that kept him in the sewers.

“H-how are we going to do this?” You breathe, looking up the stairs as if you were expecting Namjoon to be standing there.

“I’ll handle the body. You can help me wipe down the stairs, okay?”

And handle it he did. He first fetched the supplies from the car, making sure once more that there are no witnesses while also keeping you within sight. Even without a severe puncture wound, Yori made quite a mess.

The terror didn’t come from seeing your former friend of years lay in a puddle of her own secretions. Nor did it come from seeing how calm and collected your boyfriend is peering down at the body with something akin to annoyance. No, terror came from how easily your mind and body adapted to helping Jungkook. You had no more tears left to shed when he lifted the mat from the body and placed a plastic covering next to her before rolling her body onto it. The sheet rustles beneath her weight and the stench of iron and urine fills your nostrils, prompting you to place your gloved hand over your nose.

Jungkook seems to know just what to do. He orders for you to wipe the railings first, which you do so with the slowness of a snail climbing a brick wall. The smell of bleach kept the nausea at bay and prompted you to focus on the smaller tasks because you can feel your heart already beginning to race with the sound of your boyfriend dragging Yori by the feet to straighten her posture. When you risked a glance back, you catch yourself feeling irked by the way Jungkook places her fingers so tenderly on her flattened stomach. Even when he’s wearing gloves, you catch yourself glaring at his touch on her skin, at the way his fingers brush over the ring on her finger. It makes you clench your jaw harder, pour more bleach onto the staircase, and wipe down each step with vigor.

She’s dead, she can’t take him from you.

You spray the bleach onto the top step, scrubbing with the heel of your palm as your shoulder fights through aches and pressure. You can do this. If Jungkook kept his promise, you must too. You will never find another man who will devote his entire life to you and for that you must not be too forgiving to those who don’t deserve your kindness, not this time.

All your life it’s one person after another coming to take what they want and leave. This is your lesson to finally take yourself back from them all, to come to terms with how much you gave and how little you received, see that Jungkook was the catalyst you desperately needed. It was no coincidence that when the elevator doors opened that very night of your wedding, he was the person standing in front of you. He was meant to be there holding your shoes as he rescues you away from those who would eventually suck the life out of you. He’s not someone you should be afraid of – no – because he’s your savior.

When you turn back again, Jungkook is slipping Yori’s legs into a large, black plastic bag identical to the one she’s laying on. He uses the bag beneath her to fight friction as he slides her body forward, careful not to bend her body before the duct tape comes into play.

And suddenly, your shoulder doesn’t ache anymore. Your heartbeat slows as you take another deep breath, this time through your lips, and watch his shoulders hunch over and forearm veins protrude.

“Kookie?”

He looks up, hair damp with sweat as it falls over his eyes. The lights from the front lawn, as it filter through dark maroon curtains, casts a red glow on your lover’s skin. When he meets your eyes he’s filled with glee, seeing that you’re no longer panicking and your eyes are clouded with a kind of protective apathy that lets him know you’ve gotten stronger. You’re dipping a toe into his world.

“Yes, noona?” He huffs, straightening his spine and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“Nothing will happen to us after tonight…right?”

He physically melts at your saccharine voice. You’re worried about him, about whether he’ll still want you after this and if he’ll want you forever. “Of course not, noona. Are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?” He asks if he hadn’t been the one packing the corpse into a bag.

You shake your head with a sniffle. “…I’m fine.” You’re not sure what to say, so you rub the cleaning cloth between your fingers and shy away from his eyes. “J just wanted to hear you say that.”

A smile spreads across his face, slow but bright as if he had just heard the most amazing thing. You can’t smile back and instead focus back on the floors and the last few inches of the railing.

You make sure to wipe the decorations nearby, in case your mother left any fingerprints on the lacquered surfaces. She can be rather careless in dire situations. You’re lifting yourself off the floor when something catches your eye: a large crib with layers and layers of blankets and fuzzy cloud and star plushies.

“What kind of bedtime stories should we tell our kids?”

Namjoon puts his head on your lap, sighing in relief when his neck is elevated at just the right position to depressurize the knot.

“What about myths? About the constellations and such.”

You giggle, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Isn’t that a little too mature for babies?”

When he doesn’t answer, you wave you hand in front of his eyes. He squints, chuckling. So this is what marriage life is going to be like – he can get used to it. “You’re right, that is a bit too much. Then…hm…they’ll learn about the types of clouds in the sky and we can go from there.”

“Joonie, I love you, but don’t come crying when our kids prefer mama’s stories over papa’s boring myths and random science facts.”

“We’ll see when we get to that point. Either way, you’re stuck with me.”

Asshole.

A fucking good-for-nothing lying asshole.

Gifting the same toys he promised to give to your future children to the same bitch who ruined your life, your family, and your sanity; they deserved each other, you think, and they both deserve to disappear as if they had never existed. The unborn baby inside Yori is innocent but a part of you is elated that he’ll never experience the kind of fatherhood he wanted. You silently wished Namjoon would tumble down the very same staircase you cleaned and joined Yori in a happy couple’s embrace to…

“Kookie?” You call out to your boyfriend who had duct taped the body in a semi-mummified state and used a shibari knot with his jute rope for easy carrying. He’d dragged the body next to the railing and leaned it against one of the stair planks in an upright position so that after he inspects the house for any evidence, he can bring the corpse easily over his shoulder.

“Yes, noona?”

“Where are we going to bury her?”

Jungkook wets his lips. He can’t possibly tell you the process of disposing a body or else you’ll surely fall back into panic so he gives you the simplest answer he can. “I’ll have to keep her body in the freezer in my studio. I’ll look for a place to burn it soon.”

You nod, swallowing as your throat tightens uncomfortably once more. The waves of anxiety come and goes. Jungkook knows how you’re feeling all too well and he wishes he could just hold you in your arms until tomorrow comes. Much to his distain, he knows you’re partly living your fantasy of making Yori pay for her involvement with Namjoon. You no longer love the man but anyone in your shoes wouldn’t deny there is a sense of satisfaction in seeking vengeance after a lifetime of humiliation that dampened your reputation in both your personal and professional sphere. Jungkook prays that getting rid of Yori will eliminate your mind of their presence although he highly doubts it; you’re not always rainbows and flowers. It’s only natural for you to be curious about taking another life when anger consumes logic. Most of these thoughts are fleeting ,which is why you had surprised Jungkook by your composure. He expected screaming at the very least but all you could do was cry.

He understands.

After he watched the life drain out of his parents, Taehyung had watched him cry for the longest time and when the next day came, it was like the world had turned its back while he washed the blood off his hands. The anxiety was terrible – at least for the first month or two – and then it was as if nothing had happened.

Like he learned before and like you’re learning now, it didn’t take much to get rid of a person. Over time, it just became muscle memory, kind of like making your morning coffee half-asleep. Now that you’ve gotten your first taste of the power, he wonders how you’ll cope. Will you fall into despair and regret it all in the morning? Will you be hungry for more? How will you return his most tiresome display of affection? These are questions he can’t answer. But what he does know is that you finally understand what love is in his world.

Love isn’t just about a ring on the finger or a baby in the crib. Love has to hurt. It has to infest your dreams and turn them into nightmares, wreak havoc on your heart, rip off the magnet in your moral compass. It’s why the human heart is caged behind ribs – it can hardly be tamed.

…

As the car lurches behind trees and between unpaved roads, Jungkook notifies your mother about what to do next. It would not raise suspicion for her to leave the country for a few weeks, especially since she had been traveling to speak to investors abroad. It would take some of the burden off his shoulders too; your mother is a cunning woman who fears losing money more than losing you so he had no trouble alluding to her demise if she disobeys. While you look away, he quickly sends a notification to Jimin to make sure the older man will take care of the rest. When he receives an immediate response back, his shoulders slump in relief and he pockets the phone back into his jeans.

When he takes your hand in his again, the other gripping the wheel, you give him the smallest of smiles through the silence.

Three is a crowd. The body folded and hidden in the rear space between his photography equipment makes your head turn every now and then to make sure it doesn’t escape somehow. You’re exhausted beyond belief but Jungkook is here, his palm over your hand on the shifting gear once more, to keep you grounded. The night feels like it might go on forever.

The streets pass by in a blur – nightlife still alive and pulsing with neon signs – and there’s a kind of peace enclosed in the car that you can’t find anywhere else. It’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook has always been and will always be there for you. Whether to take you from somewhere or bring you to some place, he’s the only person in your life left that you could depend on. As he expertly drives through tight alleyways where gas station surveillance cameras can’t reach him, you’re dozing off with your head against the window.  

“We’re almost there.” He says while running his thumb over your knuckles. There’s blood on his shirt and your neck but you’re too tired to care.

You awaken with a gasp when Jungkook swings the door open; he had been careful not to wake you but you feel enough residual adrenaline to jolt awake at the smallest of sounds. It takes a moment for you to recognize the inside of his garage, the bright LED lightbulb hanging above causing you to squint as your eyes adjust.

Unaware that you’re awake, Jungkook quickly moves to the rear of the car and swing Yori’s body over his shoulders, tightening the ropes around where her neck and feet are to secure his grip. He carries the wrapped body towards the door next to the shelves and kicks it open to reveal several more stocked shelves before coming to a halt at the buzzing freezer. With a free hand, he lifts the lid open and removes several bags of seafood and miscellaneous food items you can’t quite make out before rolling the body inside the interior. He places the bags on top of the body and latches the freezer shut, securing it with a combination lock from one of his bins.

When he steps back and shut the storage door before turning, he’s surprised to see you standing in the doorway, your hair a mess, his coat hanging loose off one shoulder.  

“Do you remember the night after you took my engagement photos? The ones at that same house?”

His brows scrunch slightly in confusion as he nods. There’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks as you breath in and out from your lips, a puff forming in the chill of the garage. You’re half-asleep, the exhaustion resting well deep in your bones but you can’t bring yourself to find your way towards his bed.

“I left my bedroom door open for you. I-I watched you from the balcony and waited for you to come back.”

Jungkook’s lips part, something foreign stirring in his stomach as the coat weighs down your shoulders and you don’t stop it from sliding down your arms, letting it pool around your feet. You don’t know why you wanted to confess but it felt right. It felt right to confess to something that isn’t about being an accessory in a crime.  

“Why didn’t you say anything, noona?”

You close the distance, putting both of your hands on his chest, over the blood stains on the university sweatshirt. He exhales loudly when you bring him down to your level by a tug of his collar, your lips just a mere centimeter apart.

“Because I wanted you then just as much as I want you now.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between your lips, slamming your body onto the car behind you as he brings one of your legs over his waist to press himself against your heat. Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck and he listens to your squeal as he lifts you fully off the ground and lets you wrap both your legs around him this time. You break the kiss and pepper sweet kisses over the mole on his neck and the smears of dried blood that caked onto his sweatshirt.

“I love you so much,” you whisper, moving your head to the other side of his neck to suckle on his warm skin and feel his pulse through the jugular.

Jungkook quickly throws open the door to the studio and steps into the darkness, his memory allowing him to lead you towards the bathroom without his eyes adjusting. Your eyes burn once more when he reaches behind you to shut the bathroom door close and turn on the yellowed lights with the back of his elbow. When your face comes into view, he sits you on the counter next to the sink and pushes his tongue back in your mouth, your name leaving his lips with a whimper.

He’s terribly hard against your thighs, his length straining through his jeans. You tug him forward by the belt as you break the kiss once more and let him rip open your blood and bleach-stained blouse.

“God, you’re so beautiful, noona. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

He moans as you press the heel of your feet up his erection, his voice muffled by skin filling his mouth as he takes the top your left breast spilling from the brassiere on his tongue. You arch to chase the heat of his tongue, back of your head leaning on the mirror behind.

“My good boy…such a good boy…”

The effect your praise has on him is immediate. Jungkook reaches behind his neck and pulls the sweatshirt over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. You watch him unbuckle and tug his belt free from the hoops before unclasping the front of his jeans. Impatient, he circles his arms around you to undo the brassiere, leaning down to kiss the indents on your skin as you slip your blouse off your shoulders and pull the straps down your arms. The coolness of the counter causes a hiss to leave your lips and Jungkook drinks in your state of orgasmic delirium like an aphrodisiac.

It’s a blessing for you to have worn a less difficult pair of pants to shimmy out of. With a short tug, Jungkook slides the waistband of your wool slacks and cotton panties down your ankles. When he pauses, chest rising and falling steadily, you follow his gaze to see a streak of blood in the middle of the light pink fabric.

In the time between your mother’s call and your boyfriend dumping your former best friend’s body in a freezer, your period makes an early appearance. The streak of blood is bright and vibrant, unlike Yori’s blood that oxidized into a deep maroon shade on his tanned skin. Jungkook tugs your pants down your ankles but takes your panties into one hand, his doe eyes coming to rest on the blood before something snaps within him.

He throws the fabric on the floor and hooks his arms beneath your shin, prompting you to gasp as he spreads your thighs apart. He stares down at your dark pubic hair before tracing two fingers up your slit and into the curls. His fingers reappear with your blood, seeping underneath his short nails and the crevices of his nailbed.

“Can I taste you, noona?” He breathes, chest rising and falling even faster. His cheeks are flaming red, the flush reaching his earlobes as his lips part for more air. He feels like he can’t breathe, seeing how beautiful, fertile, and red you are for him.

You’re hesitant, the blood reminding you of what you just done – what he just done – yet the burning in your belly proves that you want this just as much as he does. You barely had the chance to nod before Jungkook pushes his face into your pussy, his tongue lapping the blood on your vulva and clit as his nose buries in your trimmed curls. You taste metallic, as if he’s sucking on a penny, but it’s light and the syrupy texture allows him to take all of your juices in his mouth. When his tongue draws circles around your clit and he presses his lips around the nub like a suction, your fingers immediately grasp his hair from the roots, begging his tongue to fuck your weeping pussy.

Jungkook laps your folds like a starving puppy until you’re arching for him once more, thighs trapping his head where it belongs as your cum gushes out of you with traces with red. Between your blood and your juices, he can’t decide which one tastes better. The metallic tang disappears, leaving a fragrant aftertaste that he can only indulge when he inhales through his nose after swallowing what remains on his teeth. When your knees twitch, Jungkook pulls back to come up for air, watching your expression as your eyes fall to his wet crimson lips, the mess reaching his chin and jaw.

It takes a minute for you to gather yourself together and in your exhaustion a slow but soft smile reaches your lips.

“Does it taste good, baby?”

“Heavenly,” he whispers as he traps your body between his arms and gives you a taste, twisting his tongue deep inside your warm mouth. Your hands stroke the contours of his biceps and triceps, core aching as he groans when you lick your remainings from his chin.

You can tell he’s tired, having to do most of the manual labor. He winces as you knead his shoulders and it makes your chest ache. Even when he’s hurting, he takes care of you first. Your precious boy.

“Turn on the shower for me.”

Jungkook is aching to be inside you but he obeys, turning away to step inside the shower and twist the silver handle lodged into the tile. You stand behind him, moving away just slightly when the water – steadily turning hot – sprays over his hair and onto your breasts. Just as he’s about to turn around you circle your arms around his waist and reach into his jeans, palming his throbbing cock before pulling his jeans and briefs down his ankles. He steps out of the tight fabric, watching the remnants of Yori’s blood spiral down the drain as you kick the fabric in front of his toes.

The shower hose is harsh on his head but he can’t seem to pull away, one arm holding onto the wall for purchase, when you cushion your knees with his wet, blood-stained jeans. He can’t get any harder watching water drip from the ends of his hair down to your erect nipples, sliding down between the valley of your breasts and onto your soft stomach.

You’re delighted to see his cock twitch, taking your bottom lip under your teeth as you look up at him.

“You want mommy to take care of you, Kookie?”

He nods, exhaling as his abdomen clenches.

“You want to cum all over mommy’s tits, yeah? Make me proud?”

“Unng…” He moans in response, hips bucking forward to slide his leaking tip across your lips. He whimpers when you pull away, your smile twisting when his stomach clenches again.

You massage his firm thighs, gliding over every ripple of his muscles and over to the patch of pubic hair above his cock. When you pass your hands over his belly button, you stretch a palm up towards his face.

“Spit.”

The mole beneath his lips appear as he gathers as much saliva as he can produce on his tongue and spits into your palm. There are some traces of blood in your palm but you pay no attention to it as you place your saliva-coated palm over his cock and make a fist around the length.

“Mo-mmy,” he throws his head back, the shower head coming down his flushed pecs. Your fist begins to move slow but tight around his hardness. “It feels so good. Fuck…unng, mommy…please…”

Jungkook can cum just from your warm breath hitting his leaking tip but he doesn’t. When you lean forward and take his entire length in your mouth, tongue stretched as far as you can as you press your nose against his pubes, his jaw drops. You’re warm, wet, and fuck, so tight.

His other hand combs through your hair, reaching underneath the nape to pull your head back until your half-lidded eyes can watch his skin glisten.

With your hands back on his thighs, Jungkook expects you to move. What he doesn’t expect was you to tighten your throat before swallowing with his entire length in your mouth.

“Fuck!”

You gag around him but repeats, breathing through your nose before letting your whimpers and cries vibrate his cock. He’s about to lose it, his tightening grip causing your scalp to burn.

“You’re so pretty, mommy,” he pulls his length back just slightly to let you suction him back inside. When his entire length is warm and pulsing in the back of your throat, you swallow once more and begin moving up and down, your eyes closing as Jungkook backs your head to the tile and fucks your mouth at a steady pace.

“Wanna cum in your throat, all over you, inside you. God, you’re so perfect.” He chants, abdomen clenching when your throat tightens just right over his pink tip.

You hum, hands trailing behind his thighs and up to his firm cheeks to push him forward. His grip tightens once more when he whimpers your name, over and over again, his cock driving into your mouth with a vigor that’s bound to leave your throat sore in the morning.

The first spurt of his warm cum hits your uvula and you cough just as he slides out of your mouth and pumps himself into his fist. Watching his creamy cum dripping down the corner of his mouth intensifies his high, prompting him to burst onto your shoulder blades and over your wet breasts. He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath before he pushes you down onto the tile, moving away the wet jeans to a corner before finding safety between your legs. His arms, on either side of your head, allows him to prop himself up to lead his tip towards your entrance.

He’d forgotten all about cleaning the blood on your neck when you’re spread for him, your hands cupping his face in admiration. Your eyes and nose are still puffy and red, but he knows the blush on your cheeks come from your need to have him deep inside until you can feel him against your cervix.

“I love you, noona. So, so much.”

You hiss slightly when he pushes inside, your snug velvet walls engulfing his cock and keeping him where he belongs. His body bows in servitude to the goddess that is you.

“I love you too,” you huff, brushing your fingers over his sculped cheekbones and mandible. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You let him take you there despite how painful it was to bear him pounding into your walls with the intent to ruin. You’re not sure how long you lay on the tile, how many times he came inside, how sore and painful your insides will be when he’s done. It was never-ending – how Jungkook muffles your wails and whines, how he pumps his cocks while pressing your shoulders down to bury himself deep, how exhausted you are by the time he’s pushing his cum back into your swollen hole. The last orgasm triggers tears to seep from the corner of his eyes which Jungkook kisses away as he reaches up to the shower cloth and waits for you to fall limp before running the soapy cloth along your body.

You’re freezing cold despite the hot water still coming down onto your boyfriend’s body and, from there, onto you. He’s quick to clean you up and wrap you in the same towel he had laid over you the first time you used his studio shower. You can barely move as he carries you to the bed and lays your damp body on the fresh linen. You can hear the sound of him ripping open a thin menstrual pad and placing it in a pair of fresh panties he fished from the shared armoire closet. He slips the panties up your legs, lifting your hips to pull the fabric over your buttocks, flashing his usual charming grin when you murmur a thank you.

He pulls the towel from your body and squeeze out as much water as he can from your long tresses, careful not to tug. It wasn’t ideal to him that you’ll be sleeping with wet hair but you’re beyond exhausted and, to be frank, he is as well. At least he’s heading to bed satiated.

Jungkook slides under the blankets and brings your body closer by your waist. He groans into your neck, his body immediately softening as the warmth of your skin and the blanket brings him the peace and comfort he craved.

“Kookie?”

“Hm?”

It takes a heartbeat for him to sense your sudden anxiety. “…I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?” He manages to ask although sleep is weighing heavy on his eyelids.

“I don’t know.” You murmur.

Jungkook is too tired to remember if you said anything afterwards for he falls deep into slumber. As for you, your head won’t let you sleep despite your body pleading for rest. Every part of you can feel Yori’s heavy body in the freezer just several feet away. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about tonight or if tonight should have happened in the first place but in Jungkook’s arms, you can’t find the smallest ounce of pity for the woman.

You close your eyes, snuggle closer into his firm chest, and try your best to pretend nothing will change. You try to forget the flash drive sitting in your bag, the possible evidence your mother may have left behind in the villa, the corpse in the garage. Most of all, you try to forget how Jungkook looked at the bottom of the staircase, slipping the corpse inside the black plastic trash bag with such ease that makes you wonder if he had done this before. He surely must have, that voice inside of your head says but you wave it away.

I don’t know.

You lied to him. For the first time in your relationship, you lied without guilt. You do know why you’re scared and it’s not because after tonight every knock on the door will cause your heart to pound.

No. It’s because you know your boyfriend – your sweet, loving boyfriend who cries watching romantic comedies on Sundays – is truly capable of murder.

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Battle Couple

I've had this little idea for a while, and then decided I could bend it slightly to fit this year's @inukag-week's first battle couple prompt. Because not all battles we face have to be huge ones against a deadly foe. Sometimes the battles can simply be standing up for what's right.

Inuyasha dragged the beanie down tighter over his head, stomping towards the exit of the store. He hated this. This is why he bought things online and had them delivered. Because then he could avoid interactions like he’d just had with that racist arsehole. He glanced down at the text from Sesshoumaru again, wondering if there was some other way he could get this gift for Rin. It was the first time his half-brother had thrown a birthday party for his adopted daughter, and no doubt it would be a big deal.

Rin has expressed an interest in this item. Her birthday party is on Saturday at 10am. Do not be late.

And of course the toy Rin had asked for was sold out everywhere online. The tiny dolls with light up dresses and a matching crystal necklace were apparently ‘the’ toy at the moment. She specifically wanted the purple one, the ‘hope’ doll, because it was her favourite colour, and she already had the other dolls in the set. This was the last one she needed. And he hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. He was failing as an Uncle. The last store he’d been to, he’d practically seen a pair of mothers come to blows arguing over the last CrystalShines doll on the shelf.

He was close to the exit of the store when an intriguing scent wafted past his nose. It was another store employee, dressed in the dark polo shirt and black jeans, with one of those ear walkie talkies they all seemed to wear. She was giggling, talking to someone using the button on her mike, her other arm full of a variety of women’s clothing that she was putting back on the racks. Her arms were a blur as she began sorting them into different sizes, working quickly to make each rack neat and tidy.

He watched as she flitted about the store, talking to a customer, smiling and waving at a baby in a pram, folding jumpers and t-shirts. His eyes were drawn to her dark ponytail; the way it swung as she moved was almost hypnotic. Her glossy hair was black, but had a blue sheen to it under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and he had a sudden urge to reach out and touch it, stroke down the length of the swinging tail to see if it was as soft and silken as it looked.

Without even realising it, he followed her, almost bumping into her as she suddenly spun around to go in a different direction.

“Oh! Good evening sir, can I help you with anything?”

There was a pleasant smile on her face, and she was looking at him expectantly. His voice didn’t seem to want to work now he was actually standing close to her, so he turned around his phone, showing her the picture of the doll.

“This is what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah”, he said softly, his eyes focused on hers as she glanced up at him again. He’d never seen anyone with grey eyes before. It seemed they were lit from within like starlight, and now that he was closer to her, she smelt even better. He cleared his throat, trying to get a hold of himself. “My niece wants one of these for her birthday, and I’m having trouble finding one.”

“Okay”, she said, reaching for the button on her headset to talk to the other employees on the shop floor. “Let me just talk to my colleague in the toy department, and I’ll see if we’ve got that item in stock.”

❤

Kagome watched as the man in front of her visibly deflated.

“Don’worry about it then. Already talked to ‘im.”

And then she got it. Ryan was working the toy department tonight. Ryan the racist bigot who didn’t like interacting with any customers who weren’t white, male, good ol’ boys, exactly like him. Usually he worked out the back in the store room, unpacking shipments, but due to the flu going around and the shortage of staff, the evening shift manager had put him on the floor tonight. And he’d no doubt said something innaproppriate to this gorgeous man in front of her, who obviously had some sort of youkai heritage.

She’d had her own run-ins with Ryan. He’d said many cruel things to her over the past six months, since he’d found out what happened a few years ago, cruel enough to make her run to the safety of the women’s toilets to shed a few silent tears in private. He never bullied her in a place where others could overhear, he always cornered her in dark places where there was no one else around. He frightened her. Jak knew she was uncomfortable around him, and did his best to make sure they were never rostered on at the same time, so it had been a while since she’d had to deal with him.

She took in the golden eyes, fangs and the beanie yanked down hard over his long silver hair, but it was the resigned bitter look on his face that caught at her heart. She knew that feeling. Internally Kagome fumed, but outwardly she hoisted her brightest smile onto her face, wanting to make it up to him. She could fix this!

“Wait. I don’t know the toy department that well, but I’m sure I could help. Just give me a moment to put these things down.”

He followed her to a wheeled rack in the aisle where she hung all the clothing in her arms back up, and then turned to him, smiling brightly again.

“Let’s go to the toy department and see if we can’t find this doll for your niece. When’s her birthday?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh dear, that doesn’t give you much time to find one!”

“I’ve been lookin’ all week. Online stores have sold out.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll have one in stock. Let’s see, the doll aisle is around here somewhere.”

They walked together down the aisle, both scanning the shelves for the tiny dolls.

“They should be around here”, said Kagome, her finger running along the price labelling on the edge of the shelf, her eyes lighting up as she found the right tag, but sighing in disappointment as she found the shelf empty.

“Yeah”, sighed Inuyasha. “I asked the guy around here if he could find out if there were any more out the back or somethin’ and he, ah…”

“Don’t worry”, said Kagome, a determined look on her face, “I will personally go take a look in the store room for you. Just wait here for me sir.”

“Inuyasha.”

“Huh?”

He coughed a little, his head turning to the side to avoid her direct gaze. “My name, it’s Inuyasha.”

“Oh. Right. Just wait here for me Inuyasha, and I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks Kagome.”

She blinked in confusion as he said her name, wondering how he’d known it, then realised he had read her name tag.

For some reason him saying her name out loud made her stomach swoop, like she was on a roller coaster, even though her feet were firmly planted on the ground. As he gave her a shy smile, she felt her cheeks begin to heat, and she whirled around, making a beeline for the storage room, talking into the mike on her headset as she left.

“Hey Jak, it’s Kagome – just going out to the store room for a moment for a customer. I’ll get right back on those returns as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“Oooh, tell me it’s the hottie with the white hair that I pointed out to you!”

“Jak!”

“Oh it is! Take your time honey!”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“And you love me for it. Make sure you get his name and number before he goes!”

“Jak!”

“For the customer form darlin’, what else did you think I meant?”

She could hear him still sniggering as she released the talk button on her mike, and she shook her head, grinning despite herself. He was her in-line manager and they got on really well, but rarely got to spend time together, as he was usually rostered on during the day, and her in the evenings so her day was free for lectures and study.

Kagome squeezed her way into the storeroom, scanning the aisles of stock yet to be placed out on the shelves. And then she saw it, the edge of a box with a picture of a tiny doll up on the highest shelf.

Dragging over the step ladder, she placed it under the shelf and climbed up, her petite size meaning she had to stand on the very top to have any chance of reaching the box. She just managed to reach the doll with the tips of her fingers, and nudged it. It tipped forward and fell, and with a gasp she managed to catch it with her outstretched hand, teetering on the top of the ladder, her other arm windmilling frantically to keep her balance.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her frantically beating heart after her almost fall, the box containing the doll clutched tightly against her. But she’d found one for him, a purple one, just like he’d wanted. She had no idea why that made her feel so incredibly happy, but it did.

Grinning widely as she emerged from the storeroom, she began walking directly to the toy department. She could see Inuyasha there, waiting for her. But she could also see Ryan, his arms crossed as he spoke to him, a sneer on his face. She quickened her pace. Previous experience had taught her that expression couldn’t mean anything good.

❤

Inuyasha stood his ground, hands clenched in tight fists by his sides. He had every right to be here – he was a customer, he hadn’t caused any commotion or damage. Kagome had asked him to wait here. But apparently that wasn’t good enough for this guy.

“I told you already, we’ve got none of what your looking for. Nothing for you. Are you deaf, or just stupid?” The volume of his voice wasn’t loud enough to draw anyone’s attention to them, but definitely loud enough to get on Inuyasha’s nerves.

Inuyasha closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he held back. He would not punch out this idiot – this was a department store, not a battle ground. Even though he deserved it because he was a racist bigoted shit.

“I already told you to leave youkai! Do I have to call security?”

Inuyasha breathed out slowly, trying to keep any trace of anger out of his voice, even though he wanted to let rip. He’d found out the hard way that security tended to not ask questions, just see his youkai traits and assume the worst.

“And I already told you, another employee was taking a look out the back for me. She told me to wait here for her.”

“Yeah, like I’d believe anything one of you would have to say. You’re all the same. What are hidin’ under that hat huh? Some kinda weird freakish thing I’d bet. ”

“Inuyasha!”

Inuyasha turned, his eyes lighting up as Kagome appeared. But she wasn’t wearing the wide smile she had when she left. She was stomping towards them, a box tucked tightly under her arm, the scowl on her face impressive. Thankfully that scowl was not directed at him.

He could smell the nervousness pouring off of her, but you never would have thought it looking at the way she faced off with her work colleague, stepping in front of him like she wanted to shield him from this man's ire with her much smaller body.

“Ryan, I’m handling this customer. And I’ve already found what he needed, so there’s no reason for you to be here. I think you’ve probably said enough.”

There was the barest trace of a tremble in her voice, and Inuyasha moved in closer behind her, wanting her to feel like he was there to support her. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he didn’t like it.

Ryan rolled his eyes and then sneered at her, his voice low and vicious.

“Ha. Shoulda known it would be you Kagome. Such a helpful little kiss ass. Why don’t you turn that cute little tush of yours around and head back to the ladies department where you belong, unless you’re still that desperate for some demon tail.”

“What?”

Ryan grinned at the shocked expression on Kagome’s face, posturing like he’d somehow scored a point. “Bit ironic really, you working in the ladies department when you’re anything but. A human ain't good enough for Kagome, huh? Wasn’t it bad enough that the last guy you had got fired, now you’re after customers too? You really are a-“

“Don’t. Say. Another. Word.”

Both Kagome and Ryan flinched at the snarled words behind them.

“Kagome, call your manager”, said Inuyasha gruffly. “I wanna report this guy.”

“It’s my word against yours demon, and little Kagome’s not gonna say anything, are you Kagome, because you’re fuckin’ pathetic. There’s nothin’ you can report me for”, snorted Ryan.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d probably pick being a racist arsehole, for starters”, said another voice cheerfully. "Then maybe we could add workplace harassment."

A tall man in a tailored suit stepped into view, his dark hair slicked back into a short ponytail. He was holding his phone up, obviously still recording the whole thing.

“Here I was, minding my own business in the Lego aisle while I looked for the perfect birthday gift for my little girls, and what should I hear? An employee bad mouthing a customer, when the customer had been nothing but polite and civil. Don’t worry about proof, I’m happy to be a witness. I was recording the whole thing. From the very first racist slur that left your lips.”

Kagome’s eyes were wide as she glanced from the ponytailed man back to Ryan, and Inuyasha could hear her heart beating frantically. He nodded at her approvingly as she took a deep breath, her hand steady on the button on her headset.

“Jak, it’s Kagome”, she said, her voice a little breathless, but firm. “Can you-“

Ryan lunged towards her.

“Don’t you dare, you fuckin’ bitch!”

Inuyasha ducked out from behind Kagome, his fist grabbing the back of Ryan’s shirt and lifting him into the air, Ryan’s legs kicking frantically as he tried to escape. Before Kagome could move out of the way, his steel capped boot caught her on the chin. She dropped like a stone, crumpling to the floor in a heap.

“Fuck, Kagome!”

Inuyasha swung Ryan out of the way and dropped him none too gently, all his focus on the small woman laying prone on the slightly grubby linoleum floor, still out for the count. He could hear a scuffle behind him as the man in the suit and a few other observers struggled to keep Ryan contained, but he no longer cared about him. He knelt down close to her, gently stroking the glossy dark hair back from her face.

“Kagome, can you hear me?”

Inuyasha shook Kagome’s shoulder gently, trying to rouse her, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Inuyasha?” she said groggily, her arm tightening around the box, a wobbly smile on her face. “I got your doll.”

❤

It took a while to sort everything out. An ambulance was called, and the police. The police took statements from Inuyasha, Kagome and the man in the suit, Miroku. Ryan was fired on the spot, and Jak was positively gleeful, despite the mountain of paperwork he’d have to fill out before he went home that evening. When the paramedic suggested that Kagome should go to the hospital to be checked for possible concussion, Inuyasha had immediately said he’d like to go with her, if that was alright with Kagome, and after a few polite remarks about it not being necessary, she’d gratefully accepted. Jak had positively pushed them into the ambulance together, waving them off with a bright smile. It was the most exciting evening shift he’d had in years.

❤

“You don’t have to stay you know. I’ll be fine, I’ll just get an Uber home.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall, his arm resting on the edge of Kagome's hospital bed.

“For the tenth time woman, I don’t mind. I want to be here when the doctor examines you to make sure you’re okay. And then I wanna make sure you get home safe.” He sighed as he looked at the dark purpling bruise on Kagome’s chin. “I’m just sorry I didn’t throw that fucker down to the end of the aisle when I had the chance.”

“But it’s so late! It’s almost 2am, and you have the party to go to tomorrow. Today I mean.”

“Eh, that’s hours away. She won’t mind if I’m a little late, Rin’s a nice kid. And now I have the perfect present, thanks to you.”

Kagome was quiet for a while. The silence grew to feel uncomfortable, because Inuyasha could sense how tense Kagome suddenly was.

“Inuyasha… I want to explain. About what Ryan said to me.”

“Hmm?” He could smell nervousness again, billowing around her like a cloud, and he didn’t like it. “Doesn’t matter, none of my business.”

“But I want to”, she said, her voice taking on a stubborn edge.

“Fine, I’ll listen. But nothin’ you can say will change my good opinion of you. You stepped up for me back there Kagome, and that don’t happen for me much. I will always remember that.”

Kagome reached out her hand to lightly grasp the clawed one sitting next to her on the bed, and squeezed it.

“Thank you.”

He squeezed back.

“You’re welcome.”

“Anyway”, she sighed. “About what Ryan said. I started working at that department store when I was still in high school, as a weekend job. And there was this training manager, a kitsune. He’d come around every so often, and all the girls thought he was really good looking. He had a little green sports car; a lot of the other girls thought was really important. They all were flirting with him, and then he asked me out. I was so surprised. I mean, me! I’m nothing special! He was so stylish, and so charming. I really thought…” Kagome laughed but it had no humour in it, and Inuyasha squeezed her hand again. She shrugged, her shoulders coming up around her ears as her face turned away from him.

“I was so stupid! It turned out I was right about being nothing special, because he was going out with a couple of girls at every store that he visited.” She flinched a little at Inuyasha’s low growl of disapproval. “There were around ten of us. And because a couple of us were under aged, he was charged. Lost his job. Ryan found out about it a few months ago and thought-“

“Don’t say it”, said Inuyasha gruffly, squeezing her hand again. “Don’t matter what he thought. It’s in the past. And the Kagome I saw tonight was amazing.”

“No I wasn’t!” Kagome shook her head, then winced as her head throbbed, realising that was a bad idea. “I was so scared Inuyasha! I’ve never been able to stand up to him before. But I couldn’t stand the thought of him being mean to you!”

“Then you’re even braver than I thought.” Inuyasha entwined his fingers with hers, and cleared his throat. “Kagome, I know you don’t know me. But I think I’d like to get to know you. Could I call you? Maybe we could go out for coffee or somethin’? I mean you don’t gotta answer, and if you don’t wanna, I totally understand, I mean-“

“Yes.” Kagome giggled at the wide toothy grin on Inuyasha’s face. “Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in.”

“Wait. Maybe you should see what all’a me looks like before you say yes.”

Inuyasha tugged off his beanie, revealing the pointed white dog ears on top of his head. “If you wanna change your mind, I-“

“They’re so cute!” squeaked Kagome. “Please give me your phone!”

❤

Kagome woke up the next morning very late, so late that it was no longer morning at all.

It had been 3am by the time Inuyasha had dropped her home with a bag of painkillers and the Doctor’s instructions for treating her mild concussion. He’d helped her into bed, placed her medicine and a glass of water next to the bed for her, kissed her softly on the cheek and whispered goodnight, closing the door behind him.

She rubbed her cheek gently at the memory of that small kiss, a smile on her face. She still had a headache, so she took two of the tablets, then reached for her phone on the bedside table where it had been charging.

There were two messages.

The birthday girl loves her present! Attached was a picture of a smiling Inuyasha kneeling with his arm around a little girl in a checked orange party dress and sparkly sandals, her dark hair up in pig tails. A wide excited grin split her face, revealing the gap of a missing front tooth. The doll was clutched tightly in her hand, and she was wearing the necklace that came with it.

I told Rin how brave you were, and she wanted you to have some birthday cake. Can I bring some over when you wake up? 🍰

Kagome smiled almost as wide as Rin, despite her headache.

I’d love you to ❤

[tanyawritesstories]

Frozen Miracles | The Mandalorian x reader

My first Din piece! I wrote this awhile ago before season 2 ended and only now am publishing it. Hope you enjoy 😊

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, pregnant reader, detailed descriptions of birth, Din frustration, the child isn't chaotic for once

•••

He stood watching the Krayt Dragon meat roast, waiting for Peli to get done talking to his informant. He shuffled around impatiently, watching as the child stared longingly at his dinner.

Needless to say, Din was frustrated. The only lead he had on finding others like him had evaporated the second that marshal removed his helmet. He knew immediately that all the time and energy he spent getting to this point was a waste. By the end of that journey he had: saved a community, restored peace between cultures, slain a dragon, and acquired the imposter’s armor to return it to it’s rightful owners. It was by no means an unsuccessful mission, it just wasn’t the outcome he expected.

He was snapped out of his reverie by Peli shouting at her droid. She approached, telling him about the nearby covert within the sector. He absorbed her words, committing them to memory and hoping that this lead was more promising.

“I just have one favor to ask,” Peli added. Din merely turned his head towards her to show he was listening. “There is someone who needs a ride off this planet.”

His hands returned to their place on his hips, “What’s that gonna cost me? I’m not a taxi service.”

“I know, I know,” she said, “But they’re willing to pay you to take them to the nearest civilized planet.”

He sighed softly, looking at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“No hyperdrive.”

His helmet snapped to look at her. “No, that’s a deal breaker. Hyperspace is the only thing keeping me safe. I can’t do it.” He gestured.

Peli sighed right back, putting her hands on her hips. “Look, the nearest habitable planet isn’t far away. Surely you can manage that? They won’t be difficult.”

“Why no light speed? What’s the reason for it?”

Peli turned and beckoned whoever this passenger was to come out from her office. Din didn’t know what he expected but it certainly wasn’t who came walking into the hangar.

A woman stepped out into the sand, looking cautiously at the two of them. She looked young, quite a bit younger than him. She was dressed in tan clothes, a floor-length skirt and a poncho that looked a few sizes too big, it hid the outline of her frame and made her look like she was drowning in the clothing. A thin sheet of cloth was draped on top of her head, falling over her shoulders like a veil, tied loosely under her chin, leaving her collarbone exposed and some of her hair visible.

Peli waved her over and the young woman slowly approached. Peli put her arm on the woman’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Her husband died eight months ago and she wants to get off Tatooine and start over somewhere new,” she explained.

“Why me? There are transports that can carry passengers,” he replied.

“She doesn’t trust them and she said you seemed safe,” Peli answered for the woman, who still hadn’t spoken a word.

Din’s silence left an unspoken question lingering in the air. What makes her think I’m safe? The woman seemed to sense this and began signing with her hands, using hand signals that Din could decipher.

I’ve read about Mandalorians before, and you have a child. You seem trustworthy.

“She says you seem trustworthy because you have a child with you,” Peli translated, “And she’s read about Mandalorians before.”

“Why can't she talk?” He asked.

“She hasn’t spoken since her husband was killed. I’ve known her for years, she used to talk all the time, she was really happy,” Peli said, a sympathetic expression coming to her face. The young woman looked at the ground, her face was emotionless and cold. She looked void of all happiness, empty and hollow, her lips set in a straight line that hadn’t curved into a smile in a long time.

“You never told me the reason for no hyperdrive,” he restated.

Peli and the woman made eye contact and the older woman nodded to her. The younger woman slowly lifted the bottom of her poncho to expose her swollen stomach. She was pregnant.

“Hyperspace could harm the baby, even kill it. She just wants to get off this planet, too many memories of her husband," Peli explained for the woman.

Din turned away, contemplating and weighing his options. The sound of credits jingling together made him turn to face them again. The young woman held a small, worn leather pouch out to him. He took it in his hands and opened it, revealing a large amount of credits.

"How much is this?"

The woman began to sign and Peli watched in order to translate, not knowing Din already knew what she was saying.

It's 5,000 credits. It's all I have.

"Five thousand credits," Peli said, "It's all that she has left."

He looked between her and the pouch of credits, closing it and tucking it into his belt. "Alright, let's go."

The young woman turned to Peli and gave her a quick hug before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

Din watched her as she disappeared within the metal hull of his ship.

"Hey."

Din turned back to Peli, who had begun gnawing on a piece of meat.

"Take care of her," the older mechanic said, "She's been through a lot. Don't get me wrong, she's tough, but that baby is the only good thing in her life right now."

He nodded, letting her know he had heard her words. He turned again to look at where she had entered his ship, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.

~~~~

He settled the Razor Crest into space and set a course to the nearest safe planet, a moon called Nexlar. Despite it being close it would still take several hours to get there, especially without the use of hyperspace.

His passenger had decided to wander down into the hull as soon as the ship was stable. He tried to stop her but it was of no use.

He climbed down the ladder and turned to face his bunk, pressing the control panel letting the door slide up.

"Kid?"

He turned around to look for the little green troublemaker, only to find him standing on a crate next to which their guest was sitting on the floor. Her back was to Mando as he watched her feed his miniature companion pieces of a juicy pink fruit. He took silent steps towards them and observed their interaction.

The child cooed and giggled happily with each morsel of food she fed him. He always ate so much, Din swore his stomach was a bottomless pit.

He watched the expressions on her face, however small they were. She didn't look as helpless or as sad. She almost looked happy and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch up when the child reached out for her.

She continued to feed him until she didn't have any more, holding her hands up to show the youngling that she was empty handed. The child made a sad whining sound, his ears drooping in disappointment and her eyebrows reacted with sadness at seeing him upset. She reached out and pressed a feather light touch to his little green cheek before picking him up and setting him down on the floor.

She must have seen Mando’s boots when she put the kid down, as she jumped back in surprise, a little gasp escaping her lips.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he said calmly. Even with him being slow and calm she still pushed herself away from him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” It took him a second to realize that she might think he doesn’t understand her. He didn’t exactly make it known that he knew her every word back at the hangar. So he took to her form of communication, signing with his hands as well.

Thank you for feeding him.

He could see the gears turning in her head through the expressions on her face. Starting on shock going to realization then to relief and maybe something akin to thankfulness.

You are welcome. I read that that specific fruit was healthy for children. She signed back.

“What’s your name?” he asked out loud. She signed individual letters until it spelled her name. “Y/N, is that right?” She nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up into a small smirk again.

“I’m going to hit the rack, why don’t you head up to the cockpit and try to get some sleep. That chair is much comfier than the floor.”

She began to get up but with most of her weight in the front she was having trouble. Din bent and reached out, grabbing onto her elbows and helping her to stand. She grunted with the effort of trying to stand while being pregnant. She held onto her stomach when she had made it to her feet, wincing in what was either pain or discomfort. Din made sure she could stand on her own before letting her go and watching to make sure she got up the ladder alright. He retrieved the child and set him down in his hammock before crawling beneath his hanging bed and laying down to get some rest himself.

~~~~

Din was woken up by the blaring alarm sounding from the cockpit. He rushed out of his bed and up the ladder, planting himself in his chair and flicking off the alarm. He turned to see the woman- Y/N - with a concerned look on her face, staring out the viewport. He followed her gaze to see the two X-wing fighters on either side of his ship. They were comming him.

He answered reluctantly, giving them the information they needed and hoping they would then leave him alone.

They didn't.

He was doing his best but wasn't good at lying under pressure. There was still some hope he could get out of this confrontation. That was until they asked about the prison.

Din forced the Crest into a dive towards the unknown planet they were currently above. He heard her gasp from behind him and brace herself against the walls. He was trying to lose them, he knew he couldn't outrun them.

"Hold on!" He said, veering towards an opening in the frozen cliffside.

He shot around the corner and disappeared into the cave, praying that the X-wings didn't see him. One of the engines hit against the side of the cave as it got narrower. He was going to have to put it down, there was no other option. The keel of the ship hit the ground and they slid, spinning until they were facing the opposite direction. Din was trying his best to get the thing under control but he was losing fast.

The Crest went over a rut in the ice and was launched several meters high before it crashed down to level ground again. Finally stopping when the stern collided hard with a solid wall of ice. They were all jolted forwards in their seats and their backs hit the chairs as it stopped.

Din rapidly hit switches and pressed buttons trying to discover the state of his ship, he got no reaction from his vessel but continued to try regardless. The woman groaned and he turned to look at her. She laid her head against the wall, her face contorted into an expression of pain. Both her arms were wrapped around her enlarged middle, her hands trembling.

The open comm crackled as the faint voices of the X-wing pilots faded out of range. Din tried more controls, failing to notice that his passenger had unbuckled herself and moved to try and check on his child.

The Crest lurched forward as the ice underneath it gave way. She stumbled and was thrown into the back of his chair, in turn making him jolt forwards. The entire ship began to move as the ice broke and soon it was falling through. Everything seemed to slow down as the Crest descended into a chasm. It hit the floor with astounding force and noise. It’s occupants were thrown around hard and the last thing Din remembered was the sound, before he was thrown forward and knocked unconscious.

~~~~

He came to, slowly moving his head a little, then his arm, then his whole body. Feeling returned to his limbs as he woke up. How long had he been out? It was freezing and frost had accumulated on his armor. He tried and failed on the controls, the Razor Crest wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

In his haste to figure out what had happened and attempts to find a solution he had forgotten about his passenger. A low groan reminded him that she was there. He turned around in the chair to see her body limp at the foot of the door. The tip of her nose and fingers were tinged a light blue and he noticed the draping had fallen off her head. Her clothes weren’t cut out for the cold, they were thin to combat the hot Tatooine temperatures, she would no doubt freeze to death if she didn't warm up soon.

He only had to take a couple steps to get to her, crouching down and shaking her gently. She opened her eyes and he grabbed under her arms, lifting her up. Even with his thick gloves he could feel how cold she was.

"You're freezing, we need to get you warm. Stay here, I'll find some blankets."

He set her down in a passenger seat and dropped down the ladder to inspect the damage. Luckily, the kid had stayed in his hammock, Din grabbed him and all the blankets he had and returned to the cockpit. She was shaking from the cold and had one hand pressed to her temple the other on her belly.

Din set the kid down in his chair and draped a blanket around the woman. She winced as she pulled her hand away from her head, blood covered her palm.

"You're injured.." he said. "I'll get a medkit, stay there." He dropped into the damaged hull once more, retrieving the medkit and crouching in front of her to check her wound.

"Let me see." He gently pushed her hand away to reveal a cut on her left temple, going into her hair. He inspected it, thankfully it wasn't deep and she appeared to not have suffered too much damage.

She pulled the thin shawl off where it fell on her shoulders and wiped her bloody hand on it. She held it out to him and motioned to her head. "Ok," he said, taking the cloth and carefully wiping away what blood he could. He cleaned her wound before applying a small bacta patch.

"That should do it," he said. He packed the medkit back up and tossed it behind him. She still looked to be in pain, now both her hands were on her stomach. "Is the baby ok?"

She moved her hands around, sighing in relief shortly after, then nodding.

Just kicking. She signed.

Before Din could do anything she took his hand and placed it on her belly. Through her layers and his gloves he could feel the small jolts from the life growing within her. There was something so intimate about it. He felt like it was something he shouldn't be witnessing, it was too personal and he was a stranger. She let go of his hand to sign.

Can you feel it? She asked with a smile.

"Yes," he answered, "that's amazing." Despite having let go of his hand, Din kept it in place, feeling as the rowdy little one settled down.

"I need to patch up the hull, I'll be right back," he bid.

I'll watch him for you. She signed, pointing to the child who was playing with a switch.

"Thank you."

Din set about fixing his ship as much as he could, it was in worse shape than he thought. What felt like a couple hours passed and he stopped to take a break and warm up inside. As he walked back around to the front he noticed footprints in the snow leading towards an opening in the cave wall. He looked inside the ship and saw that the kid was sleeping soundly in his bed, wrapped in blankets. She was the one who had left.

Din followed the footsteps into a path of ice tunnels, looking around cautiously. He touched the side of his helmet whenever he could no longer see her tracks. His HUD illuminating her imprints in thermal colors. He continued to follow for what felt like a long time, how far in here had she gone? He hoped nothing had happened to her.

That hope disappeared when he heard a yell come from further in. Din broke into a run, sprinting towards the noise. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

Y/N was sitting waist deep in a small pool of steaming water. She had stripped off her skirt and was only wearing her shirt which was off white and wet to above her stomach, nearly see through. She was in immense pain, her face contorted into agony. She leaned against the edge of the pool, her head resting on the cold snow. One hand gripping the edge so hard her knuckles turned white, the other on her stomach, which looked to be the source of her pain.

He rushed to her side and kneeled in the snow. "Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, looking her over frantically.

She didn't sign, just put her finger on her stomach then dragged it down and pointed out. It suddenly became obvious what was happening to her.

She was in labor.

Din tried not to panic but he was having a hard time. He had no idea how to handle this situation.

“Uh, what can I do?”

She signed quickly and her hands moved so fast and were so shaky that Din almost couldn’t understand her.

I can do this. I just need you to do one thing.

“What, what do you need me to do?”

Her response was clear.

Catch.

She shifted herself and Din helped her so her legs were pointed towards him. “Uh, um, ok. I think I can do that.” He hoped his voice didn’t come through the modulator as shaky and nervous as he felt like it sounded.

She continued to groan and shout in pain and Din wished he could do more. He hesitated to touch her but wanted to support the woman and give her strength, he gently placed a hand on her bent knee.

"C'mon, you can do this. Remember to breathe," he encouraged.

He also didn't want to look down. The water was murky but shallow and he had briefly glimpsed her lower nudity when she turned towards him. Knowing that he would have to reach down there and literally catch her child soon was making him sweat underneath his armor.

Catch, he was going to have to use his hands. He looked at his gloved hands, the gloves had been everywhere and were no doubt dirty and not safe for a newborn. He couldn't touch her with them. Din took a minute and shucked off his gloves, setting them beside him. He reached over to her pile of discarded clothes and grabbed the blanket she'd had around her, setting it between his legs to place the baby on right away.

He made sure to keep his own breathing steady as he looked down, seeing the head of the baby slowly coming through her opening. He took a deep breath and urged her on, watching in mild horror as the child came through more and more.

Din put his hands into the water and helped get the baby’s shoulder through, as she had instructed him. Part of him wished he hadn’t taken his gloves off as his hands were now coated in slimy liquids.

With a last strong push her baby came all the way out and into Din’s hands. He gasped on reflex, it was smaller than he thought it would be. He quickly raised the baby out of the water and wrapped it in the blanket. He pulled his vibroblade out of his boot, about to cut the cord. He looked to her for permission, getting a nod and a warm smile from the exhausted woman.

He broke through it, finally severing the connection between mother and child. She sat up all the way and reached out to him, Din put the babe in her arms and sat back in the snow, almost as exhausted as her.

He looked over at the woman, cradling her baby against her chest, a huge smile on her face. She looked at him, signing.

It’s a girl.

“Congratulations,” he replied.

Thank you, for everything.

“You’re welcome,” Din sighed. “What are you going to name her?”

The woman thought for a moment before looking at him with a smile.

Mandi, after you.

Din’s eyebrows raised under his helmet. “Me? Why me?”

You helped deliver her. It's the least I can do.

Din stared and she paused, both of them thinking.

I will get you more credits when I'm settled, I know this wasn't part of the deal.

He sighed again. "Don't worry about that right now, we need to get you two back to the Crest." She held her child out to Din and he carefully held the tiny girl in his arms the way she showed him. He turned his back to her so she could dry off and dress, meanwhile also becoming enamored with the baby in his arms. Her small pink face peeked through the warm confines of the blanket, eyes closed, peaceful. It all suddenly became real to him.

This was another man's child that he helped bring into the world. A tiny human that he physically saw come to life in his hands. He felt honored, this experience should have been for someone else, the man she loved. But he was gone and Din was, for now, his replacement in a life changing event. Din reached a bare hand up to touch her cheek. The newborn stirred but didn't open her eyes. He held her tighter, having a sudden urge to protect her and keep her warm and safe. She was only about 20 minutes old and already had Din wrapped around her tiny fingers. This must be the same thing that happened when he'd found his child. Almost like a kind of hypnosis, drawing him in, bringing out a side of him he hadn't known he had.

He heard a pained groan and snow crunching and swiftly turned around, finding the woman was fully clothed and had fallen. She was still recovering and her body was too weak to walk just yet, she had tried and fallen when her limbs gave out. He kneeled beside her and she held his gloves out to him. He thanked her and took the gloves, transferring the child back into her arms. He donned his gloves and tugged off his cape. Since using her blanket for the baby, Y/N was left without anything to keep her warm. Din wrapped his cape around her and picked her up like a bride, carrying her back to the Crest.

Thankfully, his own little one had stayed put the whole time but was now awake and rummaging about. Din set her down on his bed and got her more blankets. He wagered he could get some more repairs done and wandered outside again.

~~~~

The sun was going down and it was getting colder than it already was, Din stepped inside and sealed the ship as well as he could for the night. He walked to his bunk to check on his passengers. He found her laying on her side, fast asleep. Mandi laid in front of her, also asleep. He also found his own son, asleep, on the other side of Mandi. Y/N had an arm lightly wrapped around both children, each of them had ahold of one of her fingers. If it wasn't so cold, he might've melted at the sight. It was so pure, so domestic. Something he never thought he'd see in relation to him. The thought of them all belonging to him passed through his mind briefly. He knew that could never be a possibility, especially for him.

He grabbed some food for himself and made his way up to the cockpit, finally intent on eating something. As soon as he made it up there, he heard a baby crying from below. He quickly made his way back down to find Mandi crying and wiggling around in her mother’s arms. Y/N stirred in her sleep and Din carefully scooped the baby into his arms, not wanting her tired mother to wake up, she needed sleep. Din could watch the baby for a while, he could deal with his child, and he was much worse than Mandi. Din rocked the little girl in his arms until she stopped crying, which wasn’t long. He carefully climbed back into the cockpit and laid the baby in his son’s crib. He wasn’t using it right now. He rocked the floating bed and Mandi’s face softened into calm.

“There you go, all better,” he said softly. He took one hand out of his glove again and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin was smooth and warm against Din’s blaster calloused hands.

“You need some sleep, tiny one, so does your mother. So you’re stuck with me right now.”

Din continued to talk to the tiny girl until he was sure she was sleeping. He then removed his helmet and was finally able to eat. He was nearly finished when he turned to reach across the controls and bumped his helmet, causing it to fall and hit the floor with a loud clang. Mandi was immediately woken up and began crying. Din reacted fast and took the baby into his arms, rocking her again.

"Shh, shh it's ok. I'm here, you're safe."

Din allowed a smile to spread across his exposed face, able to see how precious she was without his helmet in the way. He simply couldn't resist the sight of this perfect little one in his arms. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Just as he pulled back, the little girl opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was shocked for a moment, this was the first time he'd seen her open her eyes and she was looking at him...without his helmet.

Din looked around to find it lying on the floor near his feet. He wondered if this was technically breaking the Creed since he knew the baby would never remember what he looked like. But nevertheless, he picked the Beskar barrier up off the floor and set it on his head. For once, he was hating having to put it back on.

~~~~

Din didn't remember falling asleep in his chair in the cockpit, not to mention with little Mandi cradled against his stomach, also asleep. He looked around, how much time had passed? He wasn't sure. He thought he heard a faint sizzling sound and his helmet enhanced his hearing. It sounded like someone was welding.

Din got up and set Mandi back into the crib without waking her up. He climbed quietly down into the hull and found the kid asleep in his hammock, but the woman was missing. The sizzling sound was louder and came in increments. Din exited the ship, following the noise to the other side of the ship. There he found the woman kneeling in the snow, tools in hand, repairing his ship. He was stunned, she had just given birth not even 24 hours ago and here she was fixing his ship, and doing a great job as well.

He cleared his throat to get her attention and she looked to him and smiled.

"What're you doing out here?"

Fixing the ship.

"I see that," he replied, "You should be inside where it's warmer."

But I can help, Peli taught me everything she knows. Let me help you.

Din sighed. If this woman was right and she could help fix the Crest then he wanted her help, but he also wanted her to stay safe. “Alright, I’ll start on the other side. If we work together we might get this done before nightfall.”

The woman nodded and got back to work, Din grabbed more tools and started on a different part of the ship. They worked, taking breaks when too cold, and made huge progress on the Crest’s repairs.

~~~~

“I think that’s all we can do with the tools we have,” Din surmised, “We need to get to a hangar and have someone finish the rest.”

The woman stood next to him, looking over their work with a proud look on her face. She had fashioned a sash out of a blanket that went across her torso, Mandi was nestled safe inside, held against her mother’s chest. Y/N also had his little womp rat balanced on her hip.

They had welded and wired everything as best as they could, and managed to patch the hole in the hull with spare durasteel panels.

Shall we get off this frozen rock now?

“That sounds good to me,” Din agreed.

They boarded the ship and Din took the kid while Y/N climbed into the cockpit. He went over the hull again before joining her, setting the kid in one of the passenger seats. He turned and saw her in his chair, flipping switches and pressing buttons. The engines roared to life and she checked out the viewport to make sure they were working correctly. He watched her as she got the ship ready for takeoff, another thing he didn’t know she could do. He was pleasantly surprised.

Over the last few days he had learned she was a great mechanic, took amazing care of both the kids, and now he learned she was also a pilot who knew her way around a ship. He put one arm on the headrest of his seat the other on his hip as he watched her expertly handle the machinery. She was just about to grab the steering handles when she stopped herself and looked up at him. She looked apologetic and began signing to him.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I haven’t flown a ship in so long I just got excited.

She bowed her head at him and got out of the chair, taking one behind him. He chuckled. “It’s ok, maybe as we get closer to Nexlar I’ll let you pilot.” He looked back in time to see her face light up with excitement. He smiled under his helmet and turned back to get the Crest in the air.

He was able to get out of the cave and back into the blackness of space with more ease than he expected. He breathed a sigh of relief when everything held and he was able to set their course for the destined planet.

She tapped him on the shoulder and signed that she was taking the kids down into the hull to try and get them to sleep. He thanked her and watched as she climbed down the ladder, handing the child to her once she was down.

It must have only been about half an hour before he heard someone calling him.

“Mando!”

The voice was broken and strained, whoever was talking was having a very hard time with it. He turned to face the doors.

“Mando!”

A little louder. It was a woman’s voice, she was talking, calling for him. She called him again, panic in her broken and unused voice.

Din jumped out of his chair and quickly climbed down into the hull. Y/N was standing at the foot of his bunk, staring down the length of the ship. He followed her gaze to see all the storage crates and lose equipment suspended in mid air, floating with nothing holding them.

He walked to his bunk only to see his child sound asleep in his hammock. If it wasn’t him then who…

He looked at Y/N to see her concerned and panic stricken face, they both looked down at the same time. Little Mandi was awake and smiling gleefully, waving her tiny limbs around, the suspended cargo moving with her small motions.

“What’s happening?” Y/N croaked out, scared and worried about her baby.

Din sighed as the information sunk in. Not another one.

[queeenpersephone]

An alternate universe from the “I Want to Believe” movie where, after Mulder shaves and they meet with Agent Whitney, instead of Scully being annoyed, she tells Mulder she just wants to get home to take advantage of his smooth face.

honestly where my mind immediately went... where your mind is anon... that’s the iwtb we deserved. so have the lead up to that. (also note: i haven’t rewatched iwtb, only the bed scene and select msr scenes, so i genuinely remember none of the dialogue just vague impressions) 

also sorry this is so introspective. it’s also 1am so i’m not even sure it’s introspective in a good way lmaO. 

-

The moment Agent Whitney reaches up towards Mulder’s face, Scully is onto her. 

Part of her can hardly blame the woman. Fox Mulder is a handsome man. A kind, brilliant, sexy man without ladder climbing ambitions is rare in the world Whitney inhabits; Scully would know. To suddenly be able to see a bit of sculpted jaw, that plump lower lip, would make even the most professional of woman swoon a little. 

The other part of her, the part of her who took Mulder’s heart and body for her own years ago, is itching for the gun she used to carry. Without it, she steps into Mulder’s space, ignoring the way he looks down at her in surprise and warmth. Maybe she should be slightly embarrassed that she’s seeking closeness for what is probably the wrong reason, but she’s not. 

Yes, Agent Whitney might be able to appreciate the clean shaven man who’s no longer hidden by a thick patch of hair. But Agent Whitney will never be able to appreciate what it means. 

Contrary to her soft protests in bed, Scully has never hated the beard. In fact, the beard complements the way he wears his hair now, longer and unkept, a sign of the years he’s spent hidden away in an office in a house where his name could never be on the deed. Mulder’s never been the cleanest, most organized individual by any means, but Scully has known since they met that he takes a certain pride in his appearance: his neatly pressed suits, his shapely calves built by years of running, his steady habit of shaving daily. 

Once they were on the run, however, all of that fell apart in a muddle of baggy, cheap clothes and dark circles and inexpensive hair dye. When they had settled, when Scully had gotten her job, she had pulled herself back together. But Mulder never had. There was nowhere to go, no one to see but her, and he had long stopped putting on airs for her. Would it have been nice to see him try sometime? Yes. Was she too busy basking in the fact they were alive and whole and together? Definitely.

She is somewhere between hurt and relieved that this foray back into the world that had burned them so thoroughly has catalyzed him into caring again. Because that’s what this is. It isn’t a meaningless shave, it’s a beaming message to the woman who has known him for over a decade now. This has brought him back to life. This has brought him back to life in a way she never could. 

She could embrace that fear that she’s not enough, the jealousy, even though Mulder had stepped away before Whitney could come anywhere near him. She could hit him where it hurts, she could beg him to leave this all behind and come home to her, with her. 

Or she could embrace the act, even if she’s resentful of the reasons. 

They watch Father Joe in silence for a long moment as Agent Whitney scurries off to see if he’s given them anything new. “I know what this is doing to you,” she says finally. 

He doesn’t look at her. “Do you?” He says evenly; in his tone, the words are barely a question. He knows her as well as she knows him, well enough to see her protests coming.

“I don’t want to regret bringing you out here,” she replies, watching his chest rise and fall. “This hasn’t been our job for a long time.” 

Finally, Mulder looks at her. “This is the right thing, Scully,” he says, emphatic, eyes shining, and all at once, Scully resigns herself to seeing this through. Sure, this is a psychic and a priest that molests children and dead FBI agents, but her current job is seeing her long-gone son in every sick child, so maybe it’s one half dozen or the other. Regardless, she can’t leave Mulder out here alone. She can’t leave him ever, not when that light is back in his eyes. 

Maybe it can chase away some of her darkness too. 

“Okay,” she says, not looking at him, but her clearly unexpected response is not one he will allow her to make facing away from him. He takes her arm, spins her in. 

“Okay?” He asks, shining eyes wide. 

“We’ll do this,” she tells him, reaching down for his hand with one of her own and reaching up to his face with the other. “But I won’t lose myself or you in it. So we do this together or not at all.” She softens. “Can you do that for me?”

Mulder sighs, leaning into her orbit. “Yes, Scully. I promise.” 

God, does she want to believe him.

She pushes the fear away and smirks instead, stopping him before he can make for Father Joe, who’s mumbling to himself a few yards away. “And Mulder?” 

He turns back to her, and she fits her tiny palm to his newly revealed skin, rubbing gently. He waits for her to speak. “We’re adding an activity back to our repertoire. Tonight. No excuses.”

He grins at her, slow and sure and god she has missed that bottom lip, she can feel its impact in her low abdomen, simmering with heat. “I knew you missed the best seat in the house,” he murmurs back to her, eyes hot and dark. 

“Mulder!” She chastises, even though she knows she started it, forcing back her blush as he fits his hand to her lower back and leads her over to their psychic witness. She refocuses. She promised to be present, to work this case, and she will, however much she fears what it might do to her. To him. To them.

Mulder’s hands find her back, her arm, her hands for the rest of the night. He treats her like a partner, a familiar dance that she’s missed more than she had thought. She exhales. 

Maybe they will survive this case intact. 

[writing-wh0re]

Pure Mindless Vandalism - Chapter Three.

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader (Big Slytherin Energy)

Word Count: 1,450k

Warnings For Series: Smut 18+, Violence, Hints Of Abuse (Parental + Umbridge), Both Female and Male Receiving Oral, Fluff, Angst, Mild Jealousy. 

Warnings For Chapter: Umbridge, Mentions of Abuse, Language, Angst (?), Harm to Reader (Umbridges Quill). 

Spells Used In Chapter: Episkey - Healing spell.

Key: y/n (your name) y/l/n (your last name) y/h (your house).

Message me if you’d like to be tagged in the series!

A/n: This is basically a filler chapter, starting to set it all up. 

“Everything okay?” George asks as Fred keeps me close to him. 

“I think we need to start planning how to get rid of Umbridge.” 

“Get rid of her? Freddie, I understand she’s a bitch but-” Fred cuts George off by showing him the back of my hand, the wound still fresh as George’s breath hitches his hand gently resting under mine as he looks it over. “Y/n.. I’m so sorry.” he whispers as I sniffle. “How did she do this?” 

“Umbridge has a quill and when it touches the parchment it sinks into your skin.” I pull up my robe showing George my forearm as he winces, looking at Fred who has mixed emotions written on his features, anger being the main takeaway. “Being under the curse, I couldn’t fight it and me being well, me, I back chatted and was lucky enough to score myself two more lines.” I chuckle slightly as George smiles weakly, Fred lost in thought. 

“Miss Y/L/N.” I turn away from the twins as McGonagall approaches me. “I need to speak with you.” 

“In regards too?” Fred asks, his hand protectively on my waist. 

“If it concerned you Mr Weasley, I would be talking to you.” 

Fred keeps his grip on my waist as McGonagall wanders her eyes down to his hand. 

“If Miss Y/L/N is okay with your presence then y-” 

“Yes.” I blurt out as McGonagall nods sternly. 

“Then follow me.” I grab a hold of Fred’s hand with my non cut one, holding it tight as we walk behind McGonagall to her office. 

I feel a sickness hit my stomach as her voice rings through my ears, “Mr Weasley, you have detention with me, now.” Umbridge says as Fred grips my hand tighter, ignoring her as we continue behind McGonagall. “I will not ask you again!” Umbridge booms as McGonagall stops, gesturing for us to stand behind her as she towers over Umbridge.

“Dolores, your detention can wait.”

“Minerva, if you knew what these two have been doing in the dark hours of the night, you too would have them in detention.” McGonagall looks back at the two of us, disappointment flashing in front of her eyes. 

“You can have them both, once I am finished Dolores.” 

McGonagall turns before allowing for Umbridge to speak any further, ushering us in front of her to continue on our way to her office. 

“You won’t mind if I join the three of you.” Umbridge says as McGonagall ignores her and opens her office door, allowing us through before blocking the entrance from the pink witch. 

“This is a private matter Dolores.” McGonagall slams the door closed, keeping her back to it as she looks between Fred and I, his hand back on my hip again holding me close to him. “I will cause no harm to her Mr Weasley, you don’t have to hold the poor girl so close.” Fred loosens his grip as McGonagall nods, thanking him without words. 

“Show me your hand Y/n and anywhere else that foul witch hurt you.” I raise an eyebrow as I take off my robe, showing her my skin as she covers her mouth in slight shock. 

“Oh my dear.” McGonagall tilts my hand and arm left to right, taking in the cut skin. “Did Dolores do this to you?” I softly nod as she looks over at Fred. “I now understand your reasoning to protect her.” 

“How did you know?” 

“Dolores did this to a young witch in her first year, I followed the poor girl into the bathroom where Myrtle told me about you.” 

“Myrtle.” Fred chuckles shaking his head. 

“I advise that you don’t attend her detention, Mr Weasley.” McGonagall states as she holds my hand, placing the tip of her wand against my skin. 

“Episkey.” McGonagall whispers as I wince in pain, the visible cuts starting to close as Fred holds under my elbow as he places a kiss to my head in an attempt to soothe the pain. “Madam Pomfrey did this spell for the poor first year, I don’t want the poor woman to worry about more students.” McGonagall reasons as I nod, my eyes stinging from the fresh tears that had started to build. 

“Umbridge used a curse against Y/n, I couldn’t, there wasn’t anything I could do.” Slipping my hand into Fred’s squeezing softly, helping him know it’s not his fault. 

“What curse?” The expression of anger and shock wash over McGonagall’s face at the unknown knowledge. 

“Imperius Curse.” 

“That’s forbidden.” McGonagall whispers. 

“A foul bitch like her doesn’t care, she praises death eaters that’s why she loves my father so much.” McGonagall’s features soften at the mention of my father as Fred’s body tenses, his hatred for my father showing in his body language. 

“Unfortunately, that explains her actions towards you.”

“Umbridge is working for her father?” 

“I don’t believe so, although Mr Y/L/N is powerful being locked in Azkaban means he doesn’t know what Dolores is doing. She is merely taking it upon herself to discipline Y/N, especially because Dolores doesn’t agree with your relationship.” 

“You take the abusive father away and his crush takes over, fucking fantastic.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as Fred’s jaw clenches at the mention of my past. 

“With Dumbledore’s absence, I’m afraid Dolores is spotting our weak points and is working towards becoming.” McGonagall sighs, shaking her head. “Attempting to become headmistress, I advise you stay vigilant, I’m not sure how I will be able to help you if this occurs.” 

Banging is heard on the door as Umbridge clears her throat. 

“I will be needing those students.” The sickening feeling floods my body at the sound of her voice, my hatred for her bumbling knowing she wants to appease my father. 

“Apparate to your dorms.” McGonagall instructs as we both look at her, shocked. 

“You both know the spell, get out of here.” Fred grabs my forearm as we apparate to his dorm room, both of us stumbling as my head spins. 

“I hate that method of travel.” I whine, holding my head. 

“Are you trying to get yourselves in more shit?” Lee’s voice rings through my ears as I shake my head. 

“Professor McGonagall told us too.” 

“Y/n, your hand is healed?” George questions noticing my healed skin. 

“Professor McGonagall’s handy work.” 

“Umbridge burst in here before, looking for you.” 

“For me?” Fred questions as both boys nod. 

“So why did McGonagall need to see you?” 

I sit down on Fred’s bed, him close beside me as I explain to the pair what they missed in McGongall’s office. 

“Your father is a death eater?” 

“Sent to Azkaban for the murder of four muggle born wizards and the years of abuse dealt to me after my mothers death in the first wizarding war.” 

The room falls silent as I look at the three men, Fred lost in thought, his jaw clenched, George with anger and sadness filling his face as Lee appears sympathetic. 

“Oh and Umbridge has a crush on my dad so she’s like really into giving me shit.” I run a hand through my hair as George nods. 

“Bet that only fuels Freddies fire.” Fred hums in agreement as George smirks. 

“I’ve been thinking and I have an idea on what we can do to fight back.” 

Before George can explain his plan, there is shouting heard in the common room, all of us standing and making our way down as teenagers run out. 

“New rules?” 

“Ridiculous!” 

“Who does she think she is?” 

We follow the crowd into the halls of hogwarts, the sound of metal on metal as we spot Filch high on his ladder, littering the walls with announcements. 

“All Weasley products will be banned Immediately.” Her wicked voice carries through the halls as we all watch Filch hammer each ‘rule’ that’s announced into the stone wall. 

“She knows how to hurt us.”  George snickers to Fred as he tuts in agreement. 

“Boy’s and girls are not permitted to be within six feet of each other.” 

“Goodluck with that.” 

“What the hell.” 

“What about classes.” 

The comments of other students start to float around as Filch’s ladder wobbles side to side. Everyone watches tentatively as he continues to swing his hammer. 

“Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.” 

“She’s cutting off our contact with McGonagall.” 

Filch seases hammering as he climbs down from the ladder, looking at all of us with a slimy smirk. 

“C’mon, I want to tell you my plan.” George states as he tugs on Fred’s jumper, Fred gabbing me to follow behind them.

To Be Continued.....

--

Taglist: 

@andreaareynoso

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@crazylokonugget

@meph1stophelian

@bellaiscool

@28cnn 

@lucymfer 

@rory-cakes 

@mbmsworld 

@it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream

[kozozaki]

The Blame - Ranboo x Reader Chapter 3

Y/n ended up falling asleep at Tommy's house from a combination of stress and just plain tiredness. She yawned quietly and started climbing the ladder, walking towards L'manburg. She got to the top of the staircase before stopping abruptly. 

"What the hell?!" She ran towards the now walled-in country, running her hand against the rocky obsidian. She could hear the angry and confused voices of Tubbo and Big Q on the other side. "Guys?" Y/n yelled to get their attention.

"Y/n?" Tubbo said from behind the wall

“Tubbo, what is this wall? Why is this here?”

“That’s exactly what I want to know!”

Y/n dug a small hole in the wall. “I haven’t seen you in a while so I came to L’manburg, but this isn’t what I was expecting…” she looked through the window of the camarvan to see Quackity yelling at Tommy. Her eyes narrowed, she knew why the walls were there, and she knew who put the walls up too.

“Y/n, let’s get inside the van, Fundy will be here soon,” Tubbo said. She nodded but didn’t go into the van yet.

“Y/n, do you know what happened to my house?” George was there. She froze.

“Something happened to your house?” She played dumb.

“Yeah, it was burnt and robbed. Dream said it was Tommy.” Of course Dream said it was Tommy. He wasn’t wrong per-se, but Dream was always out to get Tommy in one way or another, and it pissed Y/n off.

“Is that why there are walls around L’manburg?” George nodded. She looked at the town center, more specifically Ranboo. He didn't have his sunglasses on. His eyes were heterochromatic, one green, and one red. They looked really pretty. 

Ranboo gave Y/n a worried look, basically asking if she was okay. She nodded and waved. He waved back, still looking concerned. Tommy, Quackity, Tubbo, and Fundy exited the camarvan. “Let’s go speak to Dream,” Tubbo suggested. No one answered, but everyone followed.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” Tommy asked.

“Tommy, I can’t go one day without waking up and being pissed at my brother,” she admitted. They were far enough behind the others now that they wouldn’t hear, “Tommy, they have no idea Ranboo and I were involved, they’ve tunnel-visioned on you. I would take the blame from you, but they wouldn’t care, they would just punish us both. If Ranboo gets blamed, I’m gonna take the heat for him.”

“But Y/n-”

“No, Tommy, I’m gonna take the criticism for him, and that’s final, no objections. His life is probably worth 3 times as much as mine, so it’ll be more beneficial.”

“I won’t argue with you, but I will argue that your life is equal to or higher than everyone’s, at least agree to that,” Tommy hated when she put herself down like that.

“I would be lying if I said I agree with you,” she said in a monotone voice.

“Tch. Look, it’s the green bastard.”

“Dream. Why did you build these walls around L’manburg?” Tubbo asked. Ghostbur was saying the other day how everyone seemed to prefer him dead than alive, but if Y/n were being honest, even in Wilbur’s slightly psychotic state, she would have preferred him as the president.

“Just as an incentive,” Dream looked at Y/n. She longed to rip that patronizing smile off his face. He knew she helped, but he was waiting to see if she would throw herself under the bus to save Ranboo. He knew her more than she knew herself, “If Tommy doesn’t get punished for griefing George’s house soon, the walls will expand.”

Tubbo thought it over for a moment, “Let’s go to the courthouse.”

Once the group arrived, Tommy was put in a holding cell. Quackity was speaking to him. Y/n was sat next to Ranboo, they were both on edge. “Tommy, I’m on your side, but I have to be unbiased as possible. George, if you would like to explain what happened.”

“I’m just walking around the SMP and was told by someone who asked to remain anonymous that my home was burnt down, and I thought they were joking. So I asked them who did it, and the names I was given were Tommy, but there were two more. Y/n and Ranboo.” A series of gasps rang throughout the other members in the courthouse. Y/n immediately looked to the ground. She couldn’t defend Ranboo if they were both being sussed.

“Ranboo, Y/n, I’m gonna have to ask you to step into this cell here,” Tubbo ushered the two into the compact cell.

Y/n looked down at the lava. She whispered, “Anonymous my ass, it’s obviously Dream.”

“It probably is, but they aren’t completely sure we did it. As much as I hate saying it, they already know Tommy did it, nothing is gonna change their minds. We have to stay as innocent-looking as we can,” he definitely wasn’t lying, the two needed to stay as indifferent as they could.

“Tubbo please, listen to me, I have 4 witnesses, Captain Puffy, Nihachu, Ranboo, and Y/n, I was with them last night. Isn’t that right, Niki?” This idiot, it doesn’t help when two of his witnesses are prime suspects.

“I didn’t see Y/n,” Niki says. She was right, Y/n wasn’t there, but for reasons unrelated to the robbing.

“I, I felt really nauseous, so I was at Tommy’s house while Ranboo and him were helping you guys.”

“Right, Ranboo, shed some light on the situation please.” Tubbo’s monotone voice was intimidating Y/n a bit, he had always been the more cheery person in every group.

“Okay, umm, just be aware that I do have extremely bad short term memory loss.” Several people started talking at once but Y/n could only make out what Tubbo was saying.

“Okay, right, Tommy, the fact that he is struggling to remember is making your situation worse.” Fundy looked at Tubbo for approval to flick a lever, Y/n and Ranboo watched in horror as he pulled it down. “Tommy you have two strikes left, I need to hear your side and I need you to not yell.”

“It was the perfect crime.”

“Tommy!” Y/n yelled, surging forward slightly. Ranboo placed a hand on her shoulder, and she instantly relaxed, walking to the corner of the box-shaped room, sliding down the wall and resting her arms on her knees while Ranboo sat down carefully next to her. She was shocked, she didn’t think he would admit to it.

Fundy started recording everything Tommy said after that. “But hear me out Tubbo, he’s being biased against me, and Dream retaliating by building huge obsidian walls is absurd.”

“Tommy I have been advised to banish you,” Fundy flicked yet another lever, “But that is a very extreme measure and I hope it doesn’t have to come to that. So you’ll be put on probation. George, Tommy will be stripped of his power, and everything he does he will have to report directly to Fundy. Tommy as of now you are on probation, for the next two weeks.”

“Tubbo, this is insane!”

“It may be insane but I’m hoping this is conclusion is satisfying enough to get the walls tore down.”

“Well why are the walls even there in the first place? He can’t just build walls because I, me and- by myself I did a little prank,” Y/n looked up, her eyes strained. She turned to Ranboo relieved, Tommy didn’t slip up, he nearly did though. Ranboo must’ve put his sunglasses back on while she wasn’t looking.

“George is the king of the SMP, Tommy, this is considered treason,” Tubbo looked at Fundy and he nodded. Fundy put his hand on the last lever and pulled.

“Tommy!” Y/n yelled again, this time from anxiety. She knew very well what was under that glass, and so did Fundy, “Fundy why would you do that?!”

“Just felt like it.” he said in a snarky tone.

“How is he alive?” George asked. All Y/n saw was Quackity fall into the pit with Tommy and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Y/n don’t fucking laugh at me!”

“I’m sorry, Big Q, from where I am right now, it was hilarious,” she looked over to see Ranboo laughing, his laugh sounded really nice. 

Quackity exited the box and Tommy followed, leaving the courthouse yelling, “Fuck you!”

“Mr. President, what are we do with Ranboo and Y/n?” Karl said.

Tommy came back immediately to say “No, no, listen, listen Tubbo, they weren’t there it was just me.”

“Those two weren’t there?”

“It was just me.”

Y/n and Ranboo were let out of the cell. Y/n let out a sign of gratitude, people were mistaken when they said Tommy was egotistical.

While walking back to L’manburg Tommy and Tubbo were arguing, and it broke Y/n’s heart, they were the best of friends before Tubbo became president. Maybe Techno was right, the government does corrupt. A cabient meeting was called in the middle of the walk to L’manburg. Tubbo called her over and she separated from Ranboo and Niki and joined Tommy, Tubbo, Quackity, and Fundy.

Y/n spaced out, staring at the ground until Dream showed up. “Tubbo. Probation isn’t enough.”

“Dream I know you suggested exile but-”

“That’s not enough! Tommy is Tommy, he’s never gonna stop, his goal is to piss me off, and if you want that, as somebody in your nation, even if he doesn’t have power, there aren’t that many members of L’manberg. And it’s fine, you guys wanna think about it, it’s fine. We can arrange a meeting to talk about what to do with him. Set a time, set a day, I’ll come.”

“Okay, how about the second, the second of December?”

Everyone agrees but Y/n stays silent. “Y/n?” Quackity asks.

“I’m sorry, being around my Dream is screwing with my head, I need to go.” Dream grabbed her wrist.

“Y/n, please.”

“No! I’m not gonna stay around to just to hear you manipulate Tubbo into doing what you want and me not being able to do anything, as per usual!”

She walked back to where Ranboo was, he immediately put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He glared at Dream, glad he was wearing glasses. “What happened Y/n?”

“My brother is extremely manipulative, just being around him confuses me. I can never tell if he agrees with me or is on my side or not. TLDR; Dream’s a piece of shit.”

Ranboo hummed in agreement. “You should probably go home, it’s getting dark, and you shouldn’t be around all this government stuff, you’ll get too stressed. Would you mind if I visited you tomorrow?”

“I’d like some company. It’s pretty lonely out there, Tubbo doesn’t come around often, he’ll probably show up even less with all this political bullshit.” He was slightly startled by the girls aggressiveness, but it was justified, and wasn’t directed towards him.

He walked her to the nether portal where they said their goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow, loser,” she joked. Ranboo gasped dramatically, “Yeah, you heard right, loser.”

“You’re mean.”

“No no no, I’m sorry Ranboo it was joke!” She engulfed him in a hug. He was surprised, they had become kind of close but he was scared to assume she was comfortable with hugs. But when she did it, he was relieved.

“Bye, shorty,” He patted her on the head. She gave him the middle finger and stepped into the nether.

“Later, giraffe.”

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

Lmao I’m sorry for anyone who is over 5’5 I’m just salty I’m only 5’2

[the-chocoholic-writer]

Madripoor

Zemo and Sarah’s time in Madripoor

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EP3, violence, flirting, ect.

Words: 3527

“He’s just through that corridor.” The security guard points to a door down the large hallway. Sarah stand between Sam and Bucky as the guard stops walking.

“Alright. Give us a sec.” Bucky turns to the two as the guard walks off. “I’m gonna go in alone.” Sam and Sarah look at Bucky like he has lost the plot.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re Avengers. You know how he feels about that.”

“Buck it’s not like you two were known for frolickin’ in the sun together.” Sam gestures to where Zemo is.

“This is dangerous Bucky... HE is dangerous.” Sarah states, looking at Bucky, concerned.

“He was obsessed with Hydra... We have a history together. Trust me...” He looks at them. “I got it.” He walks off before they can say anything.

“I hope he’s alright in there...” Sarah says to Sam, after Bucky leaves the pair alone.

“He will be... He’s Bucky.” Sam places his hand on Sarah’s shoulder and gives her a soft smile.

~Later~

“What are you talking about? You wanna break Zemo outta jail? Where the hell are we, Buck? Have you lost your mind?” Sam shines a torch around the large empty room.

“We have no leads, no moves, nothing.”

“What we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars.”

“And we also have eight Super Soldiers that are loose.” Sam covers his eyes as Bucky shines the light at his face.

“Sarah how do you feel about this?” Sam turn to Sarah. Sarah quickly turns to Sam.

“I don’t think it’s safe to break Zemo out... remember what happened last time we dealt with him?” The pair look at Bucky.

“Exactly. Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours. No offence.” Bucky flips a switch and these large lights begin turning on. The three switch their flashlights off.

“Offense.” Bucky glares at Sam. “Super Soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy, but he still has a code.” Bucky walks away from Sam and Sarah.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of that code, Buck, and so have you and Sarah. He blew up the UN, he killed King T’Chaka and framed you for it. Did you forget that? You think the Wakandans forgot about it? It’s a rhetorical question. They didn’t. I know why this matters to you, but c’mon it’s pushing you off the deep end.” Sam takes a step forward as Bucky opens his arms.

“Sam, we don’t know how they’re gettin’ the serum. We don’t even know how many of them there are.” He sighs softly.

“This is a little too crazy Bucky... we will figure it out okay? We don’t need Zemo.” Sarah steps forward and gives him a soft smile and she rests her hand on his arm.

“Look, let me run you through a hypothetical. Can I run you through a hypothetical?”

“Bucky...” Sarah’s smile turns into a frown, as Sam turns to look at him.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t... do anything...” Bucky loos to the left, refusing to make eye contact.

“The weakest point in the system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element. Now, in this lockup, it’s nine to one, prisoners to guards, and if two prisoners start fighting then the protocol says four guards have to respond.”

“So why would two prisoners start randomly fighting at that moment?”

“Who knows? There could be many reasons...”

“What I’m hearing is that you started it.” Sarah crosses her arms.

“The point is, these things escalate.  Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated, and with all those bodies flying around left and right, it wouldn’t be hard to slip down a hallway or two.” Sarah shakes her head and facepalms, exasperated. Bucky starts up again. “And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated... someone could use the chair to their advantage.” Bucky does a small shrug.

“I don’t like how causal you’re being about this. This is unnatural. Are you... And where are we, man?” Suddenly, a door loudly opens.

“Bucky, you didn’t...” Sarah gasps at him.

The three look over at a plastic curtain, seeing the silhouette of a man grow smaller the closer he gets, until HE emerges.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa. hey! What are you doin’ here?”

“No, listen. I didn’t tell you ‘cause I knew neither of you would let this happen.” Bucky looks at Sarah, who is staring at Zemo, eyes wide, knowing memories of what he had done were running through her mind.

“What did you do?!” Sam gets in Bucky’s face.

“We need him, Sam... Sarah.”

“No, Bucky, this is crazy. Even for you!” Sarah growls, a glare plastered to her face.

“You’re going back to prison!” Sam points at Zemo.

“If I may...” The man in question begins.

“NO!” The three yell at him. He looks a little startled by the sudden synchronisation but nods softly and whispers out a small “Apologies.” Bucky turns to Sarah and Sam.

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you both backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your necks out for me. I’m asking you both to do it again.”

“I really think I’m invaluable...” Zemo once again interrupts. Sarah groans softly as Sam turns to him, with a glare.

“Shut up.” Zemo squints at him. Sam looks at Bucky and sighs, shaking his head.

“Okay. If we do this, you don’t make a move without our permission.”

Zemo makes a face for a second and nods.

“Fair.”

“I don’t like this...” Sarah looks at Bucky and Sam. The pair shrug and turn back to Zemo.

“Okay, Zemo. Where do we start?” The three look at him as he smiles.

“So our first move is grand theft auto?” Sam looks at the large number of cars.

“These are mine. Collected by family over the generations. I spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the serum.” Sarah, Sam and Bucky look around at all of his cars. “Because once it’s out there, someone can crate an army of people... Like the Avengers.” Zemo looks at Sam, his eyes flickering over to Sarah who stands beside Sam. “I ended the Winter Soldier program once before. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished.” He grabs a large coat from the top of his car. “To do this we’ll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes.” He begins walking away from the trio and the car.

“Well, join the party. We’ve already started.”

“First still is a woman named Selby. Mid-level fence I still have a line on. From there, we climb.” Sarah looks at Sam and begins to follow Zemo, Bucky and Sam right behind her.

The four walk towards the door of a private jet where an older man stands, waiting.

“So all this time you’ve been rich?”the look of confusion on Sam’s face made Sarah giggle softly, to herself.

“I’m a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country.” Sarah watches as Zemo and the older man talk in Russian, happiness and comfort evident on the Baron’s face. “Please.” Zemo gestures and leads the three up the stairs of the jet.

Once the four are in the jet, Sarah sitting across from Zemo. The older man explains the fridge is out.

“If it doesn’t pass the smell test... give it to them. But not the beautiful woman.” Zemo smiles as the older man laughs and leaves. Sarah zoned out of the conversation for some time, translating Zemo’s words and tries to figure out if he had actually meant to say beautiful or not. She is only snapped back to reality when she sees Bucky with his hand around Zemo’s throat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What’d you think?” Sam looks at Bucky expectantly.

“I like ‘40s music, so...” Bucky shrugs.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I liked it..”

“Trouble Man is amazing.” Sarah states.

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-America experience.” Sam and Sarah look at Zemo confused for a second before they turn back to Bucky.

“He does have a point.” Sarah agrees with the Baron.

“He’s out of line, but he’s right. It’s great. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I liked Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.” Sarah shakes her head softly, takes out her phone and headphones out and puts on some ‘calming’ music by Pan!c at the Disco, trying to delve into her own little world as she looks out the window of the jet.

~~In Madripoor~~

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.” Sam complains.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake names Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.” Zemo shows Sam a picture of the man he is impersonating on his phone as the four continue walking.

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“Well you aren’t the only one who hates this plan, Sam...” Sarah walks in between Bucky and the Baron, in a small black dress and black heels that Zemo had bought for her to wear. “Do I really have to wear this? And who the fuck am I supposed to be?” She looks at Zemo, an annoyed glare pointed at him.

“Yes, darling. And you are my fiancée, it would be too suspicious for a new face to show up without a specific reason. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error.” Zemo states as a black car pulls up in front of them. He reached forward and opens the door for Sarah, who nods at him as she climbs into the middle seat, between Sam and Bucky. During the car ride, Zemo’s eyes flicker up to the mirror, watching Sarah. She notices his staring and she looks down, a soft blush covering her face. Suddenly, a group of motorbikes come out of nowhere, surrounding the car.

The car pulls up and Sam, Bucky and Zemo climb out of the car. Sarah turns to climb out after Bucky but an outstretched hand stops her. Specifically Zemo’s hand, waiting for her to take it. She reaches out and places her small hand in his and he helps her out of the car, wrapping his arm around her waist. Sarah tenses and he leans down, lips millimeters away from her ear.

“You’re my girl here, that’s your character.” He whispers huskily. The hand on her waist gives her a soft squeeze. She takes a small breath and leans against him, as the four of them walk along the walk above the large crowd of people.

As the four of them walk into the Princess Bar, Zemo’s grip on her tightens, pressing her close to him. The fur on his coat tickles her cheek and neck. “Here we are... Ready to comply, Winter Soldier?” Zemo asks as he leads Sarah, Sam and Bucky to the bar, still holding the woman’s waist. As the four make it to the bar, the bartender walks over, surprise written all over his face.

“Hello Miss, Gentlemen. Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” The bartender looks at Zemo with suspicion, then looks at the Sam.

“The usual?” Sam nods.

“Ah... Smiling Tiger, your favourite.” Zemo says, watching the bartender cut open a snake, using it to make the Smiling Tigers usual drink.

“I love these..” Sam says with slight hesitation. Zemo lifts his drink.

“Cheers Conrad.” Zemo drinks his own as Sarah sips on her drink, watching the two. Sam hesitates, then takes the drink like a shot, giving the bartender a thumbs up.

A man walks up behind Zemo and as he turns, moves Sarah out of the way of any possible harm.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me...” Zemo gestures to Bucky.

“New haircut?” The man questions Bucky.

“Or bring Selby for a chat.” Zemo watches the man. He looks at Zemo, then at Bucky, then Sam and lastly towards Sarah who is peeking out from behind Zemo’s protective stance.

“A Power Broker? Really?” Bucky looks at Zemo, obviously done with this situation.

“Every kingdom needs its king.” Zemo slides his arm back around Sarah, softly and sneakily massaging the small area on her waist. “Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” Sam questions.

“Only by reputation.”

“That doesn’t sound to good.” Sarah mumbles, taking another sip of her drink.

“It’s not. In Madripoor, he is judge, jury and executioner.” Zemo looks around the room and then turns back to the bar. “Winter Soldier. Attack.” The moment the man roughly placed his hand on Zemo, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, grabbing his wrist and twisting, pushing the man to the middle of the floor.

Sam, Sarah and Zemo watch as Bucky kicks ass left and right, causing not only damage to the people but to the furniture around him. Zemo leans close to Sarah and Sam.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo states. Bucky slams a man down onto the bar, then the sound of guns cocking. Sam and Zemo look around the bar at everyone and Zemo grabs Sarah, pulling her close, trying to protect her. Sam places a hand on Bucky’s arm.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.” Zemo whispers to Sam, then he turns to Bucky. “Well done, Soldier.” The bartender watches as Bucky doesn’t let go of the man.

“Selby will see you now.” Bucky let’s go of the man, slowly.

“Thank you.” Zemo nods and gives Sarah’s waist a squeeze. Sam turns to Bucky.

“You good?” He says softly. Bucky looks at Sam quickly before following Zemo and Sarah. Sam following shortly after.

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” The woman, Selby, state as the four enter the room.

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo sits down, Sarah sitting down on his lap.

“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Sarah decides at that moment to play the character she was given and rests her head on Zemo’s shoulder, playing with the ends of his hair, sneakily paying attention to the entire conversation. Sarah then slides off the Baron’s lap, he gestures for her to sit back where he was sitting and he walks over to Bucky.

“And I give you him.” He walks around, behind Bucky, who looks like a statue. “Along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.” Zemo runs his fingers over Bucky’s chin, softly grabbing and wiggling the end.

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. However, I want something else to go along with him.” She smirks at the two men, slowly turning to look at Sarah, who is still sitting on the chair opposite her. “I want that pretty little thing as well.” Zemo walks away from the soldier and Sarah scoots out of the chair for him to sit, taking her original place in his lap.

“Not this one, she’s mine.” His hand cups Sarah’s butt and squeezes, as a way of staking his claim in front of Selby. Sarah, deciding she didn’t like the way the woman talked about her as though she’s an object, steps in.

“I belong to my Baron.” She runs her fingers through the back of his hair. Selby looks disappointed by gives Zemo the information about the Super Soldier Serum and a man called Dr. Wilfred Nagel.

“You can’t find Nagel without me.” Sam’s phone vibrates suddenly.

“Sam? Who’s Sam? Kill them!” Suddenly Selby is on the floor dead with a bullet wound and then chaos ensues. Bucky and Sam take out two of her bodyguards as Sarah pulls a knife out from under her dress and stabs another in between the eyes. She lets the body fall and hit the ground, turns to look at the three men who came with her, staring at her in shock.

“Did you three REALLY think I was coming HERE, defenceless??” Sarah rolls her eyes. The four move towards the exit.

“They’re gonna pin this on us.” Sam states, leaning against the door. Zemo sighs, as Sarah sheaths her knife, the three men’s eyes lingering on her exposed thigh.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.”

Bucky, Sam, Sarah and Zemo quickly leave the area, the sound of phones receiving messages going off all around them. Zemo’s arm is once again around Sarah’s waist.

“This is not good...” suddenly the light above them go out and multiple gun shots are heard. The four duck and Zemo turns and drags Sarah off down an alley, leaving Bucky and Sam.

“Zemo wait! I can’t run in the-“

Sarah trips, her eyes closed as she waits for the rough impact but instead feels the soft fur from Zemo’s coat. He caught me... the two stare at each other for a moment before Zemo picks Sarah up and continues running down the alleyway.

Finally they got to the end of the alley and turn the corner to see Sam and Bucky standing there, as a body falls.

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” He points out.

“Well this is too perfect.” The last person the four expected to see was Sharon Carter to walk out of the shadow. “Let go of Sarah and drop it, Zemo.” Zemo puts the gun down and lets of Sarah reluctantly.

“Sharon?” Bucky takes a step forward.

~~~~ skip forward to the party at Sharon’s~~~~

Sarah stands off to the side of the crowd still wearing the dress Zemo bought her. Bucky and Sam are talking as she looks around at the dancing crowd only to see Zemo...

Sarah let’s put a tiny laugh, shaking her head at the sight. When she looks back up at him, he is gesturing for her to come dance with him. Sarah thinks for a second before a goofy smile appears and she pushes off the bar and joins Zemo in the crowd.

“Those are so great moves!” She calls out to him over the crowd, he grabs her hands and continues dancing.

“Then dance with me!” He calls back, a large goofy smile on his face. The pair end up dancing and looking at some of the artwork together until they meet up with Sam and Bucky, waiting for Sharon.

“Hey, guys. I found him.” Sharon motions for the four to follow her. Sam turns to Bucky.

“Here we go.”

“Alright, he’s in there. Container four-two-six-one. Sarah and I will keep an eye out while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” Sharon holds out her palm with five ear pieces for everyone. Sarah, Sam, Bucky and Zemo take theirs and Sharon leads Sarah away from the group, noticing how Zemo watches as the two disappear.

Minutes later, Sharon turns to Sarah.

“So, Zemo seems to have taken a liking to you?” She smirks.

“No he doesn’t.” Sarah shakes her head as she looks around, guarding the shipping container. “It was Allan act. I had to pretend to be his fiancée to get into the club.”

“It’s pretty obvious it wasn’t an act, when I showed up pointing that gun at him, he was being protective.” Sarah rolls her eyes as Sharon nudges her.

The pair are oblivious to the fact that their earpieces were still on and Zemo, Sam and Bucky could hear everything. Sam and Bucky turn slowly to glare at Zemo and if looks could kill, he would have been dead already. However he isn’t paying attention to the two, instead distracted by the voices in his ear and the burnin blush covering his cheeks.

~~~ After the explosion and Zemo’s scene of him kicking ass ~~~

Zemo pulls up in front of the group and shrugs.

“Supercharged.”

Bucky climbs in the passenger seat and Sam climbs in behind him, Sarah walking around the front of the car. Before she opens the passenger door behind Zemo, he opens his door.

“Come here for a second.” Sarah looks at him inquisitively but complies, standing in front of him. Zemo reaches up, grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap, passionately kissing her for a minute, Sam complaining in the back. He pulls away and smirks, giving her a small wink. She blushes and he pats her ass, for her to climb into her seat. She does so in a daze and once she is buckled in, Zemo takes off.

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

The Voyage So Far: Alabasta (Part One)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

(this is a repost, i deleted the first version of it by accident cause im Idiot)

the entry into the grand line is such a great sequence. it feels like such an ending- a triumph after they’ve spent pretty much all of east blue struggling to make it here, and at the same time the beginning of a new adventure, the biggest yet, one that has yet to end a solid two decades later. they all look so happy to have made it here- it makes me smile.

whiskey peak is one of my very favorite short arcs, and i think of the whole first half of the baroque works saga its the one that hits and maintains a tone best (almost certainly because its so short, admittedly, but still). i love the repeated shots of the moon, the reveal that the cactuses are actually covered in graves, the way everything seems far too good to be true at the start and the sense of suspense that creates.

zoro’s extended fight scene in whiskey peak is so great- it’s so creative and so dynamic and the odds are stacked so high against him and yet he’s clearly having so much fun. i do miss this sort of scrappy, improvised fight, cause its largely absent from later one piece but its SO much fun to read- zoro cutting holes in rooftops for people to fall through or shoving ladders to the ground as bounty hunters try to climb them.

i’m a huge fan of fight scenes that use the environment to their fullest, and this is such a perfect example of it. it makes the fight feel a lot more real and exciting, in my opinion.

i’ve never liked zoro and luffy fighting at whiskey peak, its always struck me as frustrating and contrived and kind of out of character for both of them, but i will say that i do like how on the same page they are even when they’re trying to kill each other.

the entire first half of the baroque works saga basically serves to introduce and endear us to vivi so we’ll be invested in the alabasta conflict, and that starts here in whiskey peak, when we get our first glimpse of her actual personality rather than the act she was putting on as miss wednesday, when she bites her lip hard enough to bleed in order not to break down at igaram’s apparent death.

watching robin’s actions with the added context of later one piece is one of the great joys of rereading alabasta. she does a fantastic job of appearing to be crocodile’s most dedicated and capable and dangerous employee while quietly but consistently sabotaging his efforts; saving luffy, sparing pell, sparing igaram, not telling crocodile anything about the strawhats despite meeting them here at the very start of the saga.

little garden has some really cool and striking panels that really put the scale of things on the island, the dinosaurs and giants alike, into perspective, and i love it.

i’m a huge fan of the depth of in-universe lore one piece has. just having little details like this, quotes from books written in-universe, go so far towards making the world feel like a real and wondrous place with mysteries to be solved and details to be uncovered.

i still think sanji is firmly at his best when he’s being a sneaky bastard, and i will never cease to be delighted by how thoroughly he manages to fuck crocodile over with nothing but a phone and some quick thinking not once but twice.

i really like dorry and brogy! for minor characters who’ve only appeared in one relatively minor and inconsequential arc so far, they’re not only very fun and memorable but also leave a hell of an impact on the story, not only in usopp’s new dream of eventually visiting elbaf but also in how they and their crew just keep coming up, first in enies lobby and then even further down the line in dressrosa and whole cake island.

i’m really excited for when we eventually get to reach elbaf, because this plot thread has been so thoroughly and subtly built up over such a long time that i can’t wait to see how it ends.

this is one of my favorite little moments to really drive home how much the strawhats care about each other. they all fell asleep on the floor rather than leave nami alone.

the whole introductory scene to drum is a really good summary of who vivi is as a person and how she contrasts with luffy, and it’s something i’ve written extensively about in a past meta. here ill just settle for saying, vivi is chronically selfless, and always the sort of person to sacrifice herself for others, and these traits which save the strawhats here are the exact same ones that bring her and luffy to blows later on in alabasta.

a good thing to remember when writing characters is that traits aren’t really inherently good or bad, they’re just traits and can have positive or negative consequences depending on the situation, and i think oda is really good at this. vivi’s selflessness, usually a positive thing, becomes reckless self-sacrifice when she’s pushed to her breaking point.

‘kindness begets kindness’ is a pretty consistent theme throughout one piece, though luffy is most often on the other side of it. someone (rebecca, law, tama, etc.) does something for him without really expecting anything in return, and gets paid back a hundred times over. this is a case of the opposite- luffy helps someone offhandedly, and is later saved by their gratitude.

i think luffy wearing his fingers bloody as he climbs the drum rockies is the only time one piece has ever made me cringe back from the page. this sequence is absolutely brutal, and it’s so well-done.

the way luffy decides chopper should be his crewmate is precious, and also reminds me a little of his recruitment of sanji (ironically, given he’s talking to sanji about chopper here). in both cases he sees someone do something good without even really knowing the full extent of their abilities and makes a snap decision that they are awesome and are gonna be part of his crew, no matter what they have to say about it.

i really, really enjoy the way the drum island flashback is set up, with the cutaway right as luffy is about to punch wapol’s lights out. the cut back to that punch finally hitting when the flashback ends is by that point infinitely more satisfying, since you’ve just read chopper’s backstory and therefore have a deep and abiding desire to see wapol eat shit.

hiriluk’s final speech is definitely one of the best and most memorable quotes from one piece, and effectively the crux of one of its biggest themes. one piece is all about inherited will. all of our main cast and a solid percentage of the supporting cast bear the legacy of at least one forebear on their shoulders, from kuina to corazon to otohime. the entire setting of the story is defined by roger’s legacy.

all those people are dead, but they’re sure as hell not forgotten- how can they be, when their legacies are actively shaping the world as a direct result of their lives and influences?

i really, really like the use of flags in one piece. flags are how you declare loyalty or war in equal measure, and flying a pirate flag is a declaration that you’re choosing freedom, come what may, over the laws of the world government. it’s just a really excellent running motif, and a great symbol of what one piece’s definition of piracy means.

this scene is also one of the ones that gets even more extra weight behind it when you know luffy’s full backstory with sabo, which i love.

chopper’s recruitment scene sums up one of the reasons luffy is really great. he just doesn’t care about a lot of things other people would normally take notice of. occasionally that gets him in trouble, but other times it leads to him responding to a situation exactly right, like here. chopper is listing off all his insecurities and reasons he can’t go with the strawhats, and luffy just flat doesn’t care. he wants chopper on his crew and he knows chopper wants to be on his crew, so as far as he’s concerned, there’s no issue at all.

it really is wild that the will of D is named this far back in the story, and has consistently been referenced and built up ever since in very slight ways, through comments by characters like robin and corazon, and yet we still know basically nothing about it.

and a toast to a new crewmate!!

continued in the next post, which covers alabasta arc proper.