#retirement home enemies to say it lightly

[cometrose]

fav zhongli ship

i like most zhongli ships but i have to say zhongven is my favorite i just like their dynamic they’re so different but so alike plus i am a huge fan of the old friends dynamic

they have known each other for eons but they tease and bicker with each other because they are so close and i appreciate it

[redwolfxx]

if he died

(Gun x reader)

Tw: death

Summary: Title

A/N: i'm a gun stan 🫣 can't help myself, he's too fine, sorry for all the angst - such a mood killer, gonna have to right something happier this makes me feel like 💩😭😭

If he was killed

It was late and he was still out. He'd normally be back by now, dragging himself in through the door, body, likely littered in cuts and bruises, nothing ever fatal. He'd walk in and lightly brush past you, kidding your forehead on his way to the bathroom to clean up.

But he wasn't. At first you'd try and reason with yourself, maybe the job was farther away than normal. Maybe he was out with Goo again at one of those god awful karaoke bars they'd try to drag you to.

But by now hours had passed and he still wasn't home. Texts and calls unanswered. You knew you couldn't ask Goo as the two weren't exactly on good terms at this point, but you didn't have another choice.

As you scrolled to his contact, the doorbell rang out through your apartment. Ah, he was home.

As you went to greet him you stopped. He has a key.

Quickly you go to grab the metal baseball bat you kept in the hallway closet. As you grew closer you carefully looked through the peephole.

It was Goo.

Hesitant, you opened the door. At first he didn't say anything, he wouldn't meet your gaze.

You tried to invite him in but he wouldn't even look up.

Eventually he looked up and opened his arms to hug you. Yes, Goo, hugging, you.

You begin barraging him with questions about what he was doing, why he was there, etc, and most importantly where was Gun.

But he wouldn't answer, his only response was to hold you tighter as you began crying out your questions, occasionally hitting his chest in a pathetic attempt to force him to say it, to tell you it was a joke.

But he didn't.

Once you had calmed down he had apologized out of pity.

After he left you closed the door behind him, locking yourself away.

Friends calls went unanswered and texts unread as you cried out for a ghost that wouldn't come home.

His lawyer would come one day, reading to you, his last wishes. Explaining how title transfers and money transfers to you would work.

At first you'd refuse telling him that Gun was alive and he must've gone into hiding and he'd be back. The man only looked at you with a gaze of knowing pity for you.

Eventually when affairs were settled you'd visit his grave in Japan, it was on his family home estate, that his father still owned. You'd met him a long time ago when you'd visited Japan with Gun. He had invited you up to see his final resting place to give you a chance to properly grieve.

You'd sat on the bench by his grave, it was fancy and expensive, not a speck of dust, not a mar of imperfection. It was him. With that you'd cry, you'd cry to him asking him why he'd go and get himself killed. Why he'd left you without saying goodbye. And you'd cry because you loved him. You'd cry because he'd never comeback, you'd cry because you could.

The attendants had left you to cry in peace, but you felt their gazes watching you, some pitiful, some criticizing, and some jealous. But you'd paid them no mind.

Once you had your good share of crying, you sat there. Starring at his name. Starring at him.

Eventually you'd return back to Korea, back to your shared apartment, back to the real world.

You'd have to go back to the same cruel routine without him to ground you. You'd have to go on alone.

If he died of natural causes

(be fr he has so many enemies 😭)

You'd grown old together, and had shared a life, a home, one love.

When the two of you were old enough you'd both move to Japan together where you'd work a regular 9-5 for a while, while he ran his Yakuza.

Eventually he'd convince you it was too dangerous to work without his protection and you'd retire to focus on your hobbies and spend his money as you wished.

You'd have kids together and you'd do your best to try and keep them away from what their father did but boys'll be boys and your son would be drawn to what his father did, and would become successor to Gun. Your daughter would go abroad to study, going on to work and start a new life in the States.

You'd grow old together, his love for you as obvious as ever and never growing thin. As they say, time makes the heart grow fonder, and it did. You'd enjoy dates to fancy restaurants and simple shops around the world.

You'd watch your kids have kids and you'd watch your son pry Gun away from the fighting and push him into retirement with you.

You'd buy a place in the country, away from the noise, away from people. You'd have a garden out front and a lake behind your place to yourselves. Occasionally friends and family would visit, and you'd find joy together in the peace.

Your home would be decorated with random wood figures he'd make in this newfound free time.

And eventually when the time was right the two of you would pass. Your final resting places next to each other for eternity. Whether he went first or you, didn't matter to time as the other of you two followed soon after.

You'd live lives without much regret, you had lived together and you had died together. Your love was eternal.

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

Note: i love him so much i'm actually gonna lose it if he goes (no spoilers, im only up to date w the webtoon app chapters)

[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.17 - Hell or High Water

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

Kiera and Simon make their way back to the battlefield.

Thanksgiving Eve, 2022

"Captain Price," Laswell said as she met Price in a local shop in his hometown, stating it was serious business that she needed to discuss with him. "Thank you for meeting me. I'm sorry to be bringing you here before Thanksgiving-"

"No need to apologize, Laswell, you're the one a long way from home." 

"Tea?" 

"I'm a long way from a proper pint," He replied, sighing as his aching body sat in the chair across from her, watching her toy with her wedding ring. "What can I do for you?" 

"I did some digging. I think we have a big problem on our hands, Captain." 

"Bigger than the missile crisis?" 

"Yes," She sighed. Price could tell she was nervous about what she was about to say judging by her jagged breathing and the slight twitch in her eye. "I'm afraid this is about to be a war against our own." 

"You're scaring me, Laswell," Price said, leaning forward on the table in hopes of catching eye contact. "Tell me."

"I did some digging - I uncovered redacted intel regarding a black bag operation conducted by General Shepherd and carried out by Shadow Company. They were transacting American-made ballistic missiles to our allies fighting Russians in the middle east a couple of months ago. The mission didn't go as planned. Reconnaissance led by Graves said that the route was clear of enemy activity, but his reports were wrong. The shipment was spotted before it arrived at its destination. The Russian PMCs executed his entire team in an ambush and got a hold of Shadow's comms. They learned Shepherd was behind it and Russia gave the missiles to Hassan. Shepherd's intentions were good, but the shipments were illegal and off the books. He and Graves buried it. The cover-up is always worse than the crime. We were getting too close by sending Officer Dutton to clarify her reconnaissance and they are not going to let that happen."

"How does Shepherd know why Dutton went in the first place?" Price questioned. 

"Because he did some digging on his own behind my authority. If he tells Graves, he is going to have him try to eliminate her unless she gives them intel." 

"My team won't let that happen." 

"I don't doubt your intentions, Captain, but I know that if she's who they want, she can confirm and I can have both Graves and Shepherd detained and this entire mission is back to where it belongs and we can get back on track with finding the missiles." 

Price sighed, "Are you going to make the call?" 

"Yes. I will when I get back to the states."

"I'll get my team regrouped. Gaz and I will make our way to Las Almas. We meet with Colonel Vargas and compose a plan."

Laswell nodded, "Thank you, Captain. Please, keep Officer Dutton on a tight hold. She's valuable information." 

"Let's mention a valuable being, yeah?" 

"Agreed." 

*

Kiera sat at the dinner table of her parent's lodge for the annual holiday, the thought of being deployed again by next week and living rent-free in the back of her mind. She had been crying earlier due to the sudden stress, having just adapted to being back home in Wyoming, working cattle, riding her horse, and pursuing her interest in Simon. He too knew that if she got the call to be deployed, he would soon, too. 

She barely touched her plate of food, Simon taking note of this and gently grasping the top of her knee with his hand under the table, patting it lightly, letting her know that he was there and didn't plan on leaving her any time soon. 

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Her mother asked from across the table, patting her lips with a napkin. 

Kiera forced a nod, "Hm? Yeah, I'm fine. Just... thinking." 

Her father took notice of this, being a Marine himself and had been retired for the past thirty years, he knew the effects of PTSD all too well. He set his glass of wine on the table, he too wiping his mouth before resting his palm against his thigh, swiping his tongue over his teeth before speaking, "Do you need a word, honey?" He asked with soft eyes. 

She gulped, hating having to show vulnerability to her father who taught her to be who she was, but she still couldn't help but be his little girl when she needed it. She nodded, "Yes." 

Simon frowned as he looked down at her plate, seeing that hardly any of the food had been touched, even the sweet potato casserole that he helped her finish, even if that meant decorating it with the marshmallows because he knew she'd eat the rest if he didn't step in. 

Her mother spoke softly to him, her blue eyes soft and relaxed, never once having to see the horrors Simon saw, "She has moments, dear. It's not a fault of yours." 

"I know," He nodded, sighing. "She has a lot on her shoulders." 

"She's always been that way," Her mother giggled. "Just like her father, that one. Ever since she could walk, he taught her how to ride and brand cattle. Boys were afraid of her growing up. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've been called to the school due to an altercation." 

"I believe it." He chuckled. 

"She works so hard, but I can tell a different glow about her now. She's calm around you, dear." 

Simon looked at her with a confused expression. 

"When she was home between her work, she's been a firecracker. She had gotten into a fight with poor Frankie over something that had to do with cattle," Her mother scoffed. "She drank...a lot and spent a lot of time by herself. I just hate that she had to go through what she had been through. She doesn't tell me about it, only her father. I'm completely ignorant of her work." 

Simon didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. 

*

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Her father asked her, easing himself into the rocking chair on the front porch. "Is it this man you brought home?" 

"No," She shook her head, taking a long drag from her vape pen, blowing the smoke from her lungs and into the night air. "I just got a fucking call." 

"Jesus Christ, Kiera," Her father, known as Bud, scoffed. "Sweetheart, I love our man-to-man talks, but we need to set some goddamn boundaries here." 

"Sorry," She shook her head, remembering that her father hated it when she swore like a sailor. "I just got a call from my supervisor."

"What happened?" 

"I have to go back. I'm wheels-up Monday morning." 

Bud's heart sank, a frown plastering on his wrinkled face, "Was the mission failed?" 

"No, dad. I have to surrender myself." 

"Surrender? What?" 

"We have a suspicion that a leader on U.S. soil is planning to betray the team I was sent to help in Mexico. He knows I'm a threat and it's possible he already knows I'm too close, so he's going to try and terminate me unless I give him what he wants." 

Her father was never one for sentimental statements, but he loved and cared for Kiera deeply. She was his only daughter, his baby girl, but his soldier. "Kiera Dutton, look at me," He said, standing to his aching feet and putting his hands on her shoulders. "You know what to do. You will complete your mission and come home for good. Through hell or high water, remember?" 

She frowned, looking down to her feet before pressing herself into her father's arms, staining his pearl-snap button-up with her tears. He held her, letting her cry into him just like she would when she was a little girl. "I'm so scared, daddy," She cried. "I want to do you proud, but what if I don't make it back home?" 

"I'm not going to add my humor into this, sweetheart, but you will." 

She scoffed, knowing where she got her humor from, "I already know what you're going to say. I'm either coming home on foot or in a box. You don't have to sugarcoat it, daddy." 

"I keep forgetting," He breathed a chuckle, pressing his cheek to her ear. "You listen to me real good - do what you know and they won't be able to touch you. Your ally American if he's willing to betray you. He is an enemy. You're one of the eight officers on the west coast - the best of the best. You'll come home." 

She nodded against his chest, inhaling the musk of his cologne as if she were to smell it for the last time. 

"You're a soldier, honey. I love you. Let's enjoy the rest of this dinner and you can give it hell come Monday." 

She breathed a chuckle, "You just know how to lighten the situation, huh?" 

"You learn it from the best, sweetheart. Just... Just don't tell your mother. She'll be a wreck." 

"Never have, daddy." 

*

Kiera and Simon lay in her bed that night entangled in each other's arms. Simon lay on his back as her head rested on his chest, her fingers wrinkling the loose fabric of his shirt in a lazy attempt to distract her from her dark thoughts. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, rubbing circles on her bare bicep as he let her think in peace. 

He felt her hand come to trace the thick veins on his free hand that was draped over his stomach, admiring their strength for an enemy, but their softness for her. She felt his chest heave a heavy sigh before he spoke in a soft tone, "Do you want to talk about it, love?" 

"I don't know what to say," She frowned, keeping her gaze on his hand. "I feel weak if I say I'm scared." 

His chest then rose in a chuckle, "But you're not and you know it. I've seen you kill a man my size with your fuckin' hands."

"So? There's always someone stronger. That Mexican bitch almost had me in a chokehold." 

"But she didn't," He reminded her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be there right with you. I won't let anything happen to you." 

"You have to, Simon," She frowned, fighting fresh tears. "You can't let them know your feelings for me. You have to let them take me. If I'm who he wants, then you have to let him."

"Not a fuckin' chance." 

"There needs to be a chance, Simon. I'm their capture or kill mission."

He knew she was right, but fuck he wasn't going to let her see it. 

"I'll figure something out. I'll bullshit my way out of it if I have to. Wouldn't be the first time I've been held against my will." 

"And you think none of us will come to get you?" He scoffed. "You gotta be out of your fuckin' mind." 

"Maybe I am, Simon." 

Their tones began to get heated between each other. He was fighting so damn hard to keep his emotions at bay, but she made it really hard for him to keep his mouth shut. 

"Maybe I'm so far out of my mind that I won't need saving. Maybe he'll just get his intel out of me then kill me before anything could happen. He'll bury me just like he and Shepherd did when they buried the crime months ago." 

He used his hand to capture her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. He could tell that she was scared. Terrified, even, but she was just like him - she was trying her damnest to keep it hidden from him. Tears filled her eyes as she felt like she was going to say goodbye to him, remembering their brief time together as she felt she'd never get to experience it again. "You don't need to be talking like that. You're not in the right mindset." 

"When am I ever?" She scoffed. 

He then propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her, forcing himself to look into her eyes, "You are when you're on that battlefield. You have a coldness to those eyes that gets the job done, but when you're home, those eyes turned to something that has so much life behind them. Don't think I don't notice, because I do. When I see you look at those mountains or when you're around your horse. Fuck, even when you're with me, you're alive. You've got what I wished I could have. That's why I lo- enjoy being around you so much." 

"Don't say it, Simon," She cried, not wanting to accept that a man she began to grow towards so much housed the same feelings. "Don't say it unless it saves me." 

A slight smile spread across his lips, "I can do that," He whispered, planting his lips on hers. He wanted to reassure her the best that he could. "Don't let your mind take you to your thoughts. It'll get you in trouble. That's not the Kiera I know." 

"I can't help but be weak sometimes, Simon." 

"That's okay. Neither can I." 

*

Monday morning came as Kiera parked her truck in the parking garage of the airport that would take them back to Mexico. She put the truck in park, pulling out her phone to text her mother one last time before her flight: 

"I'm at the airport. Tell daddy I'm going to do my best to come home. I love you so much."

She waited a few moments before her phone buzzed, "I love you to the stars, sweetheart. You and Simon say a prayer to keep you protected. We all love you and can't wait to see you for Christmas." 

She sighed, smiling down at the message before turning her phone off and locking it away in the console. "Get your head right, love." Simon reminded her, reaching his hand over the console. 

"Please tell me you brought my iPod." She replied, curling her fingers around his, desperately wanting to listen to Rollin' in Your Grave by Daniel Murphy, knowing his music put her in a killer mindset. 

"I got the right amount of bullets, I'm ready to ride; I got the right amount of bullets and ready to fly; I got a trigger, don't pull it, get ready to die; I got the right amount of bullets and I'm ready to die." 

He smirked, patting the pocket of his jeans, "Fully charged. Figured you'd want it." 

"Oh, I will," She breathed a laugh. "Can you promise me something?" 

"What's that?" 

"Promise me that we'll come back home... the both of us." 

He locked his eyes with hers, a futuristic smirk spreading on his lips as he brought her knuckles to his lips, resting them on his chin before pressing a warm kiss to her calloused skin. "Through hell or high water, sweetheart." 

[wri0thesley]

Could I request Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Toji, and Mahito with their s/o getting injured while fighting alongside them? Who rushes to their side to tend to them and who goes after the attacker?? I'm always a sucker for this hc prompt!!

♡ —-> below the cut: gojo, nanami, geto, toji, mahito <—-  ♡

♡ Gojo is used to carrying a fight on his own. This is not the first time his partner has been injured whilst they are on a mission - but it’s the first time it’s been you, his partner in more than one way, the person he thinks he might want to spend the rest of his life with--. So he ends up amping up the fighting - if this isn’t a special grade curse, it’s suddenly being treated like one, because if there’s one thing Gojo isn’t in control of it’s how much he loves you. He has lost too many people in his life, and this curse has just threatened another one of them, and this isn’t something that he’ll take lightly. If Gojo makes far more of a mess out of the scene of the battle then he needed to in order to take it out and teach the curse a lesson, so be it. He’s quick dispatching it so that he can feel less guilty about rushing over to your side - he’s had the weight of the world on his shoulders for too long to shirk his duty, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about you the whole time. He’s bent over you in an instant, pulling you into him, asking if you’re alright and trying not to let the worry show. If you can talk and still seem at least to be within yourself, he cracks jokes as best he can about how you’ve gotten him worried, and never to do that again even as he tries to get you to Shoko as soon as possible. You’ll find that Gojo’s influence means you’re not asked to go on a mission for a couple of days, despite how short-staffed everyone is - but when you ask him about it, he shrugs it off with a steely look in his eye. “Guess it’s just not that busy, cupcake - more time for you to stay home and eat sweets and recover!”

- ♡ -

♡ Nanami thinks that being a jujutsu sorcerer fucking sucks, sometimes. And he has not felt how much it sucks so concretely as when you’re knocked onto your back and he sees an arc of blood, hears a sickening crack. He knows he has a duty, and he’s never been the kind of man who leaves it behind - but, like Gojo, he can’t help but let his frustration and anger show through in the way he wields his weapon and the way his teeth grit. Nanami is a formidable enemy at any time, but he’s practically possessed himself now - if he loses you, he will never forgive himself. He has given up too many parts of himself for this job (for both of the jobs he’s inhabited), and you are a bright spot of sunshine in his life. He can’t lose you. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. So he hacks and he slashes and the moment the curse is gone he’s lifting you up, checking your pulse, trying to keep himself under control even though his heart is beating erratically and memories of other people he hasn’t saved are flooding his head. He can’t stop thinking about how shit this job is, how bullshit it is that you’re expected to die in the line of duty - and then, your eyes open and you cough, and Nanami feels a heavy weight lift from him as he stares into your eyes. Your wounds are treated by Nanami if he can, or by Shoko if they’re too bad - and when the two of you get home, Nanami begins to flip through property books and magazines as he tells you with a tight jaw that the two of you should really think about retiring in the next few years. 

- ♡ -

♡ Geto is incredibly loyal to those he cares about - the little family of curse users that he’s built up all around them. And you are no different - as his beloved, you occupy a different plane. Something more important than even he realises. He loves having you beside him, wrapping his arms around you, watching you with Mimiko and Nanako - after becoming a curse user, he didn’t think he’d ever find such pure happiness as he’s found in you. So it’s no surprise that when he watches you get injured in the battle, he’s driven a little bit wild with his rage. 

He comes to you first, because he is lucky enough to have a technique that means he can release curses to fight for him as he checks you over. The sight of you bent and broken, your beautiful face perhaps bruised, your eyes closed, makes him feel like he could tear the world apart for you. If your eyes do open, and he’s able to ascertain that you’ll be safe, his priority is to get you out of harm’s way.

If they don’t, and you’re hurt more than he can help with at that moment . . . whoever did it is going to regret having ever been born. 

- ♡ -

♡ Toji is immediately bothered when he hears your soft cry of pain. He will not go to you immediately, because he is a professional and the job has to come first - but you can rest assured that he’s running through every possibility in his head, wondering when he can get to your side the quickest. This is a man whose battle skills are superior to almost anyone’s in the world - it’s not that difficult for him to re-arrange his steps, to goad his victim closer to your body so he can work out what the damage is. If you’re merely unconscious, his victim might get off luckily, and Toji may do his work with one clean, quick slice.

If you’re bleeding, though, or something looks broken, or you’re crying - Toji is not so merciful. If you ever get hurt, he wants it to be because you asked him for it and he wants you to enjoy the process - that this enemy would dare lay a finger on you frustrates him to no end. Toji is rather a possessive man. The victim is going to know exactly how he fucked up as Toji brings a painful end to their life, as Toji explains to them like they’re a child before he watches the light drain from their eyes.

Toji is going to do his best to take care of you until whatever injuries you sustain have healed, but this isn’t necessarily a good thing. Toji isn’t exactly the most ideal of sickroom companions, and his bedside manner can be appalling. 

- ♡ -

♡ Mahito says that you are an interesting toy, an experiment - that you’re human, and you are expendable, like all of them are. His main goal, he tells himself, is more important than his silly feelings towards a squishy little person who doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care if you get hurt, if you die; if you were to disappear from his life tomorrow, he thinks, it wouldn’t matter. But he is lying to himself, because the minute that you are in the heat of battle and the path of something dangerous, something in him kicks in.

He normally does not pick fights he cannot win - there’s a streak of cowardliness in the middle of him, though he doesn’t often feel it due to knowledge of how powerful he is. But hearing your noise of pain, seeing your body tossed aside like trash awakens something in him. He does care about you, you’re not trash, you might be one of the only good things about the human world that has ever existed--

And Mahito throws himself into fighting with everything he has. When Mahito’s hand touches this poor creature that has had the misfortune to have attacked Mahito’s most beloved little human, they are going to become the guinea pig for some of the more unhinged experimentations with Idle Transfiguration that Mahito can do. And he hopes that they retain their consciousness all the way through it. He wants to make them suffer. 

-  ♡ -

[thebountyfucker]

Embo Relationship Alphabet

My take one the Embo Relationship NSFW Alphabet. (First done by@justanotherstarwarswhore) The format is from Din Djarin (SFW + NSFW 18+ Alphabet Combo) by ChicanaStardust

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) Embo values his partners, and unlike some other bounty hunters, he prides himself in caring for them. He is aware in the importance of aftercare, especially after intense scenes, and is the first to initiate aftercare. He enjoys giving massages (though they can be unintentionally rough due to his incredible strength) and will even go as far as helping his partner to bathe if they request it.

B= Body part (What’s their favourite body part on themselves, and their partner?) Just as @justanotherstarwarswhore said, Embo is not vain. He sees himself as a functional whole, for a lack of a better description. He is a hunter, he is a warrior... as long as he can fulfill these duties, he doesn't much care about how he looks. He is neither vain nor insecure in his appearance, though he is aware that his more alien biology is not a turn-on for everyone. As for his partner, Embo, again, sees them as a whole person. He doesn't like breaking his partners down into 'favorite parts' because there is more to a partner than looks. He does have a certain fascination with breasts, only because Kyuzos don't have them. Doesn't mean he likes them better or more, he just finds them amusing.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically) Embo cums - a lot. He can orgasm over and over again, unlike humans. It's hot, and a bit sticky, and he produces more than many species. He doesn't have a favorite place to cum, but there is a certain pleasure in watching it leak out of a partner. (It tastes sweeter than human cum, but it has a bit of a metallic after-taste)

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) & Dirty secret (self-explanatory) Eventually, yeah, probably. He grew up around kids and finds them delightful, so he'd probably want to have them at some point. He does intend to retire from hunting, but not soon. He considers himself at the top of his game and doesn't want to waste that opportunity. He is a neat-freak and a wonderful cook, though he tends to cook spicy, ethnically-Phatrongi food.

As for a dirty secret, I think he got around quite a bit when he was younger. Generally during his training days on Phatrong. Kyuzos, other than their weaker lungs, are incredibly hearty and rarely get sick. He didn't feel like he had to worry about STDs. When he left Phatrong, though, he slowed down a bit. He still sometimes sleeps with other bounty hunters. (What else are you going to do when you spend weeks on a ship alone?)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Going back to the previous point, I think he's quite experienced with pleasuring partners of any gender. Of course, he's most experienced with those that share his same biology. He's still learning about how to please other species, but that doesn't mean he's bad at it.

F = Fiancé (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Embo would be the type to settle down with a long-term lover or two, but I don't think he's the marrying type. He feels that marriage is kind of a scam and complicates otherwise fine relationships.

G = Goofy (are they the serious type or more humorous?) Embo is very serious - it comes with the job. He might try to quip or crack jokes, but they usually fall short because Kyuzan jokes don't make much sense to outsiders.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.) & Head (Giving and receiving) No hair, upstairs or downstairs. He doesn't mind hair on his partner. He also doesn't mind partners without hair. To him, hair is inconsequential. He likes giving and receiving head.

When he's in a situation where he can eat a partner out, he will gladly do so. (He's got quite the tongue, though his sharper teeth do pose a slight threat to the nethers. He's careful, though) He likes receiving enough that he won't ever turn it down, but it's not a required sexual act for him.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) & Intimacy (How intimate are they during sex?) It would be rare to hear that from Embo. He's a bounty hunter, and despite how much he may care for a partner, he does need to keep a certain distance. Without doing so, it could put his partner in danger.

He's intimate, surprisingly! He's very worshipful and reverent, but good luck getting any emotional intimacy out of him (for the prior reason).

J = (Jealousy and Jack off/Handjob combo) Embo, jealous? No! Or at least that's what he'd say if a

partner asked. And, to an extent, it's true. However, if a partner were to flirt with, or be flirted with, one of his immediate rivals, he would likely be a bit upset. He masturbates sometimes, but not often.

K = Kisses that lead into kinks (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed? What are one or more of their kinks?) Kissing Embo is... difficult. Circumstances have to be exactly correct (there has to be oxygen enough for him and his partner to both breathe relatively comfortably, which is difficult to achieve). He likes it... it just doesn't happen often.

I agree with@justanotherstarwarswhore that Embo likely has a size kink. It's hard not to, given his height. Otherwise, Embo is what I like to call 'a sexual chameleon', meaning that he will engage in mostly any kinks that his partner requests. (Within limits, of course).

L = Location (Favorite place to do the do.) I'd say bedroom, bathroom, kitchen... anywhere in a private home, really.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) & Motivation (What gets them going?) Embo is an early riser. Like... early. He'd get up, meditate, drink some tea, and probably do some tidying around his place before his partner ever wakes. When they do wake, he'd already have breakfast ready.

Clear communication is the thing the gets him going the most. But, he's also into a partner sitting on his lap and grinding against him.

N = No (something that is a turn off? ) He's up for almost anything, but I do think age play and scat/vomit play are off the table.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Good luck getting him to reveal anything about his personal life unprompted. He's rather closed off, though if one was to ask about his past, he might answer.

P = Pace (are they soft and sensual? Or are they rough and feral?) & PDA (are they open to displaying the relationship?) Both. He does as his partner desires, but his 'rough and feral' can be too much for many people. (Man's strong as hell! Without full cognizance of his strength, he can do serious damage.)

PDA is... very rare. Again, he is a hunter. He doesn't care as much about his public image as he does about his partner's safety.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Embo remembers a lot. He's more of a listener than a speaker, after all. Sometimes, he can bring things up that even his partners don't remember telling him.

R = Risks (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?) It depends, really. Does he experiment? Most definitely. Will he partake in things that he's tried and doesn't care for? Depends on the partner. He partook in much riskier behaviors when he was younger.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) Embo is very protective. His business is dangerous. His enemies, even more so. He would protect his partner with his life.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) The Kyuzo don't celebrate anniversaries, so he wouldn't think anything of them. He would spoil his partners on dates, though, taking them to fancy restaurants and on expensive vacations.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease.) He would like a bit of teasing, but he wouldn't say that it's the primary turn-on for him. He would also tease his partner a little, but nothing too extreme.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) & Volume (Are they loud during sex?) Again, Embo is not vain. He doesn't care about how his body looks, but he does take pride in keeping his uniform/armor as clean as possible. (Obviously, he can't always keep it clean... but he tries). He's rather quiet, but he does hiss and growl sometimes.

W = Whole/wildcard (What's a random headcanon for the character?) Embo doesn't wear much clothes around his home.

X = Xtra & X-Ray (Random Headcanon/ What’s Underneath those clothes) Embo and his partners sometimes have ritual sex to appease his goddess. Embo's cock is quite large - it's longer than most humans', and thicker. There are nodes at the top of his cock which are adept at rubbing internal pleasure points (g-spot, a-spot, etc.) He also has internal balls.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) In terms of how long he can go when sex has started? It's incredibly high. He can and has fucked for hours and hours without tiring. In terms of how often, I would say the higher-end of average.

Z = Zzzzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?) Embo sleeps very little and very lightly. It's biology and training at this point. He'll sleep for five hours at night, and then sometimes take a quick cat nap during the day.

[jiubilant]

Nesh, the witch’s daughter, suspects that the old man next door is not enjoying his retirement.

She suspects much about the old man that she hasn’t told a soul, mostly because he’s amusing to watch. She’s seen him wield a spade like a spear, executing the weeds in his merrow patch like wounded enemies on a field of war—a chore he grumbles through daily, since weeds don’t die like legionaries. She’s watched him string a laundry line like a garrote, then get smacked by a wet kurta. Once she spotted smoke boiling from his windows and fled for help, fearing fire, only to find—upon returning with half the village—that he’d somehow burned a pot of rice, which even her baby brother could cook blindfolded. 

And now, she notes, trying not to giggle, he’s in really dire straits. One of his kwama has climbed onto his woodshed roof. 

“Come down,” he says in the flat, chilly tones of a man accustomed to being obeyed. “Now.”

The kwama doesn’t even chitter at him. It’s busy eating the thatch. 

“You’ll not get her down like that, serjo,” Nesh calls over the wall that separates their properties. The difference between the witch’s yard and the old man’s is stark. If a shoot of kresh dared sprout between her neighbor’s flagstones, Nesh suspects that the old man would decapitate it. Expertly. “You better give her a treat.” 

Stiffly, the old man says, “I do not reward insubordination.”

“Course not,” says Nesh, who is sagacious for a child. “Sorry, ser.” 

She hops the wall and lopes over, wanting a better view of whatever’s about to happen. Probably nothing. Though there’s a small chance, she thinks, that the kwama will clamber down and salute—

“Thought I was through with this,” mutters the old man, and climbs the woodshed wall.

He’s like a spider, swift and contemptuous of the ground’s pull. As if the god of webs has slewed the world sideways just for him, he scales the shed like a staircase, slings the surprised kwama over his shoulder, and swings lightly to the ground before Nesh—amazed, for once, by his skill rather than its lack—has time to smile in delight, her suspicions all but confirmed.

“Spent a lot of time on rooftops, serjo?” she asks innocently. 

If the kwama’s flailing claws hadn’t mussed his hair, the old man’s hard, stern face might have frightened her. “Yes.” 

“Did you lay tiles?”

“No,” says the old man. “I pried them loose and dropped them on men’s heads.” 

He kneels with a wince to let down the struggling kwama, then prods his lingering audience, not ungently, back towards the wall. “Go home.” 

Nesh, the witch’s daughter, is not so easily dismissed. She dances just out of his reach. “Will you teach me to do that?”

The old man blinks. “To drop roof tiles?” 

“To climb real fast.” 

“No,” says the old man.

Nesh waits.

“No.”

And waits.

“No.”

And waits— 

“Come back tomorrow,” the old man says gruffly, and waves her away. “You’re missing dinner.”

* * *

“They say,” the witch murmurs thoughtfully over fried yams and rice, “the grandmaster of the Morag Tong has disappeared.” 

“Oh,” says Nesh, doubting it.

[secret-engima]

I concur. The last option is the best. Maybe a few headcanons or snippets on how Angeal got roped into being a Braincell again? (Bonus if he originally refuses the call because *cough* Genesis *cough* but still ends up bundling up Ardyn and giving him some calming tea while in complete denial)

Hmmmm finally up for rambling this ask so buckle up!

-Angeal has no desire to be anyone special. He has had a good childhood this time around, with two loving parents and no scientific experimentation whatsoever. His father is one of the gardeners for the Oracles themselves and Angeal is perfectly content to follow in those footsteps once his father retires. He hopes for a peaceful life and carefully hides his lingering guilt and trauma from another life under the mental carpet, and refuses to admit he still dreams of the people he failed (Sephiroth who he abandoned, Genesis who he couldn’t save, his mother who committed suicide because of her guilt at what he’d become, his son apprentice Zack whom he forced to kill him).

-He is befriended by the young Princess, who smiles at him and is content to talk for hours about the flowers and plants he helps maintain. She follows him around sometimes, both asking for advice and giving it impulsively, and even though she is just a child, she has an impressive green thumb and an even more impressive kind heart. He knows that everyone says the Princess is ... odd. And she is. She is too old for her skin sometimes, too wise and too silly by turns in the way only someone who has seen it all and come out the other side can be.

-Privately, Angeal thinks she might be like him. Someone who remembers another life. But he never asks. He never admits. It doesn’t matter anyway. They are both content in their respective new lives, there is no need to drag up ghosts.

-Then one day Fenestala Manor ... burns. A lot of people are killed. A lot more are terrified and grieving and angry. There are whispers of rebellion, of defiance, but none dare when the late Oracle’s children are within Niflheim’s grasp.

-Angeal (who now wears the name Theseus like a suit he refuses to admit doesn’t fit right) keeps his head down and makes no moves to step out of line. He played hero once and he became the monster instead. He will not make that mistake a second time. He does, however, try to make his garden a sanctuary for the poor Princess. He can’t imagine how she must feel, to lose her mother so young, to be held captive by her mother’s killers, to have a brother who rages and cries and pulls bitterly away because he cannot see that his sister is grieving, just in a different way.

-Then the Chancellor of Niflheim visits for the first time, and Angeal only knows because he spots the Princess leading the bemused, sharp-tongued man around the garden, smiling and gentle and welcoming, like she is speaking to an old friend and not one of the leaders of the nation holding her hostage. Angeal keeps his head down, but the Princess trusts him and seems to think he makes fine company for a princess and an enemy politician, and she drags him over to talk about the flower crown she is making their guest.

-The Chancellor smiles and verbally cuts open Angeal in only the most veiled, politest ways. It’s almost impressive, if it didn’t remind him too much of Genesis. So Angeal pretends to not notice and hopes the man goes away and never comes back.

-He goes away.

-He keeps coming back.

-And Angeal keeps finding them in his garden, the Princess and her dangerous, half-mad guest (and Angeal knows madness, he has seen it in faces of friends and mirrors alike, he knows what the Chancellor hides behind his flowery words and indulgent smiles it is not anything nice), and he keeps getting dragged into the conversation, and somewhere along the way he notices that it’s almost always raining on the days the Chancellor visits. A pleasant, faint sort of rain that is almost as nice to be out in as sunshine. If it’s not raining before he arrives, it is within the hour he appears, and it always leaves within the hour the Chancellor does. And that the rain itself whispers against his skin like magic, like the faintest, most persistent of cure spells that Angeal hasn’t felt since he woke up as Theseus.

-Its a coincidence until it’s not. It’s happenstance until Angeal spots the glimmers of something quieter and saner appearing in the man with each visit and flower crown and long, rainy day conversation with the young Oracle.

-It’s not his problem until he stumbles on the man in question vomiting his guts out behind the gardening shed while the Princess has briefly been called away by nervous servants who make up any excuse to keep her away from the Chancellor she seems set on befriending.

-And Angeal has no desire to take another self-destructive, sharp-tongued, venom-fanged, art-loving, idiot redhead under his wing, but he likes to think he isn’t a horrible person in this life, so he gently rescues the man’s hat before it can fall into the smoking black (???) bile and gently steers the man to the nearby plastic chair Angeal sits on when maintaining his tools. He steps into the shed and comes back out with the thermos of tea he was saving for his own lunch and gently pushes the cup into the man’s hands while gold eyes stare at him and toy with his murder (Angeal has seen this powerful man in a moment of weakness, if Angeal disappears in the next two weeks, he won’t die surprised).

-“You should drink,” Angeal tells him softly, “It will help your stomach settle.”

-“Oh will it now.” Ardyn Izunia drawls even as he takes a slow sip of the herbal blend and makes the tiniest face at the taste. They stay in silence for a while, with the Chancellor recovering his breath on the chair and Angeal debating what to do with the patch of very dead ground where black bile was moments ago and healthy grass had been long before that. In the end he covers it with a piece of old tarp and decides to brave the potential radioactive spot later. Once the man who apparently had that stuff inside him has calmed down and hopefully left.

-“You’re taking this very calmly,” Izunia drawls, and Angeal can feel the barbs on the other man’s tongue, waiting to be unleashed at the slightest provocation.

-“You’re hardly the first man to get an upset stomach,” Angeal deflects calmly, “It’s perfectly normal.”

-A scoff that is startled enough to count as a genuine laugh, “Normal, he says.”

-Angeal ignores the question in there and instead turns around to look thoughtfully at the Chancellor. Without his hat to hide his face and his venomous smiles to discourage scrutiny the man looks ... exhausted. Rung dry. And very, very thin. Like he hasn’t eaten a good meal (or anything at all) in days.

-A workaholic maybe? Or something worse. The Princess is an Oracle after all, her duty will be to heal the sick of the otherwise incurable. It isn’t that much of a jump to say she could sense that Ardyn Izunia was sick and was trying to help even while untrained. Either way it’s not his problem. He’s just a gardener. He has no business interacting with this man beyond the times the Princess insists he does.

-He keeps telling himself that as he disappears back into his shed and comes out with another thermos, this one of soup (it’s a good thing it’s chilly weather, otherwise he would have brought a sandwich and that might be too hard for this man to stomach). He offers a cup of still warm soup to the Chancellor, who stares at it like he doesn’t remember what it is. Angeal keeps holding it out until the man takes it from him, “...You have no idea what is going on do you,” Izunia rasps as he sips almost experimentally on the soup.

-Angeal shrugs, “No. But you look like you could use a sit down, some tea, and some food, and my mother would kill me herself if I refused to share what I had with someone who might need it more.”

-A sneer and a flicker of something furious in gold eyes, “Pity then.”

-Angeal turns back from where he had been about to wander off and resume gardening, because he knows that tone and he knows where it leads and it hurts too much to walk away (this lifetime), “No.” He snaps and the Chancellor blinks in surprise at Angeal’s sudden fire. Angeal picks up the tools he needs for the next hour and says more quietly, “Kindness.”

-“Are they not the same thing?”

-Angeal thinks of a blinding smile from a boy in another life who didn’t know the darkness of the world and made it better in the process, of the Princess who welcomes a leader of the enemy into her home and gives him flowers like he is a long-lost friend. He thinks of another redhead who once said something very similar before the end. He dares to meet golden eyes again, “No,” he tells the Chancellor, “they aren’t. But you’re a smart man. I think you knew that already.”

-Ardyn Izunia stares at him and is, for once, speechless. Angeal turns and hurries away before he can give in to the urge to grab a spare picnic blanket out of the shed and drape it on the man’s shoulders.

-That man is dangerous. He is broken and mad and feral and good at hiding all those things which makes him even more dangerous than he otherwise would be. Angeal cannot (will not) get attached. Not again. He won’t fall into that trap. He isn’t a good friend for anyone, let alone a good moral compass or shoulder to cry on. He’ll just make things worse. He knows that.

-Yet somehow that doesn’t stop him from packing a thermos of soup whenever it starts to lightly rain, and passing out cups of it when the Princess and the Chancellor inevitably wander into his corner of the gardens.

-(And maybe, weeks later, Ardyn Izunia corners Angeal where the Princess cannot see and stares at him for a long time. Maybe Izunia’s face shifts and pales as black blood weeps from his eyes and mouth until he looks not like a man but like a ghoul from a nightmare. Maybe he smiles like a predator looking for a kill and asks “Theseus” if he is frightened. If he is horrified.)

-(Maybe Ardyn is left stunned when the simple gardener looks him in the eye and with painful, gentle honesty says no.)

-(”Why not? I am a monster. You should be afraid.” Ardyn growls, his Scourge on display, his monstrous nature bared for this strange, mild-mannered man to see. And he is stunned when the gardener gently touches his pale, purple-veined hands and guides him down to a familiar plastic chair, as he disappears into the shed and comes back with a familiar thermos of soup and presses the cup into his hands.)

-(He is left speechless when this gardener, this human, this mortal, foolish man, finally answers his question, “This,” the gardener taps one of Ardyn’s deathly pale hands, “doesn’t make you any more or less human, or more or less a monster than me.”)

-(“Then what does?” Ardyn asks in a whisper, not sure if he is curious or insulted or ... desperate.)

-(The gardener just smiles, and in the expression there is something unnervingly old and sad and knowing for someone who has not lived two thousand years and not seen his own humanity crumble before his eyes, “You’re a smart man, Chancellor” he hums, “you tell me.”)

-(And Ardyn finds that he is, once again, speechless.)

[later-slayer]

How many limbs would i have to sacrifice to get more content from that "last night before the lion's den post" i've got four amd you've already torn out my heart so

Ask and ye shall receive!

"Colonel?"

"Hm?"

"Stop staring at it."

"Mh," Roy grunted in half-answer.

A few momets passed before a sigh could be heard from the nearby kitchenette. *"Colonel."*

Roy scowled. "How do you even know where I'm looking, Lieutenant? Your back's turned!" Despite his grumbling, his gaze was in fact trained on the item in question: a letter. Neatly folded atop the envelope in which it came, it feigned innocence when its contents were anything but. In actuality it was a clever ploy --a threat. Not only to their entire operation, but to the person he valued above all else.

"We've been together long enough," Riza reasoned easily. "I can practically hear you concentrating. Besides," she continued, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard. "You're tapping."

True enough, his thumb was drumming lightly against the table. A nervous tick he thought he'd long grown out of, he hadn't even realized he was doing it.

This only worsened his pouting.

"You're being thrown straight into the lion's den." Roy didn't bother denying it any further. Not the subject of his thoughts nor the severity of his worries. Not even the fact that, even now, he was taking part in a staring contest with a piece of paper.

"It isn't the first time, Sir."

The Colonel didn't know it was physically possible for his frown to deepen any further.

"You still take your whiskey on the rocks, don't you, Colonel?"

"Yes," Roy sighed, deflated. "Thank you, Lieutenant. "

Riza didn't say any more as she meandered about the kitchen. Ice clinked and cabinets closed before she turned, two ice-filled glasses in one hand and a bottle of Rush Reserve in the other.

Almost immediately Roy straightened in his seat. "That's a nice whiskey," he complimented dumbly.

The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. "I felt the situation called for it."

Very dumbly.

This time Roy kept his mouth shut as his subordinate opened the bottle with a crack of the seal. He knew her well enough to know that she didn't usually drink. The fact that she had gone out of her way to buy a top-shelf brand like this was evidence enough that she was just as rattled as he, her flawless composure be damned. After all, she was nothing if not graceful under pressure.

The ticking of the clock was joined only by a gentle pouring as she filled both their glasses halfway. When slid in front of him he accepted it gratefully. Still he paused, tilting the glass and watching as he swirled the dark amber liquid over the chunks of ice. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"When are you to report to your new assignment?" he finally dared to ask.

"First thing tomorrow morning, Sir."

The Colonel's scowl returned in record time. "Bastard works quickly," he bit out with a huff. Then, after a moment, "What shall we drink to?" Grim as things were, he wouldn't be able to think of a proper toast even if he tried.

Riza's expression softened as she thought, her thumb and forefinger moving to rest against her chin. "To a calm, peaceful evening," she eventually proposed with a trace of a smile. "One that I would say is long-deserved."

Roy couldn't help the way his own countenance shifted at her optimism. "And may many more soon follow," he reciprocated, a tired smile tugging at his own lips as their glasses clinked together.

***

It went without saying that the subject of the letter did not enter their conversations for the reminder of the evening. Though it had struck quite the blow, there was little point in trying to rethink their entire strategy now. Even if they were in the right headspace, fifteen hours was not enough time to lay out a plan. Not hardly. Especially considering that their current one was rickety at best. After all they were still gathering intelligence, still trying to figure out just who and what their enemies were.

But they had their aliases, their covers and their code, and their discreet methods of exchanging information. The idea that there was no point discussing it now was not an admission of defeat, but rather an acknowledgment that, in this moment, some things were more important. Such as taking the time to enjoy each other's company in peace --for who knew when they would next have the opportunity to do so?

And so they allowed their conversations to be feuled by far less grueling topics. They talked about the progress of Black Hayate's training, and Riza sheepishly admitted how she couldn't get him to stop chewing on her slippers. They talked about how Havoc had finally settled down with a nice girl --a regular at the family's shop, no less!--, and how he turned out to be quite the sensible businessman. They discussed the Elric brothers, the Colonel bemoaning how Edward had "shaken him down for cenz like a common thug", earning him the first laugh she had let slip in some time. And, once the shock of it wore off, the Colonel started laughing right along with her.

Though this wasn't the first time the two of them had drank together, it went without saying that it wasn't a common occurrence. In fact, this was probably the second time they had done so when it was just the two of them. There were a multitude of reasons, laws against fraternization and their own complex history among them. But tonight they were alone, and that was okay. They deserved at least one night without worry, without care.

And so they talked and laughed over their whiskey, drinking just enough to color their cheeks a light shade of pink, before eventually switching back to water and tea. Only once the lateness of the hour began making their eyelids grow heavy and their vision blurred did they finally retire for the evening. Their uniforms were left discarded on the dresser, Riza shrugging into her pajamas while the Colonel opted for boxers and his button-up. It was an amusing combination, but somehow she found it in herself to not tease him for it.

And just like that they climbed into bed, settling easily into eachother's arms. This, too, was strangely familiar territory. They were breaking no laws, not technically, though she would be lying if she said she didn't feel as though they were indulging themselves. Still, those arms were her home, her sanctuary. And as they wrapped around her, holding her impossibly close, she could only sigh in contentment as she buried her face against the crook of his neck. At last she let her eyes fall shut, and the last thing she remembered was being lulled to sleep by the Colonel's gentle breathing and the steady beat of his heart.

***

The next morning came far too soon. Though Riza awoke feeling strangely well-rested, albeit with a bit of dry mouth, she didn't want to get up. And while there was no possible way Roy couldn't hear the alarm blaring from the corner, he made no move either. Eventually, however, they had to face the realities of the new day. They peered at each other, her with a wry smile and he with a look of melancholy --a multitude of things spoken though they exchanged no words. Instead he kissed her hair, his fingers pressing into her back as he seemed to not want to let her go. Yet there wasn't much choice, and finally they were forced to untangle themselves.

The rest of that morning was quiet, comfortable. Riza got up to shower while Roy got dressed and made them both a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. They talked easily as they ate, Riza trying and failing to hide her amusement as he began to harp over her, showering her with advice and comforting words about their current situation. He was rambling, certainly, but she could sense that he was attempting to assuage his own fears as well, and so she let him. Even if she did occasionally interject to remind him that "It will be alright, Colonel."

And it would be. They had both suffered far worse, after all.

Even so, she couldn't deny the way her own anxieties began to bubble up as they said their goodbyes at the door, Black Hayate in her arms. Only once the Colonel disappeared from view did Riza go back inside. She held the shiba inu tightly, his tongue wet against her cheek as he yapped, tail wagging. He always did enjoy when the Colonel came to visit. And he wasn't the only one.

She allowed herself a few minutes to clean up their breakfast. She still had an hour before she had to leave to her new appointment under Fuhrer King Bradley, so she gave herself this time to calm her thoughts. Still, as she returned to her room to get changed she found something that would prove far more effective than cleaning dirty dishes. There, up near her pillow, was Roy's button-up shirt. If it wasn't for the fact that it was neatly folded, she may have actually believed that he had forgotten it by accident. Yet he had never been one for subtlety.

Moving forward, Riza gathered the shirt into her arms. It was such a simple thing, and yet... With eyes closed she allowed herself to press the fabric against her face. The familiar scent of cedar and soap tickled her nose. But it was more than that. It smelled like *him...* And though the thought of having this to hold at night was perhaps a childish one, she couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face.

[jemej3m]

do we arrest him?

another excerpt from the ‘married to the enemy’ au because its silly and fun and i like writing it lol 

*

“With all due respect, Wilds,” Kevin said, “I’m going to say: no. Absolutely not.” 

The sargeant cocked her head, spinning the whisky around her shallow glass. “Because your opinion matters so greatly to me, Kevin.”

Andrew blocked out whatever response Kevin managed and the resulting argument between him, Sergeant Danielle Wilds and her husband Matthew Boyd: Renee looked on serenely, with a slightly amused curl to her lips, whilst Wymack ordered another gin and tonic. 

Andrew’s foot bounced. He was not anxious. He was never anxious. He was simply introducing his husband to his colleagues. It’d been years since they’d come together as a team. It was about time they’d met the mysterious Neil. 

It’s not like his face was recognisable or anything. It’s not like he’d been running the largest crime syndicate in Baltimore after his father’s death. Neil had inherited it after they’d gotten together, anyway. 

“Is Allison coming along?” Renee inquired, lightly, still ever-so-serene. His partner was a jumble of nonsensical loose ends, with a large scar on her jaw contradicting the collar done up to her throat and the silver cross hanging around her neck. It was why they’d gotten along so well in the first place, and why he’d invited her to witness his wedding. 

Which was where, consequently, she had met Allison Reynolds, Neil’s right-hand woman. 

Andrew shot her a glare before looking back to the doorway. Where was he? Punctuality wasn’t his forte, but fifteen minutes late to something Andrew had insisted he shouldn’t be late to was stretching it. Had something happened? Had the Bearcats finally grown their little claws and lashed out at Neil? Was he dead in a ditch somewhere? 

“Hi,” came a familiar voice, breathless. Andrew glanced over his other shoulder to see Neil, grinning and red-cheeked. He must have run. Understanding Andrew’s apprehension, he chanced a kiss on Andrew’s cheek. “Came in through the back.”

Of course he had this particular divebar in his pocket. It was one of Andrew’s regular hangouts: he would have this place fortified to the very last screw. 

Allison gave Renee a little wink, waving her manicured nails like a manic pixie. Andrew took Neil’s wrist under the table and gave it a light squeeze before turning back to his colleagues. 

Kevin was going purple, mouth hanging open like a gaping fish. 

“So,” Dan said, voice strained slightly. “This is Neil.”

“My husband,” Andrew confirmed. “Yes.” 

“Did you know about this?” Matt hissed into Renee’s ear, not at all subtle. She simply smiled her glittering smile in response. 

“Jesus Christ,” Wymack mumbled into his glass, downing the whole thing. 

“Nice to finally meet you all,” Neil said, placidly. “This is my friend, Allison. I hope it was alright to bring her along.” Allison’s grin was mischievous.

Kevin allowed a strangled noise to escape his mouth. 

“We’ve only got one seat,” Matt said, bewildered. 

“That’s alright,” Neil shrugged, offering it to Allison and leaning against Andrew’s thigh instead. Andrew let his arm loop around Neil’s waist, steadying him. 

Kevin slowly looked Neil up and down, left to right, trying to comprehend how the fuck did I end up having drinks with the mob boss I’ve been chasing down for years -

“I can get the table another round?” Neil offered. 

“That’d be very kind of you, Neil.” Renee said, calmly. 

“Renee -” Dan managed. 

“Beer?” Neil inquired, nodding to Matt. He arched an eyebrow at Kevin. “A bottle of vodka?”

“Are you serious?” Kevin exploded. “Are you serious? The one person who has evaded me for the entirety of my detective career is sitting on my colleague’s lap and offering me a drink when he probably has knives in his pockets and a dead man’s skull in his backpack -” he paused to take a trembling inhale, hands clutching the edge of the table. 

“Well, I’m not really sitting on Andrew’s lap,” Neil snorted. “I only have one knife on me, and it’s most certainly not in my pocket: how impractical.” He jostled Allison’s shoulder. “Do you have a skull in your backpack? Because I didn’t bring a backpack.” 

“I wouldn’t be caught dead with a backpack,” Allison responded snootily, putting her little handbag on the table. “How tasteless.” Neil laughed. 

Andrew pulled him closer. 

“I’ll have a clean bitters, Neil,” Renee said, breaking the silence. “If that’s alright.”

“Copying me?” 

Renee smiled. “Perhaps. Though I’ve yet to find somewhere that does virgin margaritas as well as you do.”

“You’ll just have to come over for dinner again.”

“Do we arrest him?” Matt whispered into his wife’s ear. 

“I have no clue,” Dan responded. 

“I’ve been meaning to give you a recipe I found for a healthy pastabake,” Renee suggested, ignoring Andrew’s glare. “I’ve given Andrew leftovers for lunch and he didn’t even notice the difference.”

“That’s a relief,” Neil grinned. “It’s like bathing a cat.” He jostled Andrew’s shoulder. “Retiring means I get to cook more: you’d better watch out.”

“What the fuck,” Kevin whispered.

“Don’t burn the kitchen down,” Andrew said sullenly. 

“Retiring?” Matt echoed, weakly. “I didn’t think you could retire from -”

“I, too, have recently decided to follow my passions,” Allison said, airily. “I’m thinking of starting a fashion line. Perhaps a boutique.”

“That’s amazing,” Renee said, a hint of relief in her tone. Andrew knew she’d been holding out on Allison for her to move on from her morally grey loyalties onto something more palpable. “I’m sure you will be successful.”

“What the fuck,” Kevin repeated, a little louder. 

“Matt, Dan,” Neil grinned. “Andrew told me you’re adopting. That’s brilliant.” 

“Yes,” Matt said, bewildered. “We’ve been fostering a little girl for a few years now: the papers have finally come through.”

“Maybe I could be a stay-at-home dad,” Neil wondered aloud, leaning his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “We could foster, Drew. We’ve got a spare room.”

“You can barely keep the cats alive,” Andrew muttered, shoving his hand into the backpocket of Neil’s jeans as a warning. Neil grinned into his shoulder. 

“You have cats?” Dan responded, airily. 

“Yes,” Neil nodded gravely. “Andrew’s cousin named them. Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins.” 

Andrew watched as Dan and Matt’s resolve began to falter, the smiles at his husband’s ridiculousness beginning to crack open. Even Wymack had kept his attention on the table, intrigued. 

As Neil took down drink orders and Allison shuffled her chair closer to Renee, Andrew knew that everything would turn out alright. Neil was just as Andrew had reluctantly described him: a human disaster with a quick-witted tongue and a brilliant grin. Not just a mobster. Not just Nathan Wesninski’s son.

“What the fuck!” Kevin spluttered, but everyone ignored him. 

*

send me more prompts for this au lmao its so silly

[phenomenal1500]

The Blood In My Veins | Black Sails

Chapter 65: MDCCXX

For Chapter 64: XXXVIII click here.

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

Piracy was now of course strictly disapproved of. Well, that was supposedly so that Nassau retained a good image and no longer attracted armies. Nassau was finally secured and we finally were able to have a proper life. As for piracy around the world; Even if we, the heart of pirates, would retire.... there would always be someone new stepping out of the shadows. Piracy will always live forth and Jack, Charles and I would make sure of it.

~~~

4 years later

~~~

"A little help!!" The heavy sound of swords being forced against swords echoed through the air and was carried away by the strong wind as I recalled for support. Charles immediately tossed me his second sword and in a matter of seconds I had impaled my competitor's heart. Another man tried to sneak up at me from behind, but I had focused on the sound of his loud footsteps and with my last bullet I blew his head off of his neck. The noise of death had diminished and the last few of our enemies had retreated, now sitting on their knees and praying for their salvation, salvation they would never receive. I was observing the scene from the upper deck, behind the helm and suddenly the breeze blew my hair in my face. I quickly secured my hair in a high ponytail, acting like nothing had happened and I straightened my back when our captured enemy glanced at me.

"You had struck your colours, yet, thereupon you still dared to attack us." Jayson declared out loud and had in the meantime bent down to look the Commodore in his frightened eyes. Jayson then slapped his thighs, scaring the man even more, before standing up to ask the question we all wanted to have the answer to. "What will become of their futures?"

The crews that belonged to me and Charles stood alongside each other on the British ship, but their mindsets were still their own and the men grew wild like hungry wolves. My hand trailed down the smooth wooden railing as I dramatically guided myself down the stairs and I positioned myself before the row of captured men, working for British Navy that had crossed our path at sea.

It grew silent.

I shared one look with the blue eyed man and licked my lips before my hoarse voice because of the yelling and lack of water disturbed the sudden silence.

"Their futures will not be decided by me, but by themselves." I declared. "I say we throw them overboard! Land isn't far away so let's see how good they actually learn to swim in the Navy!"

"AYE!!" The men happily agreed and we released the prisoners from the rope that held their wrists and legs together.

They were pulled to their feet and one of them had collected his saliva to be able to spit on me before he was dragged to the ship's railing to be thrown into the dark, cold ocean.

There was a huge possibility that a group of hungry sharks waited for them underneath the ships, although I doubted it this time.

We were horribly close to land so the men were probably lucky if the sharks wouldn't smell their blood.

I wiped the spit off of my face and leaned over the railing to watch the men swim away from us like they had seen the devil.

"What even was their plan?" The muscular man snuck up from behind me and I smiled as I felt his hands slide down my sides to afterwards wrap his arms around my body. Closing my eyes as I relaxed in his arms, I focused on the sound of his voice which was hearable for a second time. "They surrendered.... raised the white flag even before something had happened and the moment we try to pass by calmly.... they fire?"

"I had no idea what they were thinking either, but one thing I can recall.... they weren't smart, nor strong." I chuckled as the two of us stared into the horizon that darkened every hour, showing us it was becoming evening soon. We had been sailing for one month straight with the intention of sailing to an estate north of Spanish Florida.

The Oglethorpe's estate outside Savannah to be exact.

It had been four years since I heard anything from the man I saw as my father.... well, that was until I received a letter last month stating that Thomas Hamilton and James McGraw had been given the permission to go on free foot if they had someone who would wish to have them back in the open world. They were given the opportunity to send one letter to one person they thought would immediately respond and if not, they would stay locked away from the real world. It was a smart way of the estate to show their people who were incarcerated there that they cared for them and that they gave them the possibility to be free, although the creator of the estate of course knew nobody wanted them back....

I guess they thought wrong and Flint, now McGraw, knew that too, or else he wouldn't have chosen me to come and get them.

"When we dock in the bay, I managed to obtain a carriage driver to bring us there." I twisted in the man's arms and locked mine around his neck, glaring over his shoulder to see if we were already done with detraining the British ship that we had conquered unwillingly.

"I really appreciate it and the rest probably too. I think we all don't have the energie to walk that ourselves anymore." He grinned and I trailed my hands down to his torso to tap his muscles lightly. "Come, lets go join the others and get out of here."

"What will we do about the ship?" Charles asked, letting his arms relax beside his body as he stepped away from me.

"Burning it sounds like a good solution? No one will know what happened to the ship and who will believe those pathetic men once they return on land, if they survive, and the ship is nowhere to be found?" I suggested and the blue eyed man nodded in agreement.

"That does mean we have to sink it fast and make sure it sinks or else they could still find it while it's burning."

Charles was right.

It wouldn't work unless we made sure it was sinking fast.

"Fire at the lower deck?"

"That's what I was thinking." We made our way back to our fleet and leaned our hands on the wooden railing of Charles' ship before him giving the order to fire lowly at the ship. When we made sure the holes down below were big enough, we cut ourselves loose and got the hell out of there.

The next morning it wasn't too warm, but also not too cold and the strong wind had died down.

I rubbed my eyes as I glared over the blue sea that was lightened up by the sunlight shining on it and I enjoyed the ocean scent that came with it.

In the distance I surveyed land and a smile made its way on my face.

Sooner or later we would set foot there and would be taken to the Savannah Estate to take McGraw and Hamilton back home with us.

~~~

"Hereby the contract for taking over James McGraw and Thomas Hamilton and I'll highly recommend not to mention Sir McGraw's past. He's a changed man now." The grey haired man handed me over the papers we signed and then gestured to us to walk till the end of the hallway to afterwards go outside through the door on the right.

We had used fake names not to scare the estate workers. They didn't know that we were actually pirates and we wanted to keep it that way until we would leave because we had a chance we then wouldn't be able to take the men with us.

I thanked the man and then walked out with Charles to see a huge cane field appear before our eyes.

The men were actually taken care of and worked while joking with one another.

It was a sight I had never seen before when it came to people working on these types of plantages. Charles and I had prepared for at least some sort of slavery, but there were no chains involved, no one screaming at them or forcing them to work harder in the heat for days. This was different. It was a relief for both me and the man next to me and I was happy that McGraw and Hamilton didn't have to endure such terrible things as we had to when we were younger. Letting my eyes glide over the cane field, Charles suddenly closed his strong hand around my wrist and pulled me along and that's when I saw the men we were searching for. I enthusiastically waved at them and I no longer felt Charles' firm grip when he had released me, letting me run off to McGraw.

"James!" I shouted, naming him by his first name because I was listed as his half sister on the papers.

"Naida?!" Confusion was heard in his voice, probably a little surprised that I was right there within a month and called him James, but I didn't care.

He seemed in a good mood.

He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me into a warm embrace with me automatically hugging him back.

It felt nice to see him again after such a long time.

I remember 3 years back that I had figured out a plan to break him out of the Estate, although I had let that plan slip because I reminded myself he would be hunted for the rest of his life and wouldn't really have a free life. However, now.... he was going to be free, same as Hamilton without anything to worry about.

"It's good to see you, little snake." McGraw whispered and I scoffed jokingly.

I noted that McGraw had his hair grown back with the same tail in it as before.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Hamilton." The red haired man had let go of me and I offered my hand to the bald man on his left who gladly took it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well. James had promised me you would come and I knew I could trust his word. Thank you, Miss Jones." Hamilton murmured the last part, keeping my name a secret and Charles had in the meantime caught up with us.

"At sea I go by the name Jones.... at land Ms. Vane is fine. Or else it may create confusion between the crews."

"You two-....?"

"Are married, yes." Charles confirmed while cutting off McGraw's question and his hand snuck up to my hip, making me proudly smile back up at him.

"You all mind catching up later?" One of the guards whined. They clearly wanted us out of here and the four of us immediately, without hesitating, walked over to the gates of the estate, not minding to leave this place behind once and for all. The stuff the two had with them in this place were collected by the maidens and were put in a bag to make it easier for us to take it with us and when they shoved it into our hands we were pushed out of the estate and the gates closed behind our backs.

"Well, Mr. and Miss Vane, where will we be going?"

"Away from here.... back to Nassau. Though if you two desire to go somewhere other than Nassau, we don't mind taking you there as well." Charles proposed, but they both shook their heads.

"Nassau sounds like an excellent idea. Oh, and both of you, please keep on calling me Flint." Charles and I exchanged some fazed glares and then turned back to Flint. "They tried to brainwash us, make us forget who we were and what our past was. I must say it worked with most of the men, but with us it didn't. I won't forget the part of my life where Flint was involved. I perhaps have fallen back to McGraw's habits a little, but I'm too attached to Flint.... and besides that, I'm used to you two calling me Flint."

"Flint, I must say you surprised me with your calmness." I grinned and Flint immediately changed back to his old stern face expression I knew so well. "Never mind then." I corrected myself and the four of us were off to the carriage where some of our men were waiting on us.

~~~

Nassau

~~~

With some groceries under my arm I got along the way while Charles was showing Flint and Hamilton around the new Nassau, I stuck my key in the lock and unlocked my front door to push it open and walk inside mine and Charles' shared house. It was a bit smaller than the Governor's Mansion built in Nassau's square and our house was located outside of Nassau instead, but it wasn't too far away though.

We had built it with our share of the L'Urca De Lima that Jack had gifted us and a few pathways and stairs led up to the white colored house which made the way to Nassau easier and safer.

I laid the groceries down on a small table next to the huge front door and stared at the gigantic stairs in the middle of the living room, dividing into two on the second floor.

"Mum!"

A soft voice was heard and a big smile was painted on my face when my four year old daughter became visible while running down the stairs. Normally I would have been afraid or mad about her running down the stairs, but she was so fast at learning and I knew she was able to do so without something bad happening. She had done it multiple times even though we had told her not to, but she couldn't help herself though, she shared my habits and personality and I knew how hard that is to handle.

The only thing we didn't share were looks.

Her eyes were gray with a light brown tone in them and her hair was almost white, nothing like me or Charles.

She had her own beauty and it was the cutest thing ever.

Reverie was the second oldest, 6 minutes younger than my son Nikolai who was more like his father.

They had the same blue eyes, my son's a bit darker, and they shared the same hair color.... however when it came down to personality, Nikolai was a mix of me and Charles.

I opened my arms to welcome Reverie in my arms and picked her up to balance her on my hip, kissing her forehead.

"Where's dad?"

"Helping your uncles find a place to stay the night. He'll be back soon, I promise." I replied, gently tapping her nose one time with my index finger.

"NAIDA!!" A loud voice startled me and Jack tripped over his feet, almost tumbling down the stairs while calling for me.

It seemed like he could learn some things from my daughter when it came to walking.

"Jack." I laughed as he corrected himself in his walking and held onto the railing as he also made his way down the long stairs. "Thank you for looking after our children. Must be hard.... handling four kids."

"You had to bear them and now have to raise them, I can't complain and other than that.... they are actual angels." Jack explained and my smile grew even wider. Charles and I indeed were blessed with them. "If you wondered.... Nikolai is with Anne back in Nassau, they will be back soon and Davy and Avon are upstairs. Avon wanted to watch over Davy while she slept."

"And I wanted to come and hug mommy!" Reverie said while playing with my loose hair and I couldn't suppress a chuckle. I gave her one more kiss and had put her down so she could stand on her own two little feet again. "I'm going to go read now." She proudly stated and hopped to the bookcase that was in a sort of office room across the big open living room to the right. She couldn't read amazingly yet, but somehow still stayed interested in books.

"Jack, you are allowed to go, you know? I can still understand if you are tired, you aren't used to such a lifestyle."

"I'll stay until Charles is back.... if you don't mind of course."

"I don't mind. Perhaps you can even help me cook." Jack's facial expression became emotionless and I bursted out in laughter, knowing Anne normally cooked even though she didn't want people to know she had learned to cook. "I was just kidding."

"Uncle Jack, do you want to read this with me until my dad is back?!" Reverie's cute voice echoed through the living room and her adorable little face appeared in the door opening, making us break eye contact to look at her.

"I'm going to check on Davy and Avon."

Jack nodded at me and waved at Reverie to join him on the couch. She enthusiastically ran across the room and jumped on the couch with a small book in her hands and handed it over to Jack who volunteered to read it to her. Jack held the book open with his right hand while my daughter held the book open with her left one and I, step for step, moved upstairs and silently strolled through the left hallway to find Davy's bedroom. I held onto the golden door handle and I noiselessly pressed the door open, holding it tightly so it wouldn't hit the wall and cause the girl to awaken.

A warm feeling filled my heart when I spotted Avon, my second son, sitting in the chair next to the small wooden crib and had fallen asleep just like my little girl, Davy.

Avon was three years old with light green eyes and my hair color. He was a bit more of a rebel and had a wild personality, but was secretly very soft too and always wanted to take care of Davy who was now almost one year old. Davy, same as Reverie, didn't look like me or her father. Instead she had dark brown eyes and black hair and was very calm. I unfolded a soft blanket and covered my son with it before stroking his hair from his forehead to give him a kiss. I then rotated and let my thumb glide over the cheek of my little daughter before softly closing the door behind me to let them sleep without being disturbed.

I proceeded to walk back to the living room to go to the kitchen, letting my fingers follow the golden details in the white wooden walls and I suddenly picked up the sound of the front door opening.

"Dad?!" I could see Reverie jumping up from the coach when I stood at the upper step of the stairs and she hopped into Charles' arm while he held Nikolai in his other one. His expression turned from exhausted to a more delightful one and Jack said goodbye to us when he heard Anne's voice from outside. It wasn't the first time Charles and I had left off to raise the black flag at sea and it wasn't the first time for Jack to stay at our house, but we never had been this long and far away from our children and to be honest I had found it pretty rough.

"Sweetheart." Charles replied and put the two down so he could lower himself to his knees to hug them both closely. "Davy and Avon are upstairs?" He questioned me and I nodded, rushing downstairs to embrace my eldest son tightly.

"Found a place for Hamilton and Flint?" I had retreated my arms from hugging my son and he kissed me on the cheek which made me smile widely.

"Mhuh. At the tavern for now, but they will move in Barlow's former house when it is cleaned up." The children playfully roamed through the first floor of the house and Charles and I lovingly stared at one another. "God, I missed their presence."

"I did so too." I revealed honestly and together we went to the kitchen to unpack the groceries and cook some dinner for ourselves and the kids.

~~~

It had been a rough few years, but they were worth living it nonetheless. When I look back at it now, I appreciate every memory I had gained. Some memories were less pleasant than others like the loss of Hall Gates, Miranda Barlow, Billy Bones and Edward Teach, but those memories also made me who I have become today. I learned how to love and be hopeful when I felt like everything was falling apart.... things I wouldn't have learned if I didn't have left off to Nassau all those years ago. I deeply inhaled and opened my eyes, staring at the beautiful full moon that hovered over Nassau.

If I hadn't arrived here I would have never met Flint again.

If I hadn't killed those men on that beach the first day, I would have never encountered Charles the way we did.

I never would have been married.

I never would have gotten children.

I remembered my pregnancies and the lies the people around you told you just to ease the stress and fear you endured. I almost died that night with my twins Reverie and Nikolai because of exhaustion and lack of energy, but I carried on, Charles pulling me through labor, and it was worth everything in the end.

It didn't take long before Charles and I had decided to try for another kid when I was fully healed and that's how Avon was born.... and Davy after him. Of course we agreed it would be enough after our youngest daughter and I was grateful for each one of them.

Charles and I finally had succeeded to find the life we secretly had the urge for.

We thought we never were types to settle down, however life proved us wrong once more.

Married.... kids.... I smiled to myself at the thought.

Piracy made those things seem a fantasy, nothing close to reality, though they did become reality for us.

So much had changed.

I could hear the door behind me open and I jerked my head back to see Charles stepping outside onto the balcony while silently closing the door behind him afterwards. I had been reading on the balcony of our house with a single candle next to me to still be able to read the letters in the dead of the night and he smiled at me before offering me his hand.

I closed my book, laying it beside me before taking it, immediately being pulled to my feet.

"The kids are worn out.... and.... I locked our bedroom door." The oh so familiar look known as lust was visible in his eyes and I bit my lower lip before laughing.

"I love you, Charles." I chuckled as his arms closed around my lower back and pressed me into his muscular body with the intention of whispering the same words back into my ear.

"I love you too, little one." His lips brushed over my bare neck and I let out a small moan before he quickly pulled me inside.

I was wrong.... Some things never change.

~~~

A/N: I don't have much left to say.... I think I already said everything in the last chapter, but I still wanted to thank everyone who kept on reading this fic! I don't know if this was the end I had in mind, but most of it was already decided when I started this fic and I'm proud of how it turned out to be. It meant the world to me to know people enjoyed the things I wrote and I definitely loved writing this for all of you! I never thought this fic would be a complete year of updating, but it didn't bother me because like I said I absolutely loved it. Thank you all so much and I wish you all the best!!! 🤍🖤

[sootcloak]

Day 14: Commend

Admiral Merlwyb Bloefiswyn looks for a path forward regarding one of her officers, whose repeated sacrifices have left her more machine than aught else.

Roughly 1800 words.

AO3 Link

    The Rhotano is calm, the sun bright, and the skies clear. The fair winds off the ocean makes sails and flags billow. Down below, the Admiral can see her people going about their lives. Traders shouting from their stands, noiseless from here. Artisans working diligently, sharing brief words with their guild colleagues. Travelers, new to the city and veterans of her winding, spiraling streets both, arriving at the docks. Adventurers near the Aetheryte, enjoying the sun and one another’s company. Another peaceful, quiet day.

    There’s a knock at the door. Merlwyb glances away from her city and people to the signed forms on her desk. She hesitates, a moment. But then, loud and clear, she says,

    “Enter.”

    The doors swing open noiselessly, the guard directly outside speaking firmly.

    “Admiral. Captain Aceris, as requested.” He gives a sharp salute, and stands stiff as a board.

    “At ease. Leave us.” She says, arms folded behind her back as she gazes out the windows of her office. He says nothing, simply steps outside and closes the doors behind him.

    Vavara stands loosely, waiting with an easy patience. Merlwyb continues to stare out over the Rhotano.

    “Ma’am?” Vavara asks, a quiet familiarity there.

    “Forgive me.” She turns her head to look over at the soldier, “Have a seat.”

    Vavara moves on of the chairs slightly closer to the desk, and then sits with both her knees under her, giving her just enough height to have her shoulders rest above the edge of the desk. She takes her hat off, and rests it in her lap, and pulls the loose hair from inside it into a loose tail. She quickly ties it off with a length of black ribbon. Merlwyb lets out a thin, long breath, and then sits down at her desk and faces Vavara.

    “Something need doing, Ma’am?” The earnest way Vavara always asks sends a cold chill running through Merlwyb’s chest - is it guilt? Shame? Either way, it doesn’t show. 

    “No. You outdid yourself at Paglth’an, and by all reports deserve nothing less of a medal.” A restrained, convincing smile works its way onto the Admiral’s face. “Or some other reward.”

    “Last we had this conversation was Ghimlyt, Ma’am. Respectfully, I decline.” A weight slides off Vara’s shoulders. Barely-concealed relief. “I would prefer to have my name appear on as few official documents as possible, for all our sakes.”

    “I remember.” She says, sagely nodding. Her eyes close a moment, and she seems to gird herself. When they open, her face is steely. 

“Captain Vavara Aceris,” The authority in her voice shakes Vavara from the comfortable banter she’d begun to slip into. Her eyes widen a moment, and then she straightens and listens.

    “You are hereby removed from service, effective immediately. I had wished to send you off with honors, but if that is not your desire, so be it.” The shock on Vavara’s face stings, the betrayal written in her eyes cuts deeper. “You are discharged of all privilege, authority, and responsibility granted to you by your rank.” The Admiral pauses for a breath, and Vavara swiftly cuts in.

    “Ma’am!” There’s a desperation there, raw and open, “I swore to follow you until I could go no farther, I have served faithfully and-”

    “Any possessions granted to you by the Maelstrom for your service are yours to keep.” She stands suddenly, her chair squeaking on the floor. “From this moment forward, you are a civilian in the eyes of Lominsan law.”

    Vavara sits still as death, eyes glimmering with unsteady light. Her hands are balled into her coat, and her jaw is clenched. Her body trembles, here and there. Merlwyb closes her eyes, and takes a breath in.

    “Why…?”

    The answer is there, tangible and present in Merlwyb’s mind, but her voice falters a moment, and she does not speak. Instead, the air hangs heavy and bitter.

    “I never failed you. I always, always returned with reports of success, of victory.” Vavara speaks between sharp cuts in her voice, as though she were trying to take a breath though she has no lungs. “Have I angered you, Ma’am?”

    It stings the Admiral, that she’s directing blame back at herself. The wounded look, the jittering trembles. This hurt her, and she’s trying to find what she did wrong. In her head, she feels this justifies the measure, that she’s right to do it. In her heart, it burns and aches.

    “Victory has a price.” She says, quietly and steadily. She has to force her words out evenly. “But I willingly allowed you, my subordinate, to pay it in full. I saw you pay it again, and again. Each time, returning beaten and broken, a report written in blood landing on my desk. After Ghimlyt, I decided it would not happen even once more.”

    “I wasn’t injured, and even if I’m damaged I won’t be a liability! If you’re worried of me falling into enemy hands, I prepared a-”

    “Stop. Please.” Merlwyb looks away and out to sea. “I took advantage of you, knowing you would bear that weight gladly. But I cannot send you to Garlemald or beyond, knowing I would send you to die for me again. Possibly for the last time.” She turns and stares back into Vavara’s eyes. It’s a piercing, intense look. “You aren’t a ship, to be damaged and repaired as a necessity demands, eventually consigned to sink. And I’ve asked you on more than one occasion to not treat yourself as such.”

    “I wish for you to retire. To take a well-deserved rest. You’ve died more than once for the Maelstrom, for me, and each time you did so willingly. I will not lean upon you again.” The Admiral leans on her desk with one arm, pushing a small sheaf of papers forward towards her.

    “Ma’am.” Vavara straightens her back, the temperamental, unsteady trembling steadying bit by bit. Her hand moves to her eyes, as though to wipe away a tear, but stops halfway through the gesture. Muscle memory, realization. “Regardless of whether you order it or not, I can’t retire. Not yet, maybe not ever. Even as a civilian, my path leads me back to Garlemald. Whether I do so alone or not has yet to be determined.” She pushes off the chair and slowly stands. She brushes off the top of her cap, and holds it gently in both hands.

    “When I was found-” She steps lightly around the Admiral’s desk, and looks out to sea. Merlwyb turns away, grimacing. “As an Imperial, I mean. Detained and questioned. My future was uncertain. I was scared. And then you and I shared words. I had seen Vlybrand by then, of course. The troubles of its people. The shadows made by the sins of your past. I had thought to myself you were ‘Another pretender, claiming hers is the righteous cause’. I had few options, at the time, though. And so I took your deal. Kept my freedom. Lent you my aid.”

    “I remember. You’ve stood by us since then. Though I did not know you thought so poorly of me.” The Admiral says.

    “Aye. But there was a point, both a long while ago and rather recently, at which my mind changed. Do you remember the Crystal Braves? The banquet?”

    She nods.

    “You stood by them, and helped me hide and recover when I was presumed dead.” Her gaze is unbroken on the horizon, body steadier now. The ease with which she holds herself, working its way back into her stance. “You proved me somewhat wrong, there. I had thought you shortsighted, more concerned with your own power and influence. But those decisions cost you. They cost you time, reputation, and coin. But it was what was best for the realm, for those other than yourself.”

    “And then you upstaged yourself. Reckoned with those looming shadows, faced your own mistakes and those of your forefathers. Were ready to pay for it all, too.” She glances up at Merlwyb’s belt, where the pistols hang, “I do not regret joining the Legion - much in the same way you cannot regret being caught in a landslide. It was the wrong choice, but it was the only one left to me.” Her eyes trace down to the city itself.

    “But the Maelstrom? This was the right choice. If you wish me to leave, I will abide by your orders. But I cannot retire. If you would have me, though, I would prefer to continue on with you. Although, I would not complain if my missions in the future are less dangerous, or not as solitary.”

    “What, then? Am I supposed to send you back into the storm? Accept that eventually, I’ll send you out to never return?” Merlwyb’s eyes could bore holes into the papers on her desk, and the wood beneath them. “Am I supposed to accept that, when I’ve been given a chance to repay you for your deeds?”

    “We all have to play it by ear. Have to keep the faith.”

    “If you die, it will have been-” Her hands slam down onto the wood.

    “Who says I’ll die again?”

    “An educated guess. You’re certain? We could set you up with a workshop, a home on the Rhotano. You could leave the rest to us.” Her voice is leaden with frustration left to sit and tangle. The dismissal forms and property deeds sit neatly stacked between her planted fists.

    “I’d certainly be leaving things in good hands. But no. I’ve chosen my path, Merlwyb. I don’t intend on straying from it so late in the journey.”

    She turns from her desk, and follows Vavara’s gaze into the city. It’s high sea pillars and white stone bridges nearly glisten in the sunlight. She listens to the tiny sounds of gear and cogs ticking, the soft omni-present hum of her core. Dimly, some part of her has a realization.

    In the deafening quiet, in the peace, her whole body sings. Not a corpse, fetid and possesed. Not a thing created of violence and death alone. A music-box, the spirit of its creator alive within. It would be cruel to disregard her wishes. Would it be crueler to let them go unopposed? In her position, what would Raubahn have done? Or the Seedseer? What would her father have done?

    Answers rush forward, but none of them find purchase.

    “Very well. I’ll see the dismissal redacted.” She concedes. It feels like all the wind rushes out from her, a fatigue setting in immediately. “But afterwards, I’ll see you take that rest.”

    “As you say, Ma’am.”

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

𝘍𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘌𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Hi, so I wanted to write this for one of my favorite blogs that I always go to when I need some escapism in my life. She’s done a lot for me (and her followers) and her writing is phenomenal, so I wanted to give back; @kenjikutie​ I really hope you like it! I tried really hard on this one!  .*♡*｡∞(〃 ω 〃)ﾟ∞｡*♡*.

I wrote it on this blog so other people who like Bleach can read it too!

And for people who like listening to all kinds of music, listen to this! It doesn’t really go with the story, but I thought it would be cool to share! 

Festival of light by Audiomachine

>Admin 𝕋

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Downcasted emerald eyes watched the folk of Karakura Town walk to and fro, going to various destinations. Trash, utter trash. Nothing of significance to him. Nothing he needed to report to Aizen, everyone there was disposable. He didn’t even know why he was back here, already done with a recon mission a week before. But he wasn’t one to oppose Aizen, it would be too cumbersome to even try.

The Fourth Espada stayed in the outskirt of the town, so he wouldn’t be seen by any passerby. Most of them stayed away, and most of them didn’t even glance towards his direction, all busy with their lives. Something else Ulquiorra doesn’t understand; feelings of determination or feelings of being driven to live life. But, it didn’t matter to him, it wasn’t meant for him.

Focusing back on his reconnaissance, he analyzed several different worthless beings that passed him, noting that there was nothing of significance in none of them, yet again. Dull, disconnected, gray, nothing interesting. All he sensed was just dreary and dry personas, nothing nothing nothing.

There had to be something and yet there wasn’t, and Ulquiorra deduced that this was a buste and there was no point in him being here.

When he was about to turn back and leave, the blacked haired boy felt a tingle, a slight shiver, like something was dancing on his skin. The best word to describe is bright. It was bright.

Ulquiorra slowly rounded back to the bustling crowd and saw a woman standing there, staring at him, watching him. Her expression revealed nothing, but her eyes revealed everything. Curiosity, mostly, but there was defensiveness or maybe a certain protectiveness. Maybe for the people of the town, he thought.

She stared at him for a few more moments before smiling slightly at the Hollow, and started to move, and he knew she wanted him to follow. WIth nothing better to do, he did.

He walked through the trees, parallel to her as she glided through the citizens of Karakura. This continued until they were in a quiet, desolate area of town, where no one was, though there was a big fountain with dolphins spewing water out of their mouths. There was also a singular bench on the left of the fountain, hidden from plain sight. And that was where the mysterious girl led him to, this bench. 

Ulquiorra watched as the girl sat down gracefully, crossing her legs and tucking her (h/c) behind her ear. When she was settled, she looked up to Ulquiorra who was now in front of her, only a few feet away, sizing her up. She had power, he could feel it, and she was stronger. Far stronger than when she had led on when he first saw her. 

She smirked at him when she noticed him become defensive. The girl entwined her fingers together and rested them on her knees. “Now, what is a Hollow, and an Espada at that, doing in Karakura Town?” she asked him, her voice smooth and clear. Frankly melodic to the ears. 

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes a fraction, trying to read her but gaining no new knowledge. Except one. “What is a Quincy doing here, residing in Karakura Town?” he asked back.

“Oh, a question answered with a question, how deflective.” she teased, her smile widening. 

“And you better answer it before I pierce you in the chest right here and now.” the young Hollow threatened, his voice motone, but his eyes holding a promise. 

She held no fear in her face, no anger either. Just subtle curiosity, which Ulquiorra found...intriguing. For once, he found someone intriguing. “I am merely defending my home from enemies like you, Ulquiorra.” she told him. He was surprised that she knew his name. 

“How do you know who I am?” he bristled, ready to get out his weapon, even more so when she started laughing heartily.

“I am of many things, my adorable Hollow, and an information gatherer is one of them. I have to, to keep this town safe. But, I’m not here to fight you.” she explained, her arms now crossed, examining Ulquiorra with a critical eye and he felt like he was under a microscope. It unnerved him, the feel of her power shimming up his spine, making him want to shiver, but he stopped himself.

“Then why did you want me to blatantly follow you to this empty part of your so called home?” he asked, trying his best to not get sucked into her (e/c) eyes. They were like voids of emotionless pits, but yet there was so much feeling in them at the same time. Such contradictory, and Ulquiorra wanted to know more.

“I was interested in you, to put it simply. When I was reading up on you, it said that you were melancholy and indifferent. No emotion whatsoever, save for maybe irritation and annoyance.” she said, chuckling at the end. “I want to know what makes you tick.”

“But we are enemies, I have no way of trusting you, nor you me.” he voiced, stepping just an inch closer, the feel of being pulled in magnetic. Her eyes glimmered with what could be amusement. 

“How about this. We talk and if you feel threatened at all, kill me.” she proclaimed confidently. Ulquiorra tried his best to hide his shock, not expecting her to be so extreme. She then patted the empty spot next to her, indicating for him to sit next to her.

Wearily he slowly sat down, keeping his eyes on her and waiting for anything she might duke out. But, true to her word, she didn’t summon an arrow or anything. No, she turned in her seat so she was facing him, with her lips lifted and a gleam in her eye. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.” he stated.

“My name is (y/n), a retired Quincy at your service.” she answered lightly, as if this conversation wasn’t possibly going to be her demise.

“A retired Quincy, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, retired, ran away, same thing. Point is, I’m not with anybody. I’m a lone wolf.” she said, almost in a self deprecating manner. “Enough about me, I want to know about you. Why are you so--” she motioned to his whole being, “blah.”

“Blah?”

“Yes, blah. Why are you so indifferent, so dull, so one noted. Have you ever felt happiness or sadness or even love?”

Ulquiorra was silent for a moment, trying to understand exactly what she wanted from him, but nonetheless responded, “I have no need for such emotions or heart.”

(y/n) squinted her eyes at the way he used ‘heart,’ but didn’t say anything, only asked him, “Why?”

“If this eye cannot see a thing, then it does not exist. That is the assumption under which I have fought. What is this ‘heart’? If I tear open that chest of yours, will I see it there? If I smash open that skull or yours, will I see it there?” he questioned her, threatening undertones clearly present. She frowned, her brows furrowed slightly, trying to find the right words to use.

“Well, that’s not healthy.” she retorted, laughing slightly. Ulquiorra gave her no answer. He didn’t really know what to say to that, honestly. But suddenly, (y/n) got up from the bench and faced him standing. She leaned down and trapped Ulquiorra with her on either side of his head, and gazed into his eyes with her (e/c) ones. “But that’s okay. I’ll just have to show you. Meet me here, in the same place, a week from now. And I’ll show you what it feels like.” she murmured, and voice having a certain lilt to it. 

It was hypnotizing, the way she spoke like that. Ulquiorra felt that same shiver again, like when her power was touching him. He went to lift his hand to her face, but suddenly, with a burst of wind and light, she was gone from his sight.

Confused and dazed he looked around to find her again, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. With a huff of annoyance, he got up from the bench and walked away, back to headquarters. 

He’s not going to meet with her, no, he had too much to do. Besides, he doesn’t even know her, and she could definitely terminate him if she wanted to; it was too dangerous for him to see her again.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“I can’t believe I’m here.” he uttered to himself, watching the water flow down the fountain. He was waiting at the bench, like he was told to do. 

Sitting and waiting is what he has been doing for the past hour. There was no specific time that was set, so he came the same time as last week, and when he noticed she wasn’t here, he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Ulquiorra was about to up and leave, irritation boiling in his chest until he heard a voice behind him, “Impatient aren’t we.” he quickly stood up from the bench and spun around to see (y/n) there with her hands on her hips and a mischievous smile on her face. She was wearing a flowing rose colored dress that complimented her greatly and she was wearing rose gold earrings and a bracelet to go along with her dress. 

There it was again, the shiver, that achiness. Ulquiorra thought it was her power, but it must be something else. Because everytime he looks at her, her smile, her eyes, it was there. Like he was being taunted.

He hated it.

“I was waiting here for an hour, maybe more.” he told her, ignoring the ache.

“I’m sorry about that, I had to go do something, and it took longer than I expected, but I’m here now! So let’s go!” she exclaimed, then walked around the bench and took him by the arm. He tried to get out of her gasp, but she was too strong. “Now now Ulquiorra, we have to do this right! It’s a date after all!”

“Huh--date? What--” but he was cut off by (y/n) dragging him to the nearby forest. It took them awhile to walk through it, the dense population of trees making it hard to see where they were going, but soon enough (y/n) led them to a huge canyon with a river and a waterfall.

It took them quite a long ways to get there, and it was well hidden. He suspected that nobody else knew this even existed, except him and (y/n). She let go of Ulquiorra and strode to the cliff of the canyon, inhaling the cool air. “Isn’t it nice?” she asked the Hollow, turning to him expectedly. He gave her a blank stare and a shrug, walking over to stand next to her. He gazed over to the waterfall and was mildly surprised to see how big it was. “The waterfall is my favorite too.” (y/n) muttered to him before ambling to it.

They spent the rest of their day there, near the waterfall. (y/n) did most of the talking and asking the questions, while Ulquiorra stayed quiet for all almost all of the date, only speaking up when she was persistent in getting an answer out of him.

They talked about life, her life specifically, but nothing too invasive, everything vague. It was about her childhood and parents, what candy she liked and what kind of foods she hated. 

And Ulquiorra, to his better judgement, was actually enjoying it. Enjoyed the talking, and the listening. Basking in the afternoon sun, and her voice soothing him to relax and enjoy the scenery surrounding them.

Once he had to leave, he promised he would back again next week, same time and place.

This went on for weeks, turning into months.

Until one day, he was waiting at the usual place, once again watching the dolphins spout the water down into the fountains below. And once again heard her voice behind him, just like the first time they kept each other’s company. 

“Do you think we can just sit here for today?” he asked her, to which she smiled and nodded. (y/n) sat down, closer to him than ever before, their arms touching. He didn’t mind it, though. 

“What’s up? You seem to be thinking pretty hard today.” she teased, poking him on the forehead, next to his mask.

“I want to know something.”

“And that would be?”

“Why are you doing this?” his question had taken her aback a bit. She glanced between his eyes and the ground before sighing.

“At first I didn’t think it would lead to us meeting each other for months, and you actually opening up to me. But, I did it because I felt like you would understand me, more than anybody else would. You and I have a lot more in common than you think. The lack of understanding of emotion and empathy, the blank face and the coldness you would show to others. I was once like that, but someone helped out of that mindset, so I wanted to help you because I know that being that way is lonely.” she conveyed, her face showing her concern. She looked to him again when he began speaking.

“I have these aches in my body whenever I look at you. The hole in my chest,” he started to unbutton his jacket to show her, along with his tattoo, “it feels like it quivers and it aches everytime I am with you. I don’t understand what it could be. And when I think about you, it happens. When I talk about you it happens too, and lately I have been thinking and talking about you a lot.” he voiced. He saw a blush come up to her cheeks, and her eyes were wide, looking between his. 

She coughed and sputtered an incoherent sentence and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know what to say to that.” she squeaked out. With his expressionless face, Ulquiorra watched as she squirmed in her seat, then called out to her, “(Y/n).”

It was the first time he has ever said her name. “Y-yes?” she stuttered out, her heart racing. 

“What does it mean to feel? To have a heart?” he asked her. She took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Well, it means to be alive.”

“What if I don’t want that. To be alive.”

“Then I will continue to show you what the world holds, to help you so you know it’s worth it; to live.” she said, her cheeks no longer rosy. He watched her, trying to see any lies, any type of betrayal, and saw none. 

His chest hurt again, and Ulquiorra unconsciously rubbed at it. “So then, what are these things that are happening to me.” he asked, talking about the achiness and the shivers. (Y/n) laughed a little and the blush was back.

“T-that, I think, means you are in love, Ulquiorra.” she muttered under her breath, stuttering a little.

“Love?”

“Uhuh.”

“I don’t need that, it doesn’t exist.” Ulquiorra said hastily. “Is there a way to make it stop?” he heard her chuckled and saw her shake her head no.

“Not really. You don’t choose to have it happen to you, it just does....Do you know who you love?” 

Ulquiorra looked to his hand and shook his head, still not understanding anything she was saying. (y/n) brightened up then, and gently took his face in her hands, shocking him with the sudden contact, but didn’t dare move away.

“I’m going to do something really outrageous and possibly stupid, but is it okay if I do it?” 

He trusted her, and she never did anything to him that would harm him in the months they have been seeing each other so he nodded his approval.

With determination sparkling in her (e/c) eyes, she slowly inched closer to him, staring intently at his lips. Ulquiorra didn’t exactly know what she was doing, but let her do it anyway. He felt her hands trace the marking on his cheeks and they way her fingers were shaking in nervousness. So, to appease her, he closed his eyes, and waited.

He didn’t expect to feel something warm to land on his lips. He didn’t expect it to taste good, or feel so good on his own lips. He didn’t expect for his chest to burn like a raging fire, along with his whole body and face. He didn’t open his eyes until she moved back. Her face was glowing and her eyes glittering like two jewels. And he found her...Beautiful. So very beautiful. “Do it again.”

“What?”

“Whatever you just did, do it again.”

And she did. She kissed him again, pressing her lips to his, but with more pressure this time. She felt him kiss back now, and her heart felt as though it was going to explode. She felt him take her in his arms and hold her tightly, and she squeaked into the kiss, doing the same to him. 

(y/n) pulled back, needing air, and saw Ulquiorra slowly open his own eyes, and something was different about them. They seemed clear now, not as foggy. He looked to her and she watched as a small smiled was placed on his lips. “I understand now.” he muttered to her.

He leaned forward again and pressed her lips to his, feeling fireworks. He really did understand now. This feeling being love, it made sense; no wonder he felt so happy and okay with it.

They sat there, just holding each other and occasionally touching lips. (Y/n) didn’t say much after that, she was quiet and keeping her head resting on Ulquiorra’s shoulder, whereas Ulquiorra put the free side of his head on hers, their hands intertwined, her thumb rubbing circles. They whispered anything and everything to each other as the sun set, but Ulquiorra didn’t get up to leave as he was supposed to. No, he stayed with her, wanting to keep staying with her.

He wanted to be with her, if it meant that these feelings will keep emerging from within him like this.

[clintbartonswife]

Home

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, (platonic) Steve x Reader Summary: When Steve first comes out of the ice, he learns of his fellow Howling Commando’s fates, yours being less than pretty. So, when he goes back to return the stones, he decides to be selfish. He brings you home.

Written for @buckygrantbarnes writing challenge with the prompt : Epiphany (n)- a moment of sudden revelation or insight. It’s in bold. I really tried 

Warning: brief mentions of suicide, angst, minor swearing, involves flashbacks (through Steve’s eyes) to 40s!bucky and 40s!steve

Word Count: 3.2k - this was not meant to get this long oh dear god

masterlist

“Are you sure you want to do this Cap?” Tony asked, placing the Manila folders in front of him cautiously, “You might not like everything that you read”

Steve just nodded, his eyes immediately drawn to your file, “I have to know”

He waited until he was alone that evening to look through the folders, starting with Dum Dum’s folder. By 2 am in the morning he had finally reached yours, fingers hesitating at the crisp pages. With a deep breath, he finally opened it. 

Your face beamed up at him, standing in between him and Bucky. That particular picture had been taken after their first successful hydra raid with the howling commandos, the three of you full of incomparable joy. Steve felt his eyes brimming with tears as he set the picture aside, moving onto the typed up briefing of your life. 

He knew something was wrong before he had even started, the folder much thinner than that of the other members, only a mere few pages detailing your life after the war. His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the sight, yet he continued to read. 

She continued to fight with the surviving commandos until the end of the war, where she was heavily decorated amongst her peers. Retiring from the forces, she moved back to Brooklyn, only 5 minutes away from Rebecca Barnes and her new husband. 3 months after retiring from the service she was found dead in her apartment from a gunshot to the head, self inflicted. 

Steve felt sick. Utterly, utterly sick. He had left you alone, and without him or Bucky there to help you, you had crumbled. Shoving the folder away from him, he stumbled to his feet, dashing out of his room and towards the common room kitchen to get some water. 

He ignored a few worried calls as he walked through the corridors, his mind reeling with the imaginative horrors of your death, conjuring up images of your limp body sprawled lifelessly on the floor -  

The thought made him heave, tears gathering in his eyes as he clumsily took a cup from the cupboard and began to fill it up, his usually steadfast hands shaking life a leaf as memories of his youth filled his head.

“I didn't see you here yesterday, you’re always sat here sketching at 4. Were you okay?”

Steve looked up at you in shock, sketching pad lying on his legs as he tried to formulate a sentence.

“Wha - yeah. My asthma was bad is all, ma didn't want me leaving the house. Um - I’m Steve”

“Y/N” you greeted cheerfully, seating yourself next to him on the bench, “I think we’re going to be great friends”

“Steve! Wait up!” you called, running down the street, madly weaving through the throngs of people that lined the Brooklyn streets. Steve had known you for years now, Bucky instantly accepting you into the fold.

Steve watched you approach with a grin, leant against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets to keep out of the way of the morning rush. 

“I thought you had ditched me” he teased, elbowing you lightly in the side, “was waiting for 20 minutes doll”

You ducked your head slightly, your hair falling in your face as you laughed, “I would never Steve - you know that”

With a small nod, he offered you his arm, the two of you walking towards the theatre.

“Is Buck coming?”

“Shouldn’t you know that?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You blanched, a blush creeping up your cheeks, “I don't have a clue what you’re talking about”

He snorted, falling next to you in line at the ticket booth with a relaxed smile.

“Yeah, because you didn't fall hopelessly in love with him when we were 7″

You punched his arm lightly, stumbling over words as you tried to defend yourself.

“He’ll ask you out any day doll, I’m sure of it”

“Steve! Help me!”

He turned around to see Bucky close in on you, tackling you to the ground before he began tickling your sides.

“Make him stop - ow! James! I’ll get you for this I swear!”

“Nah, you love me too much to hurt me babydoll” Bucky smirked, his eyes shining with admiration as he stared down at your scowling face.

Steve sniggered as he watched you turn beet red, immediately wiggling out from underneath the taller man and making a rushed excuse to leave.

“What was that?”

“You called her babydoll again” Steve smirked, crossing his arms triumphantly, “Just admit it, you like her”

“I don't know what you’re talking about punk”

“Jerk”

“It’s in Europe, they say we might have to join” you said in a low voice, squished between Bucky and Steve in a booth, a shared smoothie sat on the table.

“Someone’s got to stop the Nazis - I think we should help” Steve explained with a small shrug. “They’re bullies, they need to be stopped”

“What do you think Buck?”

“Huh - what? Sorry doll I wasn’t listening”

You sighed, narrowing your eyes at Dot who had been flirting with him from across the diner.

“Just go sit with her if she’s that bloody interesting”

“If that’s alright with you?”

You huffed moodily, Steve answering for the both of you, a scowl forming on your face as you watched him flirt.

“He’s nothing but a skirtchaser” you huffed, taking an angry sip of milkshake, “Just admit it Steve, he sees me as a sister. I’ve known him too long”

“Trust me, he doesn’t look at you like he looks at Becca. He’s just being an idiot right now” Steve said, consoling you, “Besides, they never last more than a week, you’ve got to realise there’s a reason for that”

“I’ll believe it when I see it Rogers”

“Buck you cant go” you cried into his chest, hands fisted into the material of his jacket.

“I’m sorry doll, but you know I have to. I’ll come home, I promise” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled away, moving to give Steve a hug.

“Look after her while I’m gone Steve, I mean it”

“You know I will”

“And don't do anything stupid”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” Steve smiled sadly, moving to hold your hand as you waved Bucky off.

As soon as he was out of sight you buried your head in Steve’s shoulder, letting out broken sobs as he held you tightly.

“I didn’t tell him Steve”

“I know”

“What do you mean you’re leaving? You’re being deployed?”

“Yes, well I -” You cut him off with a hug, knowing how much he wanted to get in to the army, until the reality came crashing down.

“What am I supposed to do? What about your asthma? Your pains? I - I should join the nurses, see if I can go with you. You’ll - you’ll need someone who knows how to help you”

“Y/N no, I promised Buck -”

“You cant leave me here alone Steve, I cant be in Brooklyn alone”

“Who are - wait - Steven?”

“It's me”

“But you’re massive! What happened to you!”

“I joined the army” he chuckled, a sad tinge to his voice

“Why’re you sad?”

“They’re not deploying me. They have me on a dance troupe instead, something about selling bonds”

You pulled him into a hug, withholding a sigh of relief, “Well, I guess I’ve found my new job, eh?”

You snuck off stage with Steve, ignoring the cheers of the soldiers as you consoled him, smiling at Peggy as she approached.

“Tough crowd? That audience contains what was left of the 107th -”

“Wait, the 107th?” 

Steve was up in a flash, you and Peggy following close behind.

“Sir I just need to know one name, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, please”

“I’ve written more of those letters than I’d care to admit today - I’m sorry but the name does sound familiar”

You choked down a sob as Steve asked what the plan was to save the POWs, your hand absentmindedly clutching his as you tried to ground yourself.

“I cant believe I let you come” Steve breathed exasperatedly, watching as you put your show helmet back on, a determined look in your eye.

“Hey, I’ve been training her, she’s pretty good” Peggy smiled, handing you a pistol and holster, as well as a stolen machine gun.

The plane leered to the side slightly, Howard shouting apologies from the front.

“I’ll have you know I beat your accuracy on the shooting range, Rogers” you teased, attaching the thigh holster as you steadied your breathing, getting ready to drop into enemy territory.

You fought brutally, following Steve’s every move as you made your way through the hydra base.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Get the prisoners out, I’ll carry on looking for Bucky”

“Are you sure -”

“If he sees you here you know he’s just going to act tough, we need to move quickly”

You snorted in agreement, taking the cell keys and splitting off from him, shooting down the last few guards before entering the room.

“Who are you?” 

“Here to save your asses”

“I asked you to keep her safe!”

“I did! She’s fine isn't she?”

“She is standing right here! And yes, I’m joining and there’s nothing you can do about it, okay?”

“Doll, I just don't think -” “Bucky if the dame wants to come along, let her come” Dum Dum interrupted, “She saved us back then and she seems capable enough”

You smiled smugly, raising your eyebrow at Bucky as Steve watched on in amusement.

“You’re not gonna back down from this are you? God my ma’s gonna kill me”

You cheered at his acceptance, pulling both Bucky and Steve into a hug.

“The three musketeers back together again”

“I wish it was under better circumstances”

“don't we all”

“Bucky I’m fine! It was the right move, if I hadn't have gone in there then the turret might have taken Gabe and Pinky out!”

“You almost got shot!”

“We’re always almost getting shot!”

“But normally I have eyes on you - I can look out for you” “I don't need you to babysit me James! I can do it!” “Well I cant! I lost eyesight on you and you weren’t answering me doll - I - you can’t do that -“

“You don’t seem that bothered when the others leave your sight! You’re being hypocritical Bucky -“

“I LOVE YOU GODDAMNIT”

Everything went quiet, a shocked gasp escaping your lips at the epiphany.

The men cleared their throats awkwardly, the two of your voices carrying back to the camp. Steve, however, sat back in his seat happily, glad that his friend had finally taken the leap. 

Everyone was sat quietly as Jaques fiddled with the radio, trying to hack into the Russian network.

Steve was sat opposite the two of you, watching as you had a hushed conversation. You were sat in between Bucky’s legs, your back leant against his chest. You tilted your head upwards to talk to him, small giggles escaping your lips as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

The rare peaceful moment was cut short as the channel took hold, harsh Russian cutting through the cold air, bringing with it the beginnings of the next mission.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we were cornered and I needed to get into the control room!”

“Jesus babydoll, are you trying to give me a heart attack”

“I can handle myself Buck! How many times do I need to prove myself before you realise that? I can fight my own fucking battles”

Bucky cut you off with a growl, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, muttering something about your dirty mouth.

“We’ll be back in a bit Steve”

“Try and keep it down this time” Steve teased, earning a shocked curse from you as you began to scold him.

“Steven Grant Rogers, how very dare you -”

“Stevie you’ll never guess what!”

“Did he do it?”

You turned around to Bucky, a massive grin on your face.

“He knew?”

“Of course he knew, who do ya think helped me pick the ring?”

Delighted, you hugged Steve, thanking him.

“He was getting cold feet, thought it was too soon” Steve teased, “all I had to do was remind him you’ve been in love since you were 14 - he’s been carrying that damn ring around since the last big town”

“I love you big idiots”

Bucky chuckled from behind you, his arms encircling your waist protectively, chin resting on the top of your head.

“Just a few more bases and we can go home” Bucky promised, Steve nodding firmly.

“Just a few more”

You stared blankly at Steve, his words falling on to deaf ears. Blindly, you started towards the edge of the cliff to look at the train track where he had fallen, Steve’s hands preventing you from getting too close.

“He’s not gone. He’s not”

“I’m sorry, I reached for him. He was right there and I-“ Steve’s voice broke off into sobs, your arms mechanically hugging him. You were numb.

“It’s not your fault” you murmured repeatedly, “not your fault”

Only two weeks later, the group had found the main hydra base. Steve had tried talking you out of coming but you needed the revenge, the alcohol not cutting into your grief.

You moved through the base with conviction, unbridled fury coursing through your veins as you cleared corridors of hostiles by yourself, movements brutal and unforgiving.

“He’s on the jet - missiles - I need backup”

You watched as Steve kissed Peggy, a small smirk pulling at your lips, before you continued clearing the way to the control room.

“I’ve got to put her in the water”

“Steve - no. You can’t do that to me, please”

Peggy tried to come up with an alternative route, but Steve was sure it was the only way.

“Y/N I’m so sorry”

As Steve stepped on the platform, one glance at Bucky confirmed what he had to do.

When he had first remembered you, he had cried for hours in Steve’s arms until he eventually worked up the courage to read your folder. He had gone silent for a few minutes before letting out the most heart wrenching sob Steve had ever heard.

He was inconsolable for quite a while afterwards, quite similar to Steve when he had found out, unable to imagine you in a place that dark.

“3, 2, 1”

A hesistant knock sounded at your door, bringing you out of your daydream. You cursed the interruption, reality crashing back down around as you realised you were back in the States and they were gone.

The person knocked again, more firmly this time. You opened it with a fake smile (one you had mastered recently), to be met with a familiar set of broad shoulders.

”Steve?”

Your voice was shaky, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek.

“Oh god I’m going insane aren’t I - you - you died. You’re both dead. Who - why are you doing this? It’s not funny!” You wept, scrambling backwards.

“Y/n-“

You froze at his voice, hands beginning to tremble.

“No, no”

Your crying increased as you pressed your hands to your ears, sliding down the wall until you were hunched over, rocking back and forth slightly.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead” you mumbled.

“Y/n I’m here, it’s me. I’m here doll”

Warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace, “shhh. Shhhh”

“Is it - is it really you?” You asked, hands clawing at his shirt, “Steve, Steve it’s you?”

“It’s me, I’m here” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“But - but - the ice. You crashed Steve. You - you - you died! You both died!” You had to pause, choking on tears, “you both left me. I had to come back here alone, you know I didn't want to be in Brooklyn alone”

“I know, and I’m so sorry doll. I’m so sorry. But I came here to take you home, with Buck and I”

“Oh - I did it didn’t I?”

“What?”

“I’m dead”

“No. You’re not dead, but you did-“ his voice broke off, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to finish his sentence, “I know what you’re thinking of doing”

“Oh”

“I’m from the future, there’s no easy way to put it. The ice froze me, kept me alive. I read it in your notes”

“Bucky’s alive in the future too?”

“The fall didn’t kill him”

You gasped, filling in the gaps yourself.

“Oh god, we - we basically handed him to them!”

“But he’s alive, he’. Please let me save you doll - come back with me. I know it will be different but -“

“Yes, please don't leave me again Stevie I cant - not again - I cant”

The blond just nodded in understanding, helping you to your feet.

“Is there anything you need to get?”

You shook your head, your engagement ring still shining on your finger as you grasped the two sets of dog tags around your neck.

Steve tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“Rebecca wanted Bucky’s, I couldn’t say no to her. I got to keep yours though - you can have them back if you want?”

“No need” he smiled, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, “Let’s go”

You fell to your knees on a metal platform, Steve’s hand still resting on your shoulder.

“Steve what did you do?”

You ignored the unfamiliar voice as you looked up, eyes frantically searching for Bucky.

“Steve -”

You whipped around at the sound of his voice, “Buck”

You launched yourself at him immediately, the two of you crumbling to the ground in a messy embrace. Tears ran steadily down his cheeks as his hands ran over your figure, as if solidifying that you were really in front of him.

“Your hair is so long now” you giggled tearfully, stroking your hands through the silky strands, “and you have a beard!”

He laughed ruefully, searching your face quickly before burying his face back into your neck.

“I missed you babydoll” he whispered into your skin, tightening his arms around your waist, “I’m so sorry for everything”

Frowning, you cut him off, gently moving his face in front of yours and pulling him into a sweet, tender kiss.

“You have nothing to be sorry for James, nothing at all”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, eyes drawn to the ring.

“You kept it”

“There was never gonna be anyone else Buck -”

“I know”

Averting your eyes from Bucky for a few seconds, you gestured for Steve to join the hug, your family unit complete.

“The three musketeers back together again” Steve smiled, leaning forwards so all three of your foreheads were touching.

“Punk”

“Jerk”

“Idiots”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Love; Lost (pt.5)

John Wick x Reader (A/- I really wanted to see it through to where they actually met their baby, so now we have this.)

1  2  3  4

Warnings- Kidnapping, mentions of childbirth, gun violence. 

Six Months Later After they’d gotten engaged, John had completed his last job just weeks later, and in celebration, he and Y/n had gone down to city hall and tied the knot. It had been an extremely small and intimate affair with just a couple witnesses. Though it didn’t take away from the romance; Y/n had worn a simple white knee length dress that showed off her barely there bump and John had donned a smart suit, sans tie. Afterwards, they’d gone to dinner at one of their favorite places. Six months later, they were still basking in newlywed bliss, all while preparing for their new addition. 

“John?” Y/n called, slowly descending the stairs to the basement, where John worked most days. Ever since he’d left the assassin life behind, he’d taken on book binding full time, though it was largely as a cover and something to keep him occupied; his former lifestyle had left them more than financially secure. Though, restoring classics by commission still brought in a fair amount too. “John!” Y/n called, louder that time, she’d been calling out to him since opening the basement door, journeying up and down stairs was becoming a task, especially considering Y/n hadn’t seen her own feet in nearly two and a half months by then.

“Yeah?” John finally replied, standing from his chair when Y/n was finally a few feet off. Seeming to just realize himself, his eyes widened and he dropped his tools, careful to not make a mess, “Y/n, babe, what are you doing down here? The ink-”

“Isn’t good for me and neither is the heat,” Y/n cut him off rolling her eyes. It was a lecture she’d gotten several times. Even if he was no longer the big, scary Baba Yaga, John was still the man that loved his wife and child, who they’d not too long ago found was going to be a little girl, to pieces; overprotective and sometimes, more concerned than called for. “You know,” she teased, “I wouldn’t have to come down here if you’d answer me when I call you from up there,” with one hand, Y/n pointed up the stairs, while the other laid absently on her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he frowned lightly, stepping closer to Y/n, planting a loving kiss to her forehead. One of his large hands rested next to Y/n’s on her bump, smiling lightly when he felt their daughter kick, “I was just so focused on work, and you know the walls down here are thicker. You could have texted me though.”

Y/n huffed, rolling her eyes again, “Texted you from upstairs? Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

Chuckling, John brushed some stray hair away from Y/n’s face, surveying her outfit for the first time; a cute, navy blue maternity dress that ended at her knees with little bow at the breast line and capped sleeves, paired what had recently become her favorite pair of shoes- and the only pair she could put on without his help. Not that John ever complained about doing it. He’d do anything for his two favorite girls. “You’re going somewhere?” He furrowed his brows; he didn’t want to say it, but the thought of her going out alone that late into the pregnancy worried him.

“Yeah,” Y/n shook her head absently, trying to remember if she’d mentioned it or not, “I have to pick up that custom blanket we ordered. And I also need to get some cleaning fluid for my camera. I’m sorry,” she pouted, “I must have forgotten to mention that.”

“It’s okay,” John smiled faintly, “But maybe you could take it easy and I’ll get that stuff for you?”

“What?” Y/n scoffed, dismissing him, “No, it won’t take too long, I’ll be back before lunch. And I’m already dressed.”

John sighed, rubbing his hands up and down Y/n’s arms, “Yeah, but don’t you want to get some rest?”

“I’ve gotten a lot of rest over the past week,” frowning, Y/n sighed heavily, “John, it's just a few hours, okay, let's not make a thing of it.”

“I’m not trying to make a thing of it,” it's not like he’d actively set out to upset her, “I just-”

“Want me to be safe and healthy,” Y/n made a sound in her throat that sounded much like an exasperated groan, “I know. But I’m going into the city for a couple hours. I doubt something bad is gonna happen. Look,” she bargained, “If you want, I can text you the entire time. You’ll know where I am, and that I’m okay.”

Something in the back of his head told John that he should plead with her to stay home, but he knew her and he knew that Y/n wouldn’t let it go without a fight. Besides, he was probably being paranoid anyway. “Fine,but not while you’re driving,” John nodded stiffly, kissing Y/n again, “I’m sorry, I was squeezing too tight, I just want you two to be okay.”

“I know,” Y/n cupped his cheek, “But we’re fine, and I promise, if we’re not, you’ll be the first to know.”

Letting his eyes slip closed, John bent to press his forehead to her, “Good. I’ll see you later?”

“Well obviously,” Y/n giggled, “I love you,” she kissed him one final time.

“I love you too,” when John pulled away, he crouched down, his hands on Y/n’s hips, “And I love you, my little princess,” he pressed a kiss to Y/n’s stomach, nuzzling it before he pulled away, letting her head back upstairs and off to town.

Four Hours Later John was knee deep in his work, his steady fingers carefully working the tools expertly, a reflection of his skill in the area. He was repairing a dislodged page from a first edition of a classic children’s novel. It was for a client who collected that sort of thing and since his ‘retirement’, John had worked on quite a few books for the elderly woman. Slowly, with optimum expertise, John reattached the page, sighing heavily when his phone started vibrating on the table. At first, he had every intention of ignoring it, though, quickly realized that it could be Y/n, snatching it up without any regard for the caller Id. “Hello?”

“Mr. Wick?” The voice wasn’t readily familiar and carried a thick Russian accent, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Who is this?” John’s voice was gruff and low, disinterested in games, and definitely not interested in carrying a conversation with whoever was on the other anyway; the only Russians he knew were criminals.

The man chuckled, “Why, I’m offended, considering we were such good friends before you retired But don’t worry Mr. Wick, it will come to you soon enough,” when John didn’t respond, his mind already ticking; trying to figure out who the caller was. Whoever it was, greatly unsettled him. “You know John, when you came to me, saying that you needed help so you could get out, I thought that maybe, you were getting too old. Every dog has its day,” he chuckled again, and that was what jogged John’s memory. The man was Dimitri Sokolov, the leader of a mob that had broken away from Viggo’s about twenty years ago. Since their split, Viggo and Dmitri had been sworn enemies, so naturally, when John needed help to get out from under Viggo’s thumb, ready to start a normal life with Y/n, he’d gone to Dimitri, who was more than willing to knock his enemy down a few notches. It hadn’t been his best idea, John knew that, but he was desperate; he wanted to be done, for good, so he could fully commit himself to Y/n and their child. “But now I see,” Dimitri continued without John’s entertainment, “It was for a woman.”

Just then, John’s phone buzzed, and hurriedly, he pulled it away, opening a string of texts from an unknown number. They were all pictures of Y/n in real time, walking along the pavement in hand, shopping bags in hand, handbag on her shoulder and her favorite coat thrown over her pretty dress. “She’s beautiful, absolutely radiant,” Dimitri hummed, “I see why you wanted to leave for her, besides the obvious of course. The young lady stole Baba Yaga’s heart, didn’t she?”

“Whatever you want,” John’s jaw was clenched, book-binding forgotten and his complete attention focused to protecting Y/n, “I’m sure you can get it without bringing her into this.”

“Now,” Dimitri sighed, “If I didn’t do that, then I wouldn’t have any leverage, now would I? Besides, I worked so hard to find Y/n, the wife of the Boogeyman, mother of his child. Would be a shame if something happened to her, don’t you agree? And if you never met that baby, tragic.”

At the mention of Y/n, John’s breath caught in his throat; he couldn’t let something happen to her, John didn’t think he could live with it. A world without her, where he’d never met his daughter would kill him, if not physically, in every other way. “You wouldn’t,” John croaked, hoping Dimitri wouldn’t hear the crack in his voice. 

Chortling heartily, “How naive of you; thinking that killing a woman and her child is beneath me. Let me tell you something John; you owe me. That little family you’re trying to make with Y/n, I gave it to you, and I promise, if you aren’t willing to cooperate, I’ll have no problem taking it away. In fact,” another text came in, that time, the picture of Y/n was taken from a closer angle, “I could take her out right now if I wanted. Imagine that, having a pretty little wife and a baby on the way, and in just seconds, they're gone.”  

The gnarly thought made John’s stomach turn, and he stood from his workstation abruptly, breathing heavy, “What do you want?” 

“I’m sending you an address, I want everyone at it dead by five pm,” Dmitri paused and John knew it was to rile him up, “And if they’re not, then I hope you can make peace with knowing that your family died because of you,” he paused again, that time in anticipation of John’s response. Though, it never came, instead, John clenched his jaw, his fist enclosed at his side. Smacking his lips, Dmitri carried on, “In the meantime, I’ll be taking your lovely wife…..under my wing. Do we have an agreement Mr. Wick?” 

Instead of answering, John hung up, immediately pulled up Y/n’s number, there was no way he was giving Dmitri the opportunity to get to her. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he was going to try. She picked up on two rings, “Hey handsome.” 

“Hey baby,” John tried to maintain his composure, but just the sound of her voice was enough to sting his eyes. Y/n had no idea what was going on, how much danger she was in. He’d do anything, give everything to have had her stay home, where she’d be safe. Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat, “Did you get everything?”

“Yeah. Oh John,” she giggled, “You should see the blanket, it’s the cutest and they embroidered it in white, at the corner, Baby A. Wick. And it’s so soft,” her tone was giddy and John wished that he could share her excitement, but all it did was make him sick to his stomach. That couldn’t be the last time they talked, “I can’t wait to bring her home in it,” Y/n sighed happily.

Sniffing, John nodded, “Me too baby.” Biting his lip, John had to stop himself from breaking down, throwing up, or both. 

“You okay honey? You sound funny, are you sick?” A new worry etched Y/n’s tone and John felt himself melting the way he usually did when she expressed her concern for him. Before Y/n, no one had ever cared for him the way she had, he never thought that he deserved it before she made him realize that he did. 

“No,” John cleared his throat again, “Y/n, love, I need you to do something for me, you need to do exactly as I say, please. I need you to go somewhere, it’s at the end of-” John was mere seconds away from directing Y/n to the Continental, where he knew for certain, no one would hurt her, when she gasped loudly, her breathing loud and unsteady through the speaker, “What? What’s going on?”

“John….” she breathed, her voice shaking, “I….” another gasp left her lips and John could hear her trying not to cry. In the background, John could hear someone else, a man urging Y/n to keep walking and play it cool, “I love you.” Before he could have a few seconds to return the words or even tell her what was going on, the line clicked dead.

“Y/n?” John nearly yelled, pulling the phone away. The call had been disconnected. He couldn’t believe it; he’d had a solid five minutes, just enough time to direct her to the hotel, and he hadn’t used it. Anything could happen to her, and it was because of him. In a frenzy, John tried to call her back, but it went straight to voicemail. Eventually, his efforts were interrupted by another text; a picture of Y/n buckled up in the front seat of a sedan, her hands bound at the wrists with cable ties and her face tear stained, the caption was simple, but effective; ‘try something like that again, and she’s gone.’ Tossing the phone to the table, John hastily swiped at his eyes, snarling viciously before pounding his fists on the surface. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. John was retired, on the cusp of starting a family with the woman of his dreams. He should have been painting a nursery, not about to dig out his old gear. But he’d do it, to save her, he’d do anything.

“Come on,” the scruffy, shady-looking man tugged at Y/n’s arm, pulling her out of the unmarked car. His grip was tight, and even through the sleeves of her short trench, his nails seemed to dig into her skin. Y/n stumbled forward, struggling to keep up with the man, who’s name she didn’t know- apparently kidnappers didn’t particularly care for introductions. 

They walked along a dirt road, towards an old, dilapidated barn, miles away from the city. Y/n blinked away tears, desperately trying to push away her fear. “Why are you doing this?” She summed up the courage to ask. The closer they got to the barn, the worse it looked; white paint was flaking off in huge sections, exposing weather beaten wood, every nail holding the thing together, or at least the ones that Y/n could see, looked like a one way road to tetanus and whatever glass remained at the broken windows was stained with dust collected over the years.

Just as he shoved inside, her captor chuckled humorlessly, pushing Y/n towards the center of the barn, “You should ask your husband.”  Hastily, he pushed Y/n into a rickety chair jammed to an old post. The dingy cushions looked musty and uncomfortable and the frame was rusted and crooked. Upon being shoved into it, Y/n winced, her breath jumping when the man started tying one of her legs to the chair. Using the distraction, Y/n laced her fingers together, rearing back and swinging wildly, catching him at the side of his head. The assault knocked him off balance and the diamond on her wedding ring seemed to break his skin, though it didn’t take long for him to recover and it certainly wasn’t enough time for Y/n to get up and run. Without thinking twice, he slapped her, hard, “You fucking bitch!”

A choked sob escaped her lips, one of which was now split. Her cheek burned and hot tears didn’t do anything to cool it. “Look at me,” calloused fingers grabbed her chin. Y/n took her lower lip between her teeth and her chest heaved, racked with shaky sobs, “You really wanna make this harder than it has to be?” When Y/n didn’t answer, he yelled, “Answer me!”

Jumping, she cried a bit louder, “No.” Grumbling something about how she’d have to behave, the man resumed his former task, tying her ankles to the chair, leaving her legs slightly parted. When he was done, the man stood, pulling a chair up directly in front of her, just about five feet away, getting out his phone, dialing a number before putting it to his ear, “I got her. She was a little difficult,” he swept away blood from the cut that Y/n had given him, “He’s really got himself a spitfire,” Y/n felt the man’s eyes roam her body, travelling upwards from her bare legs, “Pretty though, he’s got good taste.” After a few grunts of understanding and exchanged words, he hung up, redirecting his attention to a whimpering Y/n.

“My husband’s gonna find us,” she croaked, Y/n’s tears had slowed by then, her faith in John the only thing pulling her through. John would find her, and he’d save her.

“Oh I’m counting on it,” he offered her a toothy grin, filled with nothing but malice, “He’d be a fool thinking we’re gonna let him leave this place alive. See, the big, bad Baba Yaga is going to be so focused on saving his pretty little lady, that he won’t even see us coming and then…” he made a shooting motion with his fingers, “Out he goes.”

‘We’re’? There were more of them?

When a pressure tightened her back, Y/n shifted uncomfortably, passing it off as the faulty chair and all the adrenaline coursing through her. “John’s smarter than that,” Y/n was unwilling to think that John would be so easily distracted; he’d been in the business for twenty odd years, she couldn’t be the person that got him killed. He couldn’t leave her like that, leave them like that. Now more fearful than before, Y/n swallowed thickly, gripping her stomach, feeling her baby kick fretfully, no doubt aware of her mother’s distress. Her breathing grew heavier, though she tried to hide it, her jaw clenching when another wave of pain shot up her spine reaching to her front. As hard as she tried, a small, pained gasp left her lips and she shifted again. As quickly as it came though, the pain was gone. “He’s not gonna fall for a stupid trick.”

“I admire your faith in him,” the man stood, approaching her slowly, and Y/n cowered in her seat. When he reached her, the man brushed some hair out of her face, crouching down in front of her, gently caressing her stomach. His touch was nauseating and it made her blood crawl, “You think you’d ever get remarried if something happened to him?” The question sounded absent and unconcerned, and with his free hand, he twisted a lock of her hair in his finger, “I could probably be a good daddy.”

Y/n spat in his face, “Go to hell you son of a bitch.” Maybe she couldn’t fight him, or run away, but she certainly wasn’t prepared to be a complacent participant.

Enraged; nostrils flared and eyes wide, he grabbed the front of Y/n’s dress, causing her to cry out in fright, “Listen you little bitch, I haven’t killed you yet, but don’t for a fucking second think that I’m not above putting a bullet in your head, I don’t care who your husband is,” he shoved her back and Y/n hit the back of her head on the post, not hard enough to knock her out but hard enough for it to blur her vision and send shocks through out her body. Her breathing grew heavy and her sobs resumed, just as the man let her dress go, grumbling as he walked towards the door, fishing a wrinkled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. 

John got into his car, his hands and the white shirt on the inside of his suit stained with splatters of blood. Without giving it a second thought, he dropped the last gun he’d used in the space between the driver and passenger seats. Hurriedly, he used his bloodied fingers to send the pictures he’d taken as proof that the job was done. It hadn’t been as hard as he anticipated, there were about ten people in the warehouse, the headquarters for a drug operation. John didn’t know what Dimirti’s beef with them was, not that he cared. All he wanted was to get his wife and child home safely.

After sending the pictures, John got his Mustang started, brashly pulling down the sun visor, his shoulders slumping when he saw a polaroid of him and Y/n, held back by the black elastic strap. It was the first picture she’d taken with the camera he’d gotten her; they were sitting on the sofa at home and she was kissing his cheek, so much had changed since then. Directly beneath that was one he’d recently added; an ultrasound print, one from the day they’d found out that they were having a girl. It had been one of the best days of his life, right up there with the day he met Y/n, the day she agreed to come home and their wedding day.

Then it hit John. Like a bullet to the chest.

His best days were all because of Y/n.

Trying to shake off his despair, John swallowed tightly, holding the steering wheel in a death grip, pulling out onto the lonely street, speeding into the traffic on the main road. Expertly, John navigated the streets, narrowly avoiding other cars, almost causing an accident when a text came through. Swiping the phone up from his lap, he opened it, barely keeping his eyes on the road, it was a shared location along with the words, ‘Well done, hope you can drive fast, we’re getting impatient.’ When a picture of Y/n, with her lip split and her cheek looking sore and red, John jerked the wheel, his heart rate speeding up faster than he thought was possible. 

Thankfully, he had considerable knowledge on the address on where Y/n was being kept and didn’t need to closely follow the directions. John’s foot was heavy on the gas as he pulled onto the freeway, intent on the shabby barn just outside the city. 

At some point, Y/n had fallen asleep, though a sharp pain had her gasping as she awoke abruptly. It was worse than what she’d felt earlier; sharp and persistent, and the throbbing of her head only seemed to make things worse. Groaning, she shifted restlessly, waiting until it was over before she looked around. Still in the barn, still tied to the chair.

Y/n had no idea how much time had passed, but she did know that it was enough time for her muscles to start feeling stiff, her mouth was dry too and she was exhausted beyond compare. All Y/n wanted was to get back to John, safe in their home. With a reinvigorated desire to escape, Y/n started wiggling her wrists, trying to wean them out of the cable ties, wincing when the plastic cut into her skin instead of coming loose.

“What the hell are you doing?” Her captor’s voice billowed as he slammed the creaky door behind him, approaching Y/n slowly, knowing full and well that she wasn’t much of a threat.

After a yelp of surprise and a defeated sigh, Y/n stopped; she’d already been knocked around enough. She didn’t answer, opting to shift her gaze to the floor a few feet in front of her. “So this is Mrs. Y/n Wick,” upon hearing the new voice, her head snapped up. Next to the man was another, much older and better dressed in a suit with bowler and scarf, “Pleasure to meet you,” he grinned cheekily. His Russian accent was thick, and Y/n didn’t have the slightest clue on who he was, but she didn’t know that he wasn’t anyone good, “I’m Dimitri, and I heard Boris here didn’t introduce himself. Boris, apologize to the young lady.”

Snorting his short laugh, Boris apologized halfheartedly, “Sorry princess.”

Y/n cringed at the nickname, opting to stay silent. The closer Dimirti got, the more she tried to recoil into the chair, “No need to be scared, it’ll all be over soon,” his grip on her chin was far gentler than Boris’ had been, but it still made her fearful, “Shame you have to die before you meet your baby.” Y/n swallowed tightly, quiet tears warm on her cheeks, “You know, I met your John not too long ago, we’re good friends.”

“You kill friends?” Y/n managed meekly.

Dimitri chuckled, “Only if they want to kill me first. I’m not a fool, and I know that after this little stunt, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. And I can’t let that happen,” he smiled coldly. When he let her face go, Dimitri turned on his heel, walking away as if he hadn’t just given her the most frightening news of her life.

Y/n breathed heavily, mostly from fright, though, when the cushion beneath her, along with the skirt of her dress, her underwear and the inside of her thighs felt instantly warm and wet, she gasped loudly. Neither Boris nor Dimirti paid her any mind though, and all Y/n could do was hope John showed up in time so their baby wouldn’t be born in the same room as murderers.

It felt like ages since her water had broken and the time between the sharp, intensifying pains were becoming shorter. Y/n had tried to count the minutes herself, but had lost track well over three times. It was hard to think with everything going on; Dimitri and Boris were conspiring quietly, her head still hurt a little and she was torn between hiding her situation and just letting things happen. 

Upon she heard a ruckus outside, Y/n didn’t think she’d ever be so relieved by gunshots. Her only hope was that John was the one firing them. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she found out; John was barreling through the door, fighting off a burly man, shooting him in the head before shoving him away. At the sight of him, Boris aimed a gun and Dimiti came up to her again, grabbing Y/n by the hair and putting a gun to her head, “Easy John,” he drew his attention.

“We had a deal. Kill everyone by five and you let her go, those were your words,” John’s baritone was low and husky and carried a coldness that Y/n had never heard in it. He looked far different than Y/n was used to too, sure, she had seen him in his work suits but that evening there was a hardness in his dark eyes and a determination in his gait. He was different, and it scared her. 

“We did,” Dimirti sucked his teeth dramatically, “But you should know better than to trust me John. Fight if you want, but you aren’t leaving this place, and neither is she.”

Y/n’s breaths hitched, her lips quivered and her hands remained at the base of her stomach, trying to focus on not crying out in pain, all while hoping that the night wasn’t ending with a bullet in her head. 

“Let her go,” John warned, “She’s not…” there was a crack in his exterior, Y/n could easily hear it and it made her head snap up. His eyes had softened too as he instantly returned to the man she knew and loved, pleading with Dimitri, to just let her go, “She’s not a part of this.”

“Well, she’s married to you, so I’d say she is,” the metal of the gun felt eerily cool against her skin and Y/n could feel Dimitri’s fingers digging into her scalp, “You know, if we kill you first, you don’t have to watch.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment after that, though, when things moved again, it was in slow motion. John ducked, evading a bullet from Boris, his expert aim sending one between Dimitri’s eyes before he could pull the trigger on her. Everything after that, was a blur to Y/n; a violet exchange between John and Boris, shots ringing through and strained grunts. Everything up until John was in front of her, using a knife to burst her restraints. 

That time, Y/n hadn’t realized she was crying, not until John was brushing messy hair out of her face and she was shoving him away, the stress of the day and all the hormones sending her into a frenzy, “You promised!” She punched him in the shoulder, “You said you were out! What the fuck is this?”

“I know,” John tried to calm her, grabbing Y/n’s wrists to stop her from hitting him again, “I know, I was- I am. But I owed him a favor and he said if I didn’t do it, he’d kill you,” John sighed heavily, letting her wrists go to wipe tears away, “I’m sorry baby, I am so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Your bullshit almost got us killed! Our baby could have been born in a fucking barn and you’re sorry? How could you?” Her yells were interrupted by loud sobs, but when another contraction snuck up on her, Y/n instinctively grabbed his hand, crying out in pain for the first time.

When it was over, John still held onto one of Y/n’s hands, lacing the other in her hair so they were nose to nose, “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to hate me, but right now, you need to hate me at the hospital, okay?”

It took a minute, but Y/n eventually nodded, “Okay,” she let John help her up, leading her towards his car parked outside, en route to the nearest hospital.

It had taken nearly twenty hours, filled with tears and swear words. Y/n had spent half of it trying to push John away, too mad to admit that all she wanted was to have him at her side, but in the end, she’d accepted his comfort, submitting to the little moments where he’d rub her back or sweep sweaty hair from her face. John was patient too, taking her outbursts in stride and never wincing once when Y/n held his hand in a death grip. He’d stayed at her side beyond the night, whispering words of encouragement and placing loving kisses on her forehead when she allowed it.

When their daughter entered the world, greeting the room with loud cries, the doctor offered John a pair of scissors to cut the cord, and he readily jumped at the offer. Afterwards, she was cleaned up a bit, swaddled in a blanket and placed on a groggy Y/n’s chest by the time the placenta was delivered. “Oh,” Y/n sighed tearily, “She’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” John smiled through his own tears, “She is.” With one arm around Y/n’s shoulders, John gently slid his thumb along their baby’s cheek, in awe of the life that he’d get to watch grow. A baby, their baby, “She’s so perfect.”

Smiling, Y/n turned to John, nearly melting at how pure he looked. Despite the cuts and bruises on his face, he was still strikingly handsome and his gaze held the same joy that everyone expected from a new father, “Hold her,” Y/n encouraged, guiding their daughter into John’s arms. 

She looked so tiny in John’s embrace, and to him, she felt much smaller than he'd ever expected. A wave of protectiveness washed through him, and even if it was there before, John’s need to protect her and Y/n was renewed with vigor. A day like the one gone by was never going to happen again, if it were up to him, they’d never feel pain, never hurt or shed a tear that wasn’t brought on by joy. No harm would ever come to his family. “I’m so sorry,” he eventually offered, glancing at Y/n.

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” or ever again. Everything she’d ever wanted was in that hospital room, and Y/n knew that John had made a mistake, but he had done it to be with her and as long as it never happened again, she could work on putting it behind her, there was no way she could even think of living without him anyway. That was the kind of love she had for him, the kind that longed for her to forgive him, despite the deed. “I just want us to be a family,” her eyes brimmed with tears, her smile faltering.

“Me too,” John leaned to kiss her, the gesture filled with love and adoration, their foreheads staying pressed together until their daughter gurgled in John’s arms.

He shifted, still half-sitting next to Y/n on the bed, though with the baby held between them, Y/n’s hand, still hooked up to an I.V cupping her head. They were cooing over her quietly when a nurse walked in with a clipboard, “Have we decided on a name yet?”

John and Y/n exchanged a knowing look; they had decided on a name months ago, one that meant ‘bright light’, which is what their baby had been. The light that had guided them back to each other, the light that had helped them persevere through the worst just over one day before, “We have,” Y/n nodded, “Aileen Wick.”

As Y/n gave the name to the nurse, John kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as he nuzzled her hair. In that moment, he didn’t think that he’d ever felt more at peace and content; five years ago, he would have never thought that he could be so happy, that he could have the things he did then, a wife, a child; a family of his own.

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​ @cynic-spirit​

[therovingstar]

Like a Spark of the Wick

Summary: “Fire is a being of the Father, the Sun. One who walks its path is one who dares to walk at His side, fearful of neither danger nor death. It is a title given to those believed to be exceptionally brave.”

Then she shrugs. “Or exceedingly stupid.” Her gaze on him narrows slightly, and she smiles again, the amusement this time clear as day on her pretty face. “Sometimes both.”

An enlightening conversation by candlelight, on the eve of revolution. Hien/f!WoL, pre-relationship, friendship, humor, hurt/comfort.

CW: Alcohol/drinking/inebriation.

Also available on AO3. Link through my blog.

She does not drink. Two half-filled ochoko out of six emptied flasks of sake, and it is no wonder that she is the only one of them still sitting with perfect poise; even Yugiri succumbed somewhat to her own thrice-refilled cup, unable as she was to resist her lord’s affable insistence. She has since escaped topside, both to clear her head and maintain her vigilance over the Fierce. Gosetsu is a long-lost cause; three out of their six bottles were his alone, and he hoarded them jealously, one downed in time with each impassioned speech until he had little else to say but half-muttered ramblings that reminded Hien distinctly of his age. “Old men should be careful in their cups,” he japed, knowing his mentor would take it as a challenge. Which he did, and met it by grabbing the mostly-filled remainder of a fourth bottle and swallowing as if it were water from a stream and not, in fact, some of their best, boldest bold, kept hidden in cellars buried right under the Empire’s nose, one of a hundred small, dogged defiances. Hien himself has only consumed spirits of similar strength on the Steppe; and he admits, the Xaela’s may have been a touch stronger.

Regardless, all of them have been feeling the effects, save one. He surreptitiously chances a glance out of the corner of his eye, curious to see if it still holds true.

Or not surreptitiously at all. Perhaps he is actually deeper in his own cups than he thought, because suddenly, the Warrior of the West – as his people have apparently taken to calling her – is meeting his gaze, one eyebrow lifted. “Yes?” she asks plainly. Hien smiles.

“Merely wondering if you are enjoying the fruits of our labor.” He grabs one of the porcelain bottles from where they rest at the center of their small table near their only immediate source of light: a single, simple candle. “Would you like more?” he offers, noting the mostly-full ochoko cradled in her palm, its pale coloring a fetching match to the scales marking the back of her deep brown hand.

Odzaya eyes the bottle, blank-faced but for a lightly-raised brow. Then, with a modest upturn of her hand and head, she half empties her cup, the wine slowly disappearing past her lips. “Sure,” she answers after a subtle out-blow of breath, and sets the saucer down near him.

Hien grins as he pours for her. “A smart move, if I may say so. This brew in particular is quite strong.” As if in agreement, Gosetsu lets out a loud, rumbling snore. Odzaya’s mouth quirks upward.

“It is good,” she compliments, as she daintily retakes the cup into her hands. And makes no motion to drink it.

“Do such spirits exist in the west?” he asks, pouring another round for himself. Odzaya shrugs.

“I am not the one to ask. I tend to avoid most of them.”

As he guessed. Hien grins. “You are one to keeps her wits about her, then?” She makes a noncommittal noise in reply, though her smile teases upward a little more.

“Preferably.”

“Well,” he begins, and lifts his ochoko as he leans forward, “on behalf of my people, let me say that I am beyond flattered that our brew is appealing to your palate,” he says. “And on behalf of myself, that my khagun feels comfortable enough in my presence to allow her keen wits a respite.”

Indeed, if they even are. They certainly do not seem to be as Odzaya huffs something that sounds like a laugh and raises her cup in tandem, only to down another half and no more. She has had how many now? Three in total, over the course of nearly as many bells. As many as Yugiri, technically, who is also not a drinker. Being of somewhat similar build, one would think she would have begun feeling the effects at least somewhat.

And yet, after another subtle sigh, the Raen woman maintains impeccable composure, resting her chin in her other hand and eyeing the top of Gosetsu’s head where it weighs down their table, almost too close to the candle’s lit wick. “Is he comatose?” she asks abruptly, and shoots him a questioning look. Hien pauses in his observations to chuckle.

“‘Twould be a relief if he were; perhaps then he could receive proper rest, and stop obsessing so much over past regrets and so-called failings.” They will kill him more surely than any enemy blade. Hien leans back on his stool, contemplative, the creak of the wood echoing throughout the cavern. “Tis why I suggested we indulge, and egged him on to continue by inviting you and Yugiri to join us. He drinks more readily when with company. And, coincidentally, the more he drinks, the better he sleeps.” He grins at her lifted brow. “An unorthodox strategy and one I rarely employ, at the least for the sake of his liver, but one that has served me well in the past.”

Her eyebrow drops only minimally; the healer in her, perhaps, taking concern despite his attempt at assurance. Then she smiles again, as if amused. “You are rather unorthodox,” she muses aloud, her quiet tone suggesting it is almost to herself.

“Am I?” he asks, tilting his head in genuine inquiry, only to quickly right it as his equilibrium begins to falter. Odzaya looks at him, seeming as if to ponder, before she continues.

“The name you were given on the Steppe. ‘Fire Walker’. It is an acknowledgment, a marker delineating your penchant for the unexpected.”

“Is that what it means?” Honestly, he never took the time to truly consider, beyond simply assuming it to be at least mildly insulting in some way. So that was its meaning, then.

Odzaya nods once in confirmation. “Fire is a being of the Father, the Sun. One who walks its path is one who dares to walk at His side, fearful of neither danger nor death. It is a title given to those believed to be exceptionally brave.”

Then she shrugs. “Or exceedingly stupid.” Her gaze on him narrows slightly, and she smiles again, the amusement this time clear as day on her pretty face. “Sometimes both.”

Hien gives thanks to the Kami for the sake that is currently running through his veins; it means there is none left in his mouth, and therefore none being spewed across the table as he blinks, and then nearly loses himself to laughter. He also gives thanks for his stool; it allows for purchase, however precarious, as his balance tilts again, dizzyingly, and he threatens to tumble to the floor in his fit. He still seems likely to fall, truthfully, at least until Odzaya saves him and his dignity by way of her own (amazingly non-drunken) reflexes. Hien startles quiet at the heat of her hand, like a brand, suddenly clutched to his bare shoulder, angling him back into his seat, the other hovering over his mouth, poised, no doubt, to shut his trap and prevent him from disturbing their comrades (always thinking of the small things, he observes, recalling the sight of her expertly rearranging the Leveilleur twins’ slumbering forms so as to avoid discomfort come the morn). When he follows the path of her arm, he finds her standing, both eyebrows lifted above a wide, intensely red-eyed gaze.

And then, suddenly, she is the one succumbing to laughter, a bright, rasping thing that he can only describe in his state as mildly enchanting, even subdued as it is. Those eyes crinkle at their corners, teeth gleaming oh-so-briefly from between wide, full lips. Her palm solidifies even more on his shoulder as she presses down slightly, ensuring he won’t topple again, before she finally steps back. “See?” she says, still clearly amused. “Fire Walker.”

Hien grins. “Mayhaps there is some truth to it.”

Odzaya huffs another near-silent laugh. “Mayhaps,” she echoes, and goes to return to her chair, swaying ever-so-slightly. Her tail periodically shifts as she goes, like the rudder on a rocking boat.

Aha. Hien’s smile widens at the sight, though he tries to school his expression as she sinks back onto her own stool, another of those mellow sighs coming out as she does. When their eyes meet once more, she blinks slowly.

“I am not drunk,” she says, as if she has read his thoughts.

“Of course not,” he agrees, grinning again, tickled in a way he blames on the wine. “Merely weary, I would guess. Mayhaps it is time you retired?” Lack of windows notwithstanding, he suspects morning is not terribly far off. They should all be turning in, and yet...he looks down at his ochoko.

Odzaya once more leans on the table, her chin coming to rest upon her upturned palm. She eyes him, and he gets the distinct impression she is reading his mind once more. “You plan to continue?” She drops her gaze briefly to indicate the remaining flasks near Gosetsu’s head. “Alone?”

She caught the phrasing of his suggestion, then. Hien casually shrugs one shoulder. “For a time.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “Really?”

Hien chuckles. “Worried about my liver now, are you, friend?”

“Wondering if you are planning to become so inebriated that you will not remember issuing the order to destroy your own home on the morrow.”

The Warrior of Light could be a blunt one; he noted it some time ago, watching her dealings with her Scions, as well as the Xaela. The way she carried herself – modestly, almost conservatively – belied a tongue that could, at a moment’s notice, move with surprising impunity.

He likes it, and responds by smiling easily. “Would you judge me?” he asks, finding himself curious.

Odzaya lifts her own shoulder, looking down at the table. “I cannot. The Steppe tribes are largely nomadic, as you know; most of us have no concept of a permanent home beyond the land itself. Even in Eorzea, I tend not to settle in one place too long.” She pauses, her mouth pursed, as if weighing her tongue and the words upon it. “I do, however,” she continues, quietly, “understand ties, the connections one can make to a place, and the difficulty in seeing those ties undone, by whatever means.” She pauses, then looks at him. “I imagine it would be worse, having to undo them yourself.”

Aye, could speak with impunity. But never seemed to forgo care.

Hien remains silent for a time, thinking on her words, before he meets her gaze. “May I confide in you for an indulgent moment, my friend?” he asks softly.

Those red eyes widen slightly, but eventually, Odzaya nods. Almost imperceptibly shifts, as well, as if to show he has her attention. His smile deepens.

“I do not mourn Doma Castle,” he admits. “It was my home, yes, for all of my six and twenty years, and because of that, it has indisputable sentimental value. It is the home of my ancestors; every square inch has a story, every room an entire history, and I spent my growing years being told them all by my parents and tutors.” He chuckles. “I never cared for them much, truth be told. They were fascinating and inspiring tales, to be sure, but only that: tales. Read back far enough, and your great-grandsire becomes more a figure of ancient legend, rather than someone whose lap you once sat in, though apparently I did. No, I much preferred seeing the history being made by my father and mother, who I could see and touch. That, and daydreaming about the lines I would add to our storied annals.”

Odzaya smiles slightly. “A high-flier, then.” Hien laughs.

“Quite so! And rather doggedly, if the frustrations of my teachers were anything to go by. However much I truly enjoyed the literary pursuit of knowledge, I still preferred a bokken in my hand over a book.” By now, the wine is well enough into his system to feel less like a hindrance burning through his veins and more like a soother warming him from the inside out, eliminating the cavern’s cool draft. He sighs and sinks further into his chair, his gaze finding the high stone ceiling. “I would dream of chasing the Empire back across our borders, of returning home victorious at my father and fellow samurai’s sides. I would dream of inheriting the throne and continuing my parents’ legacy, and implementing policies to make our people’s lives easier; of marrying and raising children – more than one, mind you, as I always wanted siblings to play with, but never received any – and giving them a history to take pride in, stories to inspire them.”

So many dreams, locked away in that palace, and hardly just his own. He counts them among the stalactites piercing down from that cavernous ceiling, substitutes for the stars he cannot see.

“Losing the past will hurt, aye. The books, the scrolls, the paintings, the tales. But it is the future of that place, my future, the future I imagined, for which I truly mourn.” He sighs again, and knows it is bittersweet. “Twas a foundation for much I wished to build, that castle; it will be hard to be without it, however worth its loss, a hundred times over, my people’s futures are.”

Silence reigns for what feels like an age, exposed as his heart and mind now are, alcohol still thrumming through his blood like a pulse. Somehow, though, with the Warrior of the West, of all people, on the receiving end, it feels freeing to speak his innermost thoughts. Mayhaps because not too long ago, their roles were reversed, and she, in the midst of dealing with what seemed an impossible choice, shared her sentiments with him under an endless, star-studded sky.

The closest thing to the stars here is the single candle lighting the edges of his vision, the stalactites with their tips gleaming with hints of dew and precious minerals. The prince in him wishes he could have at least provided a better venue for his selfishness, something more stimulating – and, dare he say, a touch more intimate – than an underground cavern filled with beleaguered, fitfully-sleeping soldiers.

“Rebuild it, then,” he hears suddenly, and Hien looks down to see Odzaya’s craned neck as she stares up at those same stalactites. Her gaze is half-lidded, her lashes fluttering when she blinks, as if she fights to keep her eyes open. Still, her voice rings quiet but clear in his ears. “The land will still be there, will it not?” she asks. “And so will the potential. And even if not, there is nothing stopping you from building something entirely new, perhaps even better, than what was there before.”

Would it be so simple a thing to do? he wonders. Of course not, and yet she makes it sound so, as if she speaks from the very knowledge she declared she did not have. He recalls her previous words, about undone ties; remembers the blanket she lovingly placed around the twins’ shoulders, and how the look in her eye was the same she had when Cirina first recognized and ran for her in Reunion’s square. “Is that what you’ve done in Eorzea, then?” he asks, just as quiet. “Settled a new land, with a new tribe to call your own?”

Odzaya huffs, just a lazy breath gusting past her lips. “In a way, I suppose. But…” She pauses, then shifts slightly, the creak of the stool almost startling in the silence. “It is what I am trying to do here, too. Rebuild that which I undid, hopefully into something better.”

Then she snorts, her tone turned half-cynical, such a contrast to the soft look in her eye when she angles the candlelit line of her neck to look at him. “Or mayhaps I am merely like you,” she says, smirking. “Another Fire Walker.”

No, she does not make it sound simple, Hien thinks, rendered momentarily speechless in the wake of her admittance. She merely makes it sound possible. A subtle power entirely separate from her ability to move the earth and control the stars; the kind of power that, in the right hands, can move minds, strengthen hearts. And build nations.

Quite the woman, this Warrior of the West.

“If you are,” he says, grinning and feeling just a little awed, as if he is seeing the stars, after all, in a place wholly unexpected, “I will consider it the highest of compliments to be called thus.”

Odzaya’s eyes narrow in amusement, two glowing shards of an ember ignited by the wick. “I would not,” she says bluntly, and Hien cannot resist another hearty guffaw.

The little sake left remains untouched, after that. He is drunk already, after all, and keenly feeling the effects as the world gently spins around him, threatening at any moment to turn upside down. Every noise is a distant, muffled thing: the creak of a chair, the murmur of idle conversation, Gosetsu’s snores, as well as the quiet breath expelling from Odzaya as he watches her ever-so-slowly succumb to slumber. It surprises him, at first; on their journey across the Steppe, her eyes were always the last to slip shut, and the first to open in the pre-dawn. A habit born of a turbulent past, or simply a quirk? Regardless, now she is utterly still, draped over the table as she is, a comical mirror image of Gosetsu’s still-slumbering form. The single candle gilds her horns and the scales adorning her face gold, heats the soft ropes of her hair purple to pink. Strangely enough, her eyes are also slit the barest bit open – as if she fought slumber only for it to sneak past her defenses – the thinnest sliver of limbal red showing past her dark lids, like the sun just beginning to peek out from the horizon.

Mayhaps it is too presumptuous, given what awaits us on the morrow, he thinks, fighting his own daze as he watches the gentle in and out of her breath, but if the spirits of fortune dare to smile upon us, I would invite you to return here one day, when I can give you my due best of a proper royal’s welcome. That, and show you what I and mine have built with the courage you have given us.

He briefly contemplates leaving once more, to ensure that she – and Gosetsu – are not disturbed, before ultimately settling into place. She has kept steady vigilance near from the moment they met; he can do so for one remainder of a night. In the ensuing silence, his gaze once more on the stars he cannot see, it comes to him again: the deliberate loss of his past, as well as the future it will bring.

“Fire Walker,” he murmurs to himself, and smiles.

A fitting title, after all. And one he will wear proudly.

[gisachi]

#42 for the shinran kissing prompts maybe? (thank you for the nice tags on my art btw 😉💜)

Thanks for this request! 💞 Ahh, what can I say, your doodles are so funny and so lovely to look at!! I’ve never had the proper chance to thank you for your tags on my posts too so I’ll take this opportunity. It makes me really happy that you like what I write ;;_;; So I remembered reading one of your tags saying that you like Domestic!ShinRan so I’mma give that to you rn. I really hope you like this! 🤗

42. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead. (1,551 words)

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.

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9:00 PM.

It’s automatic, whenever the grandfather clock strikes 9:00 PM. Seconds after the last chime of the bell, he’ll hear the library door open, footsteps lightly approach him, then hundreds of pecks will wordlessly land on his cheek in the midst of his paperwork, disrupting the mind palace he’s put up for hours.

It did surprise him the first time, giving his wife a weirded out ‘What’s with you?’ look, but it doesn’t take a while for Pavlov to prove his theory to him when for the next four or five times, he begins to grow accustomed to this flow of events. He doesn’t even have to look at the clock; he just knows that once the library door clicks, it’s 9 o’clock, and he’s bound to ready his cheeks for the array of kisses that’ll shortly follow.

Though his mind has already been conditioned to this, Shinichi’s yet to admit that that is the most favorite thing he wants from his wife to do. After all, anyone who knows him knows that he must not be disturbed in the middle of his deductions. Well, they can, but at the expense of being ignored, or avoided, or humiliated for feeling like they’re talking to a brick wall.

Thus it has been a universal rule that a working Shinichi is an absolutely-cannot-be-disturbed Shinichi. And his wife knows this for sure.

Yet why? For what purpose is she doing this, persistently giving him something he never asked for? Something she isn’t even sure he wants, or needs?

Tonight is rather a busy night for him. He doesn’t usually bring home extra paperwork from the Department, but this present case - a child kidnapping case - calls for urgency. Since 5 PM, he hasn’t left the Kudo library and has even missed dinner. But hunger is nothing compared to the need for the case to be resolved as soon as possible. Time is the enemy. So for almost three hours, he reads, he closes his eyes, he writes, he thinks. On repeat.

“Yes, Megure-keibu. Yes. Among the suspects only the child’s aunt living in Minato ward can possibly do this. Said she’s never been in touch with the kid for years and- Yes. And yet she knows her routine after school. She’s been spying on her. Right. Please send the Team right away to her house. Be on guard. It’s possible there’s someone with her with a weapon. Mm. Let me know once the suspect is restrained.”

He paces back and forth the library, grave and relentless worry evident in his face. He waits, and waits, and waits. Forty minutes of frantic silence and tension, hunger and thirst unnoticed. For forty minutes his world zeroes in on just him and this case, not in the least mindful of his environment, of any sound other than his nervous heart and seeing nothing other than the flash of memories from back when he - and she - was young.

Finally, the awaited call arrives.

“Shinichi-kun, the culprit has been apprehended. Good job. We’ll hear more details on this tomorrow. You may now retire for the night.”

Thank goodness.

Slumping into his chair, he heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Megure-keibu.”

He checks his phone clock. 8:58 PM. Wow, it took almost four hours. He doesn’t even realize. Oh, the effect of child kidnapping cases on him.

He stays in his chair, unmoving. That’s when it hits. The fatigue. The hunger. Minor unfinished paperwork still lays on his desk but he figures he needs a little breather.

For once he actually seeks for rest.

Ran.

8:59 PM.

How convenient. Now he just has to wait for one more minute. Then the grandfather clock will chime and the door will click and this time, he’s ready to welcome whatever intrusion there’ll be, as long as it’s from her.

Ran.

He closes his eyes, chuckles breathily. Hah.

For the first time, is he really actively waiting for her to come?

He waits, and waits, and waits.

Any time now.

Aaaany time.

9:01 PM.

9:10 PM. 9:15 PM.

9:20 PM.

Maybe it’s the tiredness acting up, and he’s not supposed to be cranky because he has just solved a kidnapping case, but right now, he cannot stop his brows from furrowing and his lips from curving upside down.

Where the hell is she?

Releasing an impatient groan, he decides to just continue with the minor paperwork. Maybe she’s already asleep; doesn’t wait for him anymore since he sure is taking his time with this. He mechanically grabs his pen, flips some pages over, and stares blankly at words.

Man... he’s pretty bummed.

“Done with the case?”

He jerks from his seat, heart leaping a little. Trying to keep a straight expression, he slowly turns to the door, and there she is. The woman he’s secretly waiting for.

Ran.

Shinichi watches her walk his direction before finally realizing how much he’s been staring, and then returns his attention to his paperwork.

“...Late.” He mumbles, so low she barely hears it.

She stops, quirks an eyebrow. “Oh. Were you waiting for me?”

“Wh— N-no. Not at all.”

How childish he might’ve sounded just now.

Trying to push past her teasing stare, he pretends to go over the piles of paper in front of him one by one.

But Ran knows her husband too well. She approaches his desk, and, after a faint giggle, gives a light peck on his visibly flustered cheeks.

“I tucked Sakura and Shinji to bed,” she says, giving an answer to his unspoken question. “Took me quite a while this time.”

He tilts his head, half-facing her. “And? Are they asleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.”

She leans in for another peck and Shinichi instinctively offers his cheek, closing his eyes. Feeling her subtle smile against his skin, he cannot help but smile, too, as she gives him three more. Ran stands straight and sighs.

“You skipped dinner, Shinichi. I’ll heat up your food, okay?” She steps away, only to be abruptly stopped by a stubborn tug of his hand on her wrist.

“Ran, that’s...not enough.”

Swiveling his chair to face her, he opens his arms, catching Ran dumbfounded from where she stands. Then, without any word, she retraces her steps, slowly, until she’s standing between his legs, and his arms wrap around her waist.

“I was.”

“Was what?”

“Waiting.”

Cheeks dusting with red, Shinichi holds her gaze as she stares him down his seat; her eyes wide at the unexpected declaration before narrowing into slits.

“Mmm, really? M’not bothering you with your work?” She nudges her head to his desk.

“Nope.”

“But that’s not what I was getting before.”

“Hmm?”

“You've never reciprocated my kisses then,” she puffs her cheeks.

“Well…”

"You didn’t even notice I checked up on you before 9 o’clock. You were too engrossed with the case, spanning the room back and forth like a madman.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, so I figured it’s probably better not to disturb you until you’re done with it...don’t wanna risk being yelled at.”

“I’m not-“

“Oh, Shinichi. I understand, you don’t want any disturbance when solving cases, not even from your wife—“

He cuts her off with a kiss on the lips, dissolving Ran’s further complaints in his mouth.

“That’s not true,” he declares, then kisses her again, chastely. “Keep on doing that, okay? ‘Disturbing’ me or whatever...Even if I look serious,” another kiss. “Or annoyed.” Kiss. “Or cannot be bothered.” Long kiss. “Just...don’t stop doing that.”

He pauses for a good minute, admiring how she looks with her brows still wrinkled but face and ears now more crimson than his.

Ah. Yes— Now it’s clear.

What a shame for not having realized this sooner.

Breaking off his loving gaze, Ran pinches his cheeks, pulling them like dough. “Who says anything about stopping? Who’s gonna tuck you to bed when that happens?”

“Oh okay,” he chuckles, “so you’re really doing this whole thing to annoy me, huh?”

“Of course. Is there any other reason?”

He kisses her again, smiles fondly against her lips. “Because you love me?”

She returns the kiss, reciprocates the smile he doesn’t even bother hiding. “Now you’re being cocky.”

Hands intertwined, foreheads together, eyes closed, soft giggles lingering, husband and wife drown in each other’s comfort, forgetting about the time and hunger and everything else, his long day ending with her, at last. No one can take away this moment from them this time. Not even the minor unfinished paperwork.

Yes. This woman. His wife. Ran.

The only distraction he’ll ever want, and ever need.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what the case was all about?” He speaks softly, a little above a whisper.

“What is it?”

“Child kidnapping case.”

“Oh no,” Ran separates from him, expression visibly concerned, “and you’ve solved it?”

“Yes. The TMPD already apprehended the culprit.”

“That’s a relief,” she returns her forehead to his. “Though Shinichi, honestly I’ve never seen you so invested in a case before.”

“Yeah. It hits close to home.”

“What do you mean?”

Silence, then he takes a deep breath.

“Did you know that you were almost kidnapped when we were in Kindergarten?”

“I was almost...what?!”

“Let’s save that bedtime story for later. Dinner first?”

.

.

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