#I only asked to wire the back but he also cut and fitted glass for me ‘ sanded the frame ‘ taped the painting to the mat with proper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jebewonmorelike · 11 months

Text

Dark Blue On You

wc: 7k (HAHAHA WHAT) pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: swearing, angsty with a happy ending but its funny/fluffy too, mentions of others drinking, mentions of hooking up; think pg-13 for this one; also taerae in that suit should be a warning in and of itself warnings for spicy cut scene: MINORS DNI!!!-- mature/suggestive/smut themes-- MINORS SKIP THIS CUT SCENE AND CONTINUE READING BELOW IT!!! (fic makes perfect sense without it) linked here and linked in fic for correct placement in story summary: bestfriend!reader is so excited when the star of the soccer team finally asks them to prom. but when losercore!taerae asks his lab partner to prom out of the blue, reader's sudden jealousy takes them by surprise... basically the prom-themed best friends to lovers of your dreams, okay? okay :) ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ GUYS! HI! it's been so long. i missed you! this was 7,000 words (plus the cut scene) so i'm sorry but that's why it took so long. was also feeling a bit rundown in terms of writing so i really needed to pace myself. but i saw those pictures of taerae in that suit and i swear to god i'm a different person now, so this is the fic you get from that brainrot. also not sure if the suit was actually blue, but that's how it looked in the pics so i ran with it. SO many fun things happening in the zb1 world in the past few days! let me know what you think of this one :) love you sm

“If you steal one more of my sweet potato fries (Y/N), I swear I’m gonna--.”

You pop the orange-colored french fry into your mouth, grinning at Taerae smugly. “You’re gonna what?”

Eyes narrowed at you through dorky, wire-framed glasses, your best friend pouts annoyedly. “One day you’ll fear my wrath.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” you respond with a giggle. Despite his angry demeanor, Taerae turns his lunch tray so that the sweet potato fries are now facing you-- giving you easier access to one of your favorite snacks.

“You could just go back up and get your own, you know,” he persists with his performance even as he squeezes more ketchup onto his tray for you to dip the fries in. “What would you do without me?”

“Sarcastic answer: finally achieve a peaceful existence,” you joke, popping another fry into your mouth. “Serious answer... I’d be lost without you.”

You watch as Taerae’s glasses fog up a bit; the way they always did when he received a compliment or you were being a bit too sincere with him. He takes them off quickly, clearing his throat as he wipes the lenses with the hem of his polo shirt.

A pile of books slam down onto your lunch table as your friend Dohyun plops onto the bench beside you. “(Y/N)! Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Do you ever talk to anyone else?” You quip, earning a glare from the skinny boy.

“I talk to Taerae hyung, too,” he mumbles. You glance at your best friend, noticing how quiet he’s gotten all of a sudden. “And I like him better than you anyway.”

You shrug. “That makes two of us.”

“What I was going to ask you is,” Dohyun starts; pulling out his lunchbox from his backpack and opening it up. “Has Ryan asked you to prom yet?”

Taerae audibly gulps from across the table. You frown at him, wondering why he’s acting so weird.

“No,” you answer softly. “He hasn’t. And I definitely don’t think he’s going to anymore.”

“I don’t know what you saw in Ryan anyway,” Dohyun says, shaking his head disapprovingly. “He only wanted one thing from you.”

Taerae chokes on his apple juice suddenly and you take the carton from his hand-- placing it back on the table pointedly as he coughs into his elbow.

“That’s enough, Dohyun,” you scold. “And for the record, I’m as pure as the day you met me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the younger boy laughs. “So… Are you gonna go to prom alone, or?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I already bought my outfit. I had it altered to fit perfectly, so I don’t really think I can return it at this point.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” Taerae says finally. “I know you were really looking forward to going with Ryan. He’s gonna regret not asking you. But um...”

Your brow furrows as you wait for Taerae to continue his sentence. He’s looking at you kind of funny now-- eyes wide and anxious.

“Well, if you already have an outfit and stuff, I was thinking that... Um...” You watch curiously as he bends over to his side and begins shuffling through his backpack. “Fuck, where is it?”

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Someone suddenly calls behind you. Your head whips around to find Ryan walking towards your lunch table, his signature charming smirk on his lips. He’s carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder for soccer practice as he lands in front of you.

“Hi Ryan,” you greet sweetly, brain turning to mush. You’d first met the star of the soccer team officially when your Math teacher assigned you to tutor him a few months ago. He’d been in serious jeopardy of being kicked off the team for his failing grades, but with an hour of tutoring every other day, you’d helped him climb back up to a solid C+. The afternoon he received his first unit test grade since you’d started tutoring him, he had been thrilled to see B- circled in red at the top of the page...

So thrilled, in fact, that he’d kissed you at your back corner table in the library.

And he’d kept kissing you. For the rest of that tutoring session... And then the one after that... And the one after that... And the one after that until your meetings had become more of a hybrid tutoring-and-make-out session.

That had been the extent of your “relationship” though. He was always busy with soccer and his meathead friends and ogling popular girls at the library tables next to you when your faces weren’t connected.

But he was the first boy to ever pay attention to you like this-- and he was so handsome to boot. The attention and the fantasy muddied every intelligent and rational thought in your brain. Even if you were being used, you weren’t really ready for it to stop.

One day as you were approaching the library, you stopped in your tracks as you heard Ryan’s voice around the corner. He was talking to one of his jock friends and you held your breath as you attempted to hear their conversation.

“All of the cheerleaders already have dates, dude,” Ryan’s friend relays. “Why did you wait so long?”

Ryan was silent for a moment before responding, “Even Steph?”

“Even Steph,” his friend confirmed. “Injun asked her yesterday.”

“Damnit.”

“Well, you’ve gotta go with somebody,” his friend urged. “Tyler’s parents are letting us use their lake house for the after party, so... Who’re you gonna ask!?”

“I’ll... I’ll find somebody,” Ryan responded and you heard the door to the library begin to squeak open.

“Hopefully somebody that’s gonna put out,” his friend joked and Ryan laughed along.

It was from that moment that you’d gotten it in your head that there was a chance that Ryan might ask you to prom. You’d gone shopping with your mom to pick out the perfect outfit, booked an appointment to get your hair styled for the occasion, and called a florist to purchase a boutonniere to pin on Ryan’s suit that matched your outfit.

As you’d doodled your name next to Ryan’s in your journal and decorated it with hearts one evening last week, your best friend Taerae laid on your bed-- legs dangling off the side as he strummed his guitar.

“(Y/N)...” He sang suddenly in an improvised melody. “Put down your pen... It’s getting annoying... So please tell me when...”

You turned around and glared at him, but he continued.

“You’ll stop your obsession... With that asshole named Ryan... He hasn’t even asked you to prom yet, what if he doesn’t ask you, your heart is gonna break and I’m gonna have to pick up the pieces and glue them all together again and--.”

“None of that rhymed.”

“Lyrics don’t have to rhyme for them to hold meaning,” Taerae responded, arms flopping onto the bed in a T-position dramatically. “I’m worried about you. I think this guy might be taking advantage of you.”

“At least someone wants to,” you joked, but the levity didn’t quite reach your voice. Taerae sat up abruptly; eyes fixing on you for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and pulled his guitar strap over his head-- placing the instrument beside him.

“A lot of people want to take advantage of you, (Y/N).”

Your jaw dropped as you watched Taerae realize what he just said. He’d already begun shaking his head and waving his arms about profusely by the time a smile crept onto your face.

“NOT WHAT I MEANT!” He shouted frantically and the sheer panic on his face was enough to make you burst out laughing. At the sound of your laughter, Taerae couldn’t help but grin and the appearance of his deep dimples was admittedly comforting to you. “You already knew that’s not what I meant but... I’m just trying to tell you he’s not the only guy that likes you.”

Your brow furrowed curiously. “Who else likes me?”

“Oh, uh,” Taerae stuttered nervously, averting your gaze. “Lots of guys. Other guys. Girls, too, probably. And nonbinary folk, I’m sure.”

You nodded, unconvinced. “Well all of those other people are gonna have to fight Ryan for my attention, I guess.”

Taerae gulped. “Right.”

“Now shut up, loser,” you said, spinning back around in your desk chair. “I’m trying to name me and Ryan’s fourth child.”

Now as Ryan stands in front of you, he glances at your only two friends that are also sitting at your lunch table. “Hey nerds.”

Taerae mumbles something under his breath but you aren’t paying him any attention.

“I’ll pick you up at 7, yeah?” Ryan asks suddenly, nodding at you.

Your lips part slightly in confusion. “What?”

“Tomorrow,” he responds brusquely. “Prom.”

“You--... We--... Us? Prom?” You know that gibberish is falling out of your mouth, but your ability to form a coherent sentence has flown out the window.

Ryan gives you an impatient smile. Of course he has every right to be impatient, you think. I can’t even speak well enough to answer his question. “Yeah. Text me your address.”

“We were actually gonna take photos at (Y/N)’s house beforehand,” Dohyun interjects.

Ryan frowns. “Oh. Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“Really? That’s so nice of you; you don’t have to if you don’t want to!” You say quickly, grinning up at the tall boy.

“Nah, that’s cool. I’ll be there. See you then,” Ryan says with a smile before taking off towards the other end of the cafeteria. His smile is enough to burst your heart-- but lucky for you (and your poor friends), you’re able to muster up enough strength to keep living.

Instead, you merely scream; keeping your mouth closed to muffle the sound. When you finally return to the world around you, you suddenly notice how silent your friends are.

“What?” You ask, frowning at Dohyun. “Why aren’t you guys excited?”

You turn to Taerae, who is holding a large piece of folded up paper in his hands. “What’s that?”

Snatching it from his hands, Taerae immediately lunges across the table in a panic to grab it back from you. Dohyun also swoops in to steal the paper, but both of their efforts are in vain as you swivel around to face the opposite direction and open what appears to be a poster.

🌸🌺🌸 Will you go to prom with me? 🌸🌺🌸

“OH MY GOD!” You squeal, whipping back around to face your best friend. He rips the poster from your hands and begins folding it back up, cheeks turning red. “You’re asking someone to prom!? WHO!?”

“Oh thank god: you’re an idiot,” Dohyun mumbles, sinking back into his seat.

Your brow furrows confusedly. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” Taerae answers quickly. “No one said anything.”

“Taerae, if you don’t tell me who you’re asking to prom right now, I swear I’m gonna--.”

“MOLLY!” He shouts suddenly, eyes wide as he stares over your shoulder. You turn around to follow his gaze, spotting Taerae’s lab partner, Molly, a few tables behind you. She smiles when she hears Taerae call her name, getting up from her seat and walking over to your table.

“Hi Taerae,” she greets cheerfully, curly short hair bouncing with every step. The very smart, but sometimes obnoxious girl is blinking at your best friend nervously... Holy shit. Had Molly had a crush on Taerae this whole time and you hadn’t noticed?

More importantly... Had Taerae had a crush on her?

“Hi Molly, um... I was wondering,” he starts; his delivery of this promposal a little unprepared. That’s weird, you think. If Taerae was gonna ask someone out, I’m sure he would’ve rehearsed it in the mirror until he lost his voice…

“Dude,” Dohyun interrupts suddenly, eyes wide as he looks at Taerae.

Taerae just ignores him, clearing his throat and starting again; unfolding his poster onto the table once more. “I was wondering, actually, if you’d maybe like to possibly-- and no pressure or anything, maybe someone’s already asked you, but...”

“OH MY GOD! Of course I’ll go to prom with you,” Molly exclaims, throwing her arms around Taerae. You watch as he freezes, never one for accepting public affection from anyone he didn’t know well...

From anyone except you.

You frown at the bizarrely jealous thought. Taerae obviously liked this girl. Just last week, he’d been complaining about her chewing too loud in the computer lab, but maybe he was just trying to cover up his real feelings. Taerae deserved to be happy.

Any boy that would make a whole poster just to ask someone to prom deserved to be happy. You sigh as you study the poster in front of you. I wish Ryan had made me a poster...

As Taerae starts to fold it back up, you notice some surrounding doodles that you had been too distracted to see before. All around the border of the poster are what appear to be light pink Royal Azaleas.

Your favorite flower.

Had Taerae really used your favorite flower to decorate his promposal for someone else? How could he?

“Stop it!” You say out loud, earning a weird look from all three of the people surrounding you. You smile awkwardly, trying to laugh off your unintentional angry outburst at your own thoughts. “I mean... Stop being so cute you guys!”

Molly grins. “Text me where to meet you tomorrow! I can’t wait.”

Taerae nods quickly as Molly skips back to her own lunch table. As soon as she’s gone, he lets out a huge sigh and you hear the clamoring of his glasses as his head falls to the table.

“But this is amazing, Tae,” you say, staring at the top of Taerae’s head as his forehead rests on the surface of the lunch table. He lifts up for a second, folding his arms and laying his right cheek back down on top of them. His hair falls messily in his eyes, unkempt and fluffy as it usually is. But the sudden urge to brush it out of his face takes you by surprise. “I didn’t know you were going to ask Molly to prom today.”

Dohyun snorts from beside you, now totally engrossed in the game he’s playing on his phone:

“Neither did he.”

~~~

“(Y/N), come down here! We need to take pictures before you leave,” your mother calls from downstairs. “We’re gonna head outside so please hurry up and join us!”

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, anxiety building. Nearly everything about your appearance for tonight is perfect-- your hair, your skin, your outfit; even your shoes. Your friends and family are in your front yard waiting for you.

But all you can think about is how Ryan hasn’t shown up yet.

You’d texted him your address. Told him what time to come over. And now he’s already thirty minutes late. You’d have to leave soon to get to the school on time.

“Where is he?” You whisper to yourself, grabbing your phone from your bed and checking your notifications again. Nothing.

“(Y/N), if you don’t get your ass down here right now!” The voice that’s calling you now is Taerae’s. His threat is angry enough that it makes you move-- opening the door to your room and walking to the top of the stairs.

Taerae is furiously typing on his phone as you make your way down the stairs, his back turned to you. He’s wearing a dark blue suit-- slim-fitting and tailored to him perfectly. When you reach the second to last step, you clear your throat.

Your best friend looks up at you now, eyes wide as he takes in your appearance. His hair is pushed back, still fluffy but out of his face. You’re surprised to find yourself thinking that he looks very handsome. You blink away the thought as you continue to study Taerae-- eventually realizing that something is missing.

“No glasses?” You ask, waiting for him to respond. When he doesn’t, you prompt him again. “Taerae?”

“Oh, uh,” he begins to reply finally, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. “Yeah, just for tonight. My mom... thought it would look nice.”

“Your mom is right,” you say, smiling softly at him. “She usually is though.”

“You’re perfect,” Taerae says suddenly; eyebrows shooting up when he realizes what he just said. “I mean, you look perfectly ready to go and take pictures! And then go to prom. And stuff. You know? Like, you look perfect. Well--... You--... Um--...”

He’s rambling now and you don’t blame him. Your whole lives, you and Taerae had maintained a friendship without most pleasantries a normal friendship might have. Your affection towards each other usually came in the form of play-fighting, insults, sharing sweet potato fries at lunch, and other subtle acts of service. Only when one of you was having a particularly hard day would the other offer a hug or hand to hold or words of affirmation. You and Taerae were so close that normal affection usually seemed pretty arbitrary.

So this compliment from Taerae, even if it was unintentional is... different.

You swallow hard, averting your best friend’s gaze. “So do you.”

Brushing past him, you open the front door and step out onto your porch-- Taerae following behind you after a moment. You check your phone again for any texts from Ryan.

“He’s a prick, (Y/N),” Taerae says softly, as you continue to stare at your phone screen-- willing your eyes not to water. “Don’t let him ruin this for you. This was all your idea. You wanted to go to prom. You wanted to take pictures beforehand. Why are you letting this guy totally fuck up your night?”

Your eyes meet Taerae’s. He’s right and you know it. Ryan couldn’t care less about you and it was evident in the way he’d asked you (or rather, told you that you were going with him) to prom-- and the way he hadn’t shown up on time to your house. In fact, the whole day you’d been consumed by two feelings: the first being obsession over whether or not Ryan would like your outfit, your hair, your parents, your house...

The second being that deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you were filled with regret about your fixation these past couple of months on the soccer star. Even Taerae had made a nice poster for Molly. Not that he’d even bothered to tell you that he was asking her. And not that you cared what Taerae did or didn’t do for people he liked.

Right?

“Tae, I--.”

“Taerae!” A chipper voice calls from around the corner. Molly appears at the bottom of the porch steps, motioning for your best friend to come down. “Come take pictures! You too, (Y/N). Just because your prom date’s a bust, doesn’t mean you can steal mine!”

Your jaw drops slightly in shock. “I wasn’t--... That’s not--...”

“Chop, chop!” Molly says, walking back over to where all of your parents are standing-- Dohyun in the middle of them, talking their ears off.

Not wanting any more accusations being hurled at you on your own property, you give Taerae a quick shrug before following her out onto the lawn.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of Ryan’s red sports car now as he parks in the school lot. He’d finally shown up two minutes before you were about to have to hop into Taerae’s car and ride in the backseat behind him and his date. Your mom, who was making no attempt to hide her displeasure, was able to snap a quick few photos of you before you left.

Ryan turns off the car, stuffing his keys in his right pocket before leaning back again into his seat. He’s staring at you and you’re not really sure how to respond. You reach for the door latch, but you feel his hand touch your left arm before you can open it.

You identify the look in his eyes right away-- he wants to kiss you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t kissed Ryan in over a week. You’d been busy with an essay and had to cancel your “tutoring sessions”. Usually, the idea would excite you. But tonight, it almost made your stomach turn.

A knock on your window startles you and you look over to find Taerae smiling at you-- more than a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

Ryan rolls down your window. “Dude, what are you--?”

“(Y/N) really wants to go to prom with you,” he replies, opening your door for you. You hop out immediately, grateful for the interference. “So you can save whatever you’re gonna do for later.”

You don’t look back at Ryan, walking as quickly as you can towards the front doors of the school. Eventually, Ryan, Taerae and Molly all catch up to you as you walk through the entranceway.

A beautiful balloon arch greets you as you enter the gym, fairy lights and vintage streamers lining every inch of the walls. It’s exactly as you’d imagined-- the prom of your dreams.

“JORDAN!” Ryan shouts suddenly from behind you, almost knocking you down as he runs to greet one of his stupid jock friends.

You start to fall, but a pair of hands are already on your shoulders to keep you upright. “Thanks,” you mumble as Taerae pushes you through the balloon arch and towards the open floor.

“Where do you wanna sit, Taerae?” Molly asks, smiling at him expectantly. “I’m sure (Y/N) is gonna go sit with Ryan.”

You glance back to where Ryan had run off to, finding him completely surrounded by his many popular friends. You turn back to Molly and Taerae, forcing yourself to nod.

“You should sit with us,” Taerae says, the pity in his eyes growing more embarrassing every minute. You aren’t going to ruin his night with Molly. You just couldn’t do that to your best friend.

Shaking your head, you try to smile reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.”

“(Y/N)...”

“You guys have fun! I’ll see you in a bit,” you call, wandering off to a table in the opposite corner. Once you take your seat, it’s as if you’ve been glued to it permanently.

You watch all of your peers rush to the dance floor, laugh together, embrace each other... Not once does Ryan ever come find you. But you know deep down that you sort of deserve it. How had you been so obsessed with one boy asking you to prom and ended up being the only person here having such a miserable time?

You should never have come. Or you should have come alone. Or with Taerae.

Taerae...

Your eyes rest on your best friend, who is sitting with Molly at their table. He’s leaning back comfortably in his chair; navy blue suit contrasting perfectly with his light olive skin. His smile is bright and pretty-- why the hell does he look so pretty tonight?

Is he having fun with Molly? Is he thinking about me?

Almost as if he’s heard your thought, Taerae’s eyes meet yours. The smile on his face instantly fades to an expression of concern and you hate it. You want him to smile at you like he was just smiling at Molly.

But why would he smile at you like that? He likes Molly.

Not you.

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you look at the screen to find a message from Taerae.

Are you okay??

You look back up at him, deciding to nod and give him a thumbs up-- hoping for that dimpled smile to return to his face. It doesn’t.

(Y/N), please just come over here You’re breaking my heart

Learning that you sitting alone in a corner is ruining Taerae’s prom experience is not what you needed to hear. Pressing your lips together awkwardly, you nod slowly at him; starting to stand up from your chair to go talk to him for a bit.

But you stop in your tracks when you watch Molly grab Taerae’s hand and pull him up out of his chair. She’s trying to tug him towards the dance floor-- his eyes widening in panic as they remain locked on you.

You wave him on, trying your best to smile at him. You feel your lip quiver and you hope he doesn’t notice from the other end of the gym. Taerae reluctantly stops resisting Molly and joins her on the dance floor after giving you another regretful look.

“Heyyyy (Y/N),” a voice slurs in your ear now, an arm wrapping around you from behind. You look up to find Ryan, smiling goofily back at you. He’s piss drunk, of course.

“Hi,” you say shortly, attempting to wiggle out of his hold but the alcohol hasn’t lessened his strength. “Can you let go, please?”

“Why would I do that?” He asks rhetorically, tequila coating his breath. “You’re my date.”

“Am I?” You spit, finally breaking free of his grip. “I couldn’t tell.”

He frowns. “What do you want? Do you want to dance or something? We can dance.”

“I want to go home,” you respond, glaring at him. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

With that, you’re walking past Ryan and through the balloon arch out of the gym. It’s not until you’re standing in the hallway that you hear a set of footsteps following you.

You turn around to find Ryan standing behind you, a small silver flask in hand. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he answers, unscrewing the top off the flask and taking a sip. “You said you wanted to go home.”

“Are you kidding me?” You ask, eyes wide with shock. “You’re drunk. You’re not getting behind the wheel like this.”

He shrugs. “I’m really good at it! I do it all the time.”

“Holy shit,” you whisper, shaking your head at him in awe. “You fucking suck, you know that?”

His brow furrows in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you start, jaw setting in anger. “You’ve ignored me all night. You didn’t show up at my house on time to take pictures. You tried to skip prom to makeout with me in your car. Not to mention, you didn’t even ask me to prom. You told me yesterday that you would pick me up tonight. And now you want to drive me home and you can’t even stand up straight!?

Ryan stares at you for a long moment before the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Are you playing hard to get?”

You sigh exasperatedly. “You already got me! I was literally eating out of your palm for two whole months. I can’t believe I let myself be so stupid... Now I never want to see you ever again!”

He frowns. “It’s because of that Taeri kid, isn’t it?”

“What? No, no--...” It’s at that moment that you look back into the gym, spotting your best friend dancing with his date. He looks so stupid; he might even be the worst dancer you’ve ever met. So why does the sight of him make your heart swell? “His name’s Taerae. And he’s my best friend. That apparently likes someone else and never told me.”

You turn back to Ryan to find him staring back at you, wide-eyed. “Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re in love with your weird friend.”

“I am not!” You protest, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “And he’s not weird, he’s just... Okay, yeah he’s weird. But the good kind of weird.”

“Wow. Denial much?” He says, laughing.

Your brow furrows curiously. “Why are you so okay with this? Weren’t you just asking me if I was playing hard to get?”

“It’s cool. You guys would probably make a better match anyway,” he responds with a shrug. “Plus I already hooked up with Steph in the bathroom, so I’m all set for the night if I have to be.”

You sigh, shaking your head in awe of the absolute dickhead standing in front of you. Turning on your heel and walking towards the exit doors, you mumble, “Goodnight, Ryan.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he calls after you, far too cheerily. “Tell him! Or that girl’s gonna snatch him right up. Have you seen the way she’s been looking at him all night?”

Yeah. I have.

It had been a decent night for Taerae. Molly had turned out to be a good enough prom date. They talked about their science project most of the night, but he hadn’t really known what else to say. Besides, he was far too distracted to have any sort of real conversation when he’d been keeping at least one eye on you the whole night.

The pain he felt watching you sit alone at an empty table-- scrolling through your phone, tears rolling down your cheek periodically when you thought no one was watching you.

But Taerae was watching you. How could he not be when the most beautiful person in the room was his best friend?

Of course the one time he’d taken his eyes off you, you’d gone missing.

So far, he’d checked the buffet table, the photobooth, the hallway... He’d even knocked on the bathroom door (and received a very annoyed response from whoever was inside). But you were nowhere to be found.

That’s when he spots Ryan. The star of the soccer team is sitting down at the end of the bathroom hallway, back leaned against a locker. Taerae runs up to him frantically, smelling the liquor on his breath from six feet away.

“Where’s (Y/N)!?” Taerae shouts, shaking Ryan’s shoulders when he doesn’t answer.

The tall boy groans. “How should I know?”

“Because (Y/N)’s your date? Don’t you have any idea where your fucking date is!?”

“Jesus, chill out. This is why I said you were weird,” Ryan mumbles, slurring his words. “(Y/N) went home already.”

“What?” Taerae asks, mind racing. “Did you say something? Did you do something? Did you put your hands on--?”

“Probably, yeah. I don’t remember,” he responds, pointing up at Taerae. “But I thought (Y/N) was gonna tell you. I said to tell you so that that girl... doesn’t...”

Before he can finish his entirely incoherent sentence, Ryan has slumped over onto his side and fallen asleep.

“Tell me what?” Taerae asks; attempting to shake him awake. But it’s no use. “For christ’s sake...”

He turns around, about to run back towards the gym, but instead he comes face to face with his own prom date.

“Oh, Molly, I--,” he starts, but the girl in front of him cuts him off quickly.

“Go,” she says simply, the knowing smile on her face confirming to Taerae that she’s well aware of what’s going on. “Go get (Y/N).”

Taerae sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. This is not cool of me at all.”

“No, it’s not,” Molly says with a laugh. “But I knew you liked (Y/N) the whole time. Once Dohyun opens his mouth, it’s hard to get him to shut it.”

Taerae smiles. “I always knew Dohyun would spill all my secrets one day.”

Molly shrugs. “It’s okay actually. Because tonight made me realize I kind of like Dohyun way more than you anyway. He’s more my type. He actually laughs at my chemistry jokes.”

“Oh, uh,” Taerae falters, eyebrows raising in shock. Dohyun? More her type? Taerae didn’t know that Dohyun was anyone’s type. Not that Taerae thought he was anyone’s type either. “Yeah, I guess I’m more of a biology guy.”

Molly hums. “Do you think you could put in a good word for me then?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure.”

“No hard feelings, then?” Molly asks, smiling up at him.

“No, none at all, I guess,” Taerae agrees-- though the entirely absurd thought of someone using him to get to Dohyun is still eating away at the back of his brain. “You’re okay if I leave now? Do you have a ride home?”

Molly nods happily. “I’ll see you on Monday! Don’t forget the Chapter 13 exam,” she says, walking back down the hallway towards the gym.

“And tell me how it goes with (Y/N)!”

You’re face down on your bed, having flopped there in a puddle of tears as soon as you’d gotten home and changed into your pajamas. Your dad had picked you up and you’d driven home in uncomfortable silence apart from your quiet sniffling. You’re currently subsisting on an entirely separate plane of existence-- one with excessive tears and nothing else.

But a rattling at your window startles you, causing you to jump up to see what’s making the sound. You’re even more startled when you realize that the sound is actually that of Taerae fiddling with the latch on your window frame.

You run to the window, unlocking the latch and pushing it open. You whisper-shout at your idiotic best friend, “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Remember when I used to do this when I lived next door? Before we moved?” He replies, completely out of breath and barely managing to hang onto the vines of ivy running down the side of your house.

“Taerae, you moved when we were ten years old! You weighed at least 30 kilograms less than you do now. Are you crazy!?” Grabbing onto his arms and pulling him through the window, he lands with an ungracious thud on your bedroom floor.

“Huh,” he says, panting to catch his breath as he lies flat out on his back on your beige carpet. “I used to be in really good shape then. Maybe I should start working out.”

You sit down next to him, your back leaning against the side of your bed. You look at the right leg of his suit pants, finding a wet spot on the knee. He must’ve fallen before he successfully climbed up to your window.

He looks just as pretty lying here like this as he had all night-- only now, he looks a bit more like the Taerae you were used to. His hair had fallen into his eyes a bit more and he must’ve switched out his contact lenses for his glasses on his way here. Maybe your best friend had always been this beautiful... Maybe you’d just never taken the time to notice before.

Your eyes widen suddenly. “Taerae, what are you doing here? Where’s Molly?”

He sighs annoyedly. “Ask Dohyun.”

“What?” You ask, brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s a long story.”

You frown. “Prom isn’t even over yet. Why did you leave?”

“Because Ryan told me you left,” he answers, finally sitting up to look at you. “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, you could’ve texted me,” you respond, looking around you for your phone.

Taerae points to your desk and you turn to see your phone sitting on the corner of it. “You weren’t answering.”

“Oh,” you say softly, eyes falling to your lap. “I guess I wasn’t.”

“Look at me,” Taerae requests suddenly and you reluctantly oblige. You know you must look absolutely insane. Hair out of place, eyes red and puffy and face blotchy from crying. He smiles at you sadly again, just like he had been the whole night. “I know you’re not okay. You can be upset. You know I won’t judge you.”

His words are all you need for the tears to start flowing again. In less than a second, Taerae’s arms have wrapped around you; holding you tightly in his embrace. It’s comforting, but at the same time it’s not. Not if he knew the real reason you’d been crying so much.

“He doesn’t deserve you, (Y/N),” he says, hand finding its way to the back of your head to pet your hair. “I’m so, so sorry that he treated you this way. He was never worth your time.”

You swallow back your tears, before pulling away from Taerae. Your arms still tangled up with his, you say finally, “I know.”

He stares at you for a moment before that sad smile returns. “You should know. I’m glad that you know. He doesn’t deserve any of your tears.”

“They’re not for him.” The truth falls from your lips before you can chicken out. You brace for the instant regret that should come with saying these words, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel the beginnings of relief.

Taerae’s head tilts to the side questioningly. “What--... What do you mean?”

Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth and you bite it hard to dissolve the anxiety in your chest. “I wasn’t crying over him.”

“Oh...” He says softly, utter confusion written all over his face. “So... You... Okay, no, I don’t get it.”

Of course Taerae didn’t get it. He had a wonderful night with the girl he likes. And the person who’d ruined it for him was you.

“Oh, I just remembered that Ryan said you wanted to tell me something?” Taerae says, brow furrowed curiously. “Or that he told you to tell me something? I dunno. He wasn’t making much sense right before he passed out.”

“I like someone else,” you blurt; the rush of adrenaline causing you to stand up and find something to busy yourself with before your nails dig holes into your palms. You walk over to your record player, turning it on and dropping the needle on whatever album is already loaded. When the sound flows from the speakers, you realize it’s an R&B album you picked up from a vintage thrift shop across town last week.

Taerae stands up, too-- recognizing the tension in your voice. “You do?”

You nod, avoiding his gaze. “Mmhmm.”

“That’s... That’s great, (Y/N),” he encourages, but there’s a hint of reluctance in his voice. “I just hope whoever it is, they’re much nicer to you.”

“He’s really nice to me, actually,” you confirm, finally turning around to look at Taerae again. You catch a glimpse of sadness in his eyes before he shifts his focus down to the floor.

It’s now or never.

“Even when I steal his sweet potato fries.”

There’s a lag in his response. It takes a full ten seconds for Taerae to look up at you and, when he does, his eyes are wide and his lips are parted in shock. He’s so silent that you’re suddenly sure you’ve made a terrible mistake.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m really sorry; maybe I shouldn’t’ve said that. I know you like Molly and I’m sorry you left prom early to check on me and I know I’ve been so annoying these past couple months and maybe it’s not fair of me to say any of this but when you made that poster for her and it had those Royal Azaleas on it-- that’s my favorite flower, how could you do that, you insensitive piece of--.”

For the last couple moments of your insane rambling, Taerae had been stepping towards you-- closing the gap between you and him quickly before finally cupping your face in his hands and connecting your lips in a particularly unskilled kiss.

When he pulls back, he’s blinking at you with innocent eyes; a blush heating his cheeks.

“Was that your first kiss?” You ask, a small smile turning up the corners of your lips. Taerae’s bottom lip has found its way between his teeth and he’s biting it hard to alleviate his nervous energy; hands dropping to his sides. He just nods in response.

Your right hand raises to his jaw now; left hand resting on his shoulder. Pulling him in to kiss you again, you say softly, “Just follow me for a second.”

When your lips are on Taerae’s again, you squeeze his shoulder gently to get him to relax. He responds to this, letting you lead until he feels confident enough to match you. And once he does...

You’re ready to kick yourself for not falling for him sooner.

“It was for you,” he says softly in between kisses. “I made it for you.”

You pull back to look at him. “What?”

“The poster. The promposal,” Taerae clarifies. “It had your favorite flowers on it, because it was for you.”

Your eyebrows raise as the truth sinks in. Taerae had been trying to ask you to prom yesterday; that’s why he was acting so weird. And Dohyun had obviously been enlisted to help.

“You wanted to go so badly,” he explains. “I know not with me, but I just wanted to try and make you happy anyway.”

A sad laugh escapes you. “Tell me honestly: why are you letting me confess to you right now? Do I really deserve it after all I must’ve put you through?”

Taerae shakes his head. “You definitely don’t,” he affirms before grinning at you. Finally those perfect dimples are on display just for you. “But I’m such a sucker for you. Those sweet potato fries only cost a dollar, you know?”

“I know,” you whisper, grabbing the collar of his navy suit jacket and pulling him in once more. You kiss him sweetly and his arms snake their way around your waist in response. “They just taste better coming from your tray.”

“I don’t even like them,” he says, kissing you again; a smirk on his lips. “I just get them so you’ll steal them from me.”

*** 🌶️ INSERT SPICY CUT SCENE HERE -- MINORS DNI -- CONTINUE READING BELOW FOR ENDING (and read below after finishing cut scene) 🌶️ ***

“(Y/N)?”

Your mother calling you from the other side of your door jolts you, sending you and Taerae scrambling off each other on your bed-- where you haven’t really let each other breathe for the past twenty minutes.

“If Taerae’s sleeping over, can you tell him to turn his headlights off, please?” That’s all your mom says before her footsteps travel back down the stairs; a hint of a smirk in her voice.

Taerae’s eyes widen, his hands searching his pockets for his keys. When he doesn’t find them, he smiles at you sheepishly. “Oops.”

“So stealthy of you,” you tease, hitting his chest lightly as you attempt to catch your breath. He grabs your hand, pulling you back into him and reattaching your lips. Before your mind goes blank again, you pull back. “Go turn your car off!”

“Fine,” he sighs, annoyedly. Pushing himself up off the bed with his hands, he finally stands up and walks towards the window. “Here I go. Just like you asked.”

You walk over to him, grabbing his shoulders from behind and turning him towards your bedroom door. “No more scaling buildings for tonight, King Kong.”

“Really? King Kong? Couldn’t have said something sexier like Spiderman or?”

Before he reaches for the doorknob, you turn him back to face you. Raising up on your toes cutely, you press one more kiss to his lips. “I just don’t really like spiders.”

“That’s right,” he says, palm cupping your cheek. “Giant gorilla it is, then.”

“Now go turn your car off so we can get back to what we were doing...”

Taerae’s hand flies to the doorknob; throwing the door open and running to the stairs as fast as he possibly can.

Just before he disappears down the stairs, he turns back to you-- pounding his chest with his fists lightly like the cutest, lamest gorilla to ever exist.

“This idiot,” you whisper, shaking your head.

I must really love him.

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ofdarkestdesires · 8 months

Text

Alright! So, now that we have the full line-up of the Level 10 Bell’s Hells artwork, I think it’s about time I sat down and gave my personal opinions that nobody asked for about everyone’s styles.

Chetney Pock'o'pea

While I appreciate the more active pose and visible armor as opposed to his more unassuming original design, I am very off-put that he completely abandoned his original color scheme and all shreds of his original aesthetic. I also think the tracksuit is a bit much—listen, I’m a fan of toeing the line of what fashion belongs in a fantasy setting, but I’m pretty sure this fully vaulted over the it and did a full backflip and three-point landing into ridiculous. 3/10

And unfortunately, the same must be said for his Lycan form. This artwork feels like a serious downgrade from the original Chetwolf, which honestly filled me with a shock of horror each time he popped up. The only reason it is higher than base-Chet is that Chetwolf is still a werewolf, and werewolves are badass. 4/10

Laudna

Laudna, on the otherhand, is a total glow-up from her original design. Everything about her design ties together and brings in perfectly her aesthetic and backstory, from the haunting tree embroidery on her dress (akin to the Sun Tree she was hung from) to the little Pate birdhouse backpack (an homage to the Baba Yaga forest witch imagery she picked up), all the while looking so much like the elegant and imposing Delilah Briarwood. Easy 10/10 for me.

Fresh Cut Grass (F.C.G.)

F.C.G.'s new art...isn't bad, but I'm not as wowed by it as some others on this list. Something has clearly changed here in the choice to include his new blue jacket, and I approve! I'm also a fan of the wires having more definition and appearing more purposefully stylized, as if he's taking better care of himself...but the pose and the style just feel a bit lacking to me. 5/10

Fearne Calloway

Honestly, my only gripe with this outfit is the upper-half of her bustier. It feels very cluttered and like there is a lot of fine detail that just ends up being all meshed together. That would be my other only other gripe, too—there's a lot of small, fine details here that makes her feel cluttered. Which, honestly, fits her as the sneaky little hoarder that she is! But yeah, I would've done something else, something cleaner, with the upper half of her bodice. Also, while I know she is a Druid, I don't think she needs the plant growth on her legs... 8/10

Imogen Temult

I would just like to point out that this outfit was unveiled to us as Imogen's choice for winter-wear while traveling through the Crystal Sands Tundra. Is it sexy? Definitely. Is it my personal taste? Mm, not really, but I can see the appeal. Am I upset that even after the semi-canonization of her needing glasses, this bitch is still not a sexy glasses-wearing nerd? Absolutely—but the biggest sin this outfit does is fail to be climate-accurate. -1/10 for improper environment protection, and 7/10 for the outfit itself.

Orym, Savior Blade of the Tempest

I am incredibly torn here. Because, when it comes down to the armor itself, this is a clear winner. Orym's new uniform is a perfect upgrade from his original more humble and simple apparel, becoming much more about function and protection, while still retaining his svelte and limber appearance. The noted upgrade to Seedling is also nice, though I wish it was a bit more pronounced. What pulls me back from really loving this design, though, is his proportions—I feel like his head is way too big, or his limbs are way too skinny. Over all, I have to give this an 8/10.

Ashton Greymoore

Remember at the start how I said I'm all for toeing the line of what fashion belongs in fantasy settings? Yeah, this fucks! From the first episode, we knew that Ashton was a punk, and this just picks that up and runs with it in such a cool, fun way. I legitimately want this entire outfit—fuck cosplay, I'd just wear this irl! It leans enough on his old design to be recognizable, but pops out as truly his own. And the hammer looks wild—I can't wait to see that thing really pop off like crazy in the next fight. Definitely a 10/10 from me!

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ereardon · 2 years

Text

Gas Station Tears [Bob Floyd x Reader]

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

WC: 1K

Warning: Cursing, breakup

A/N: Loosely based on my own experience crying at a gas station while eating a hot dog after a break up. Unfortunately there was no Bob there to save me, but I did meet my now-husband a month later so everything happens for a reason!

Three weeks. That’s all the time it took to fall for Bob Floyd.

It’s also about all the time it took you to ruin things.

You met by chance, at the worst possible time. Your boyfriend of two years had called one humid August day, out of the blue, and ended it, knowing full well you had the roundtrip airline tickets in your literal hands, ready to get on a plane to see him in New York in less than a week. You begged and you pleaded and you even threatened to go and win him back. But your father talked you out of it. Said that he didn’t deserve you. That once a man has made up his mind, that was it. There was no changing it.

Why would you want to go? he asked.

You sobbed. He’s the love of my life.

You were wrong. And not for the first time.

The next few days were a daze. Food began to taste like battery acid, so you stopped eating. Your clothes fit baggier, your under eyes grew heavy. Your family worried. Your best friend slept in your bed so many nights in a row she had to borrow clothes after she ran out. Finally, after five days of moping, you sent her home. She left you in an empty house with a freezer full of Ben and Jerry’s, and a box of broken picture frames collecting dust on top of memories frozen in time.

But you were alone, and you knew it.

So it was entirely chance the day you drove up to the local gas station, a small one out of the way that you didn’t typically frequent. You needed gas and a hot dog, your ultimate comfort food. You didn’t even realize until you saw the cashier's face – an equal mix of shock and horror and discomfort – that you had started to cry again while trying to pay for it with change from your wallet. He slid the change back to you.

“On the house honey.”

It only made you cry more. You stepped out into the humid San Diego night and unlocked your truck, turning the key only to find that the piece of shit stuttered to a stall after two seconds.

“Fuck,” you whispered, placing the hot dog down in the console. “Not today.”

You slumped in the worn leather seat, head tipped forward, door still flung open, and tried to turn the key again, the old Ford rumbling below you and then cutting out just as your hopes were rising to crescendo.

“Fuck!” This time you yelled it.

The sound of a throat clearing made you jump. You turned to see a tall, dark sandy haired man standing a foot or so away from your open door. He was wearing a pair of wire glasses, and had a slight flush on his lightly tanned skin. And despite the fact that it was only the two of you in the quickly darkening gas station parking lot, you didn’t feel threatened. He exuded a sense of calm and safety. An authoritative aura that you couldn’t put your finger on. “I’m sorry, ma’am, couldn’t help but overhear. Do you need some help?”

A string of anger sat on your lips, about to erupt, but instead you found yourself dissolving into tears again. The man hesitated before stepping closer, his arm resting on the open door frame.

“Ma’am? Are you OK?”

“I’m not old,” you hiccuped through the tears.

He gave you a soft, but bright, smile. He looked like he was biting back a laugh. “Yeah, I gathered.”

“So what’s with the ma’am?”

He shrugged. “Force of habit. I can call you something else if you’d prefer.”

“Y/N,” you said softly.

“OK then, Y/N,” he responded gently. “I’m Bob.”

“Know anything about cars, Bob?”

He smiled again. “I’m thinking I can be of service.”

By the time he was finished he was sweaty and covered in a thin layer of black grime. You sat back with your feet on the dash as he popped the hood, rooted around, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal sinuous muscles. At one point you remembered the hot dog in the console, one of the main reasons for this fated gas station trip, and started to eat it just as Bob rounded the corner of the door to ask you a question. He stuttered as he watched you put the end of the hot dog and bun in your mouth, unable to make eye contact until you had finished your meal.

Thirty minutes later, you turned the key to start and the engine roared to life. You slapped the dashboard in disbelief. “Thank God, Dixie, you fucking bitch.” You heard Bob chuckle behind you.

Bob smiled at you, his hands in his pockets. “Glad to help, ma’am.” The last word came out in a light taunt and you smirked back at him.

It had grown late, the fluorescent lights of the gas station the only thing illuminating the two of you. Bob turned to go and you called out to him. “Wait.” He turned, a small glimmer of hope lighting his chocolatey eyes. “At least let me buy you dinner for your trouble.”

“Oh it was no trouble,” he replied, but he didn’t make a move to leave.

“Please?” You wanted to see him again. “Unless, your girlfriend would protest.” Right away you had scoped out his bare ring finger.

Bob shook his head and let out a light chuckle. “No, uh, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You smiled. “Then it’s settled. I owe you dinner.”

His face lit up. You traded numbers, and less than an hour later you got a call from him. Calling, he said, was the polite thing to do. His voice was husky on the phone and despite the fact that you had asked him out as payment for his mechanic services he had already chosen a restaurant and offered a time and day for the date.

You fell a little in love with him then and there.

#bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x reader #bob+floyd+x+reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #top gun fanfiction

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galacticwildfire · 1 year

Text

found.

Twenty Three

Pairing: Kenobi!oc x Din Djarin

Summary: Satine and Obi-wan’s daughter fought in the war against the Empire and lost her faith when she lost Mandalore. Until she found him. A lone Mandalorian searching for a Jedi.

Warnings: TW for torture, severe ptsd, mention of past miscarriage and intimate violence in the flashback. This one gets pretty dark in places and will for the next few chapters. But there is fluff and some smut amongst the angst.

Word Count: 7.8k

A/N: okay this was originally 10k words so I cut it off at the start of the interaction which means next chapter is going to be the definition of female rage and is already half written. My apologies for making everyone wait so long but it is back and next chapter will follow soon where shit will truly hit the fan.

ALSO I have gone back and rewritten from chapter 20 onwards, everything is the same but just fleshed out with more smut so enjoy

I was heaving on the floor of the cell on Cloud City, blood surrounding me, screaming into oblivion as if the pain in my heart was enough to kill me, to spare me. Screaming in rage in the slightest chance he could hear me. My bloodstained hand hovered over the burning brand on my ribs, heat pulsing from it but my mind, it was my mind Vader had picked apart.

Desperately I threw myself against the door of the cell as if I could break it down, as if my pain alone could give me the strength of Vader but I was no Skywalker. I was a broken girl with a planet of glass for a home and no one to protect me.

In my fit of madness it felt as if the world was ending and with each slam of my body against the metal I heard the bombs dropping over Mandalore, felt them shake the ground beneath me and waited for the burning world to collapse down upon me and this time finally end me so I could die with my people.

After what could have been minutes or hours I finally heard the door's seal break from the outside and raised a bruised and broken hand, reaching for what I thought would be Vader's saber to die if only to lay one strike down upon him, but instead I found her.

"Leia?" I gasped out and collapsed then and there as she took me in her arms. There was one person left to protect me after all."I didn't know- I didn't-"

What part I meant, I didn't know. All I knew was I'd been betrayed.

"Kyra?" she whispered in horror clutching me to her until I cried out from the contact to the burning brand, blood from my hands now staining her white suit. "What did Vader do to you?"

I'm gasping as I wake, struggling against the weight of Din in the tiny sleeping compartment, not realising where I am as I break it open and throw myself down onto the floor of the ship, looking up at the lights but no shocks rack my body and no blows come. Terrified tears stain my cheeks as he gets on his knees in front of me, repeating my name cautiously until he reaches for my face to bring me back to where we truly are.

"Kyra?" his voice quakes as I struggle for breath, hand reaching for my throat still gasping for breath and he pulls me into his arms, my head in the crook of his neck as I grasp his cloak for something to hold onto, to convince my mind and body that I'm safe. "You're safe, you're safe cyar'ika."

His voice trembles and I'm shaking violently as he rocks me in his arms and I don't know how long we're there on the floor until I can bear to look at him and he holds my face in his hands, not needing to ask, knowing enough by now to know what haunts me.

"You're safe," he tells me again, thumb caressing my cheek as I look down at my hands, finding them clean of blood even if I can still feel its warmth. "Kyra?" I shake my head, inching away from his touch. "Kyra, it's me, you're safe."

And yet my mind is twisted and its wires damaged enough I still sit there for moments more trying to connect what I see with the fear in my mind, trying to rationalise it, trying to tell myself there is no danger and therefore I should not be afraid.

On undamaged minds that may work, but not mine.

"Din?" I finally whisper, my mind finally equating his touch with calm, with safety, and I let him take me back into his arms as slowly I ground myself in him.

"I've got you cyar'ika," he promises me, trying to hide how deeply I've scared him. "I've got you. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

I wish I could believe that, for just a moment I almost do.

"The Empire," I begin as he takes my shaking hands in his own. "They aren't gone."

He slowly shakes his head. "No, they aren't."

I nod numbly and tell him "I want them gone, for good, no matter the cost."

A cost the Republic is not prepared to face, the cost of mercy.

But they never showed me mercy.

"We will start with Moff Gideon," he tells me, giving me something to hold onto as he rests his forehead on mine. "We'll kill anyone we have to. We'll do whatever it takes no matter the cost to keep you and the child safe."

His promise echoes through the empty chambers of my broken mind, reminding me of my purpose. To keep the child safe. Exhausted and wanting to forget everything but his touch I shut my eyes and do what I've always done, what I did when I was just a child captured by the empire, tell myself it was just a bad dream, a bad dream that never happened.

But it did.

I wake to the child nuzzling into me, still resting in Din's arms in the middle of the ship with a blanket wrapped over me, everything numb. But for the child's sake I take him in my arms and try to smile, and feel in the child a pain not so dissimilar to my own, a dark pain, a fear. But even more blinding is his compassion as he reaches out to try to ease my own pain, the compassion that makes a Jedi.

I close my eyes and feel flashes of sabers and blasters and hold the child a little tighter, feeling something is terribly wrong, or will be. Something more immediate than the nightmares that haunt us both.

"Kyra?" I hear Din ask, more than in tune with my expressions by now. "What is it?"

"Can you take the kid up to the cockpit, I need to meditate," I tell him and feel surprise at my own words, despite being a Jedi I could count the number of times I've meditated in the last year on one hand despite how devoted I once was to it.

"Alright," he says uncomfortably, not wanting to leave me alone, but somehow pulls me out of that darkness with one silly question "Is that a Jedi thing?"

"Yeah," I say, laughing softly as I wipe tears from the corners of my eyes. "Yeah it is."

Before he lets me go he squeezes my hand tight and says "If you need me, get me."

He has never treated me like glass, and now is no exception despite how badly I know he doesn't want to let me out of his sight. I'm thankful for it.

"I will," I tell him and watch as he lifts the kid up, able to find some joy in the sight before they disappear up into the cockpit and I'm left to contemplate what these dreams coming back mean.

I cannot remember the last time my nightmares had me in such a state. I remember Lando's concern when I'd wake in similar states not knowing where I was and trying to escape, how he'd call Leia trying to get me help with little luck. It is the first time Din has truly seen it, I know it's left him more shaken than he'd admit.

The closer we get to the planet the worse this feeling of doom is, perhaps it's being in close proximity to a place the force is so strong while in such a state, perhaps it's a warning.

Either way, there is a nagging paranoia in me that from experience can only be two things. The Empire and Boba Fett and so I try to rationalise before I jump to conclusions.

If Boba's been living in poverty on Tatooine as all but a ghost for this many years it is safe to say he wouldn't even have the capabilities to follow us, but still, I'm remembering parts of dreams I thought I'd long blacked out and so I force myself to sit in a meditative state to uncover what they are trying to tell me. Luke would probably drop dead from shock if he could actually see me meditating to work through my problems. I hardly remember the girl who managed to train Luke to be the Jedi he is, it's past time I found her again.

Yet my subconscious forces me to remember many events I'd rather not touch until it takes me to those early days with Boba, back before I ever feared him. When I'd found him weeks after my parents deaths, a man who captivated me as no other had, hired help I was stupid enough to not let go. I was one of the only people to ever tell him no when he refused my offer to join me, and most certainly the only one to live, and sure enough we found a price he accepted.

In the early days there was little fighting between us, it was something built on mystery and a curiosity to learn more of one another, and then a deep respect. Captivating by this stranger in a time when I found myself growing ever more estranged from my aunt for my methods that she found either too pacifist or too extreme, her faith in me was little despite the strong front we put on. I found myself leaning on him as a trusted advisor to guide me through troubles with Mandalorians who resembled him more than myself, even if he was a clone to all others he still upheld our creed and significantly more credits than he did before he met me.

Long days on Mandalore fighting and mourning, days when I found myself struggling to hold what power I could and was somehow under the illusion I had power over this deadly man and mistakenly thought I was the one to seduce him in the dangerous game we played. I don't know how many times he asked me if it was what I wanted that very first time, leaving no room for me to regret it when he warned me of exactly what he was before he ever touched me. I all but begged him too, wanting to feel like a woman instead of a broken child, but I was too young to even begin to comprehend what I was getting myself into.

But at nineteen you truly do believe you are sure of what you want, and he knew he was the only man I trusted. At some point before it fell apart that very first time he truly respected me when he watched me wield the Darksaber to defeat men twice my age and size who challenged me for it. Like that one of Vizsla who I sent back into exile after I defeated him in combat before all the clans for the crimes he had committed against my mother alongside Death Watch that final time when I was sixteen and struck Maul down.

That was the moment I gained the respect of the people, a respect Boba told me I'd thrown away by leaving Bo-Katan as regent to return to the Rebellion.

Little did I know it was that very moment I returned to the Rebellion I'd lost whatever real love was between us. That was the moment we found ourselves on opposite sides of the war as he turned to the Empire to fill his pockets.

Every dark thing inside of me he brought out, and I was powerless to stop him as he turned my rage into something that haunts me to this day. It haunts me when I know at some point Vader put credits in his hand to bring me to him and I wonder for just how long before Cloud City he was trying to seduce me to the Empire's side so I'd go willingly.

To this day I still don't know what were lies, all I knew was that despite everyone he'd done, he loved me and I him.

"You can claim you're better than me, doing what you do for the greater good, except you're lying," Boba told me that last night together. "You don't care about the greater good or honour, you do what you do because you want revenge. You kill because you like it. You have a cruel streak in you, princess. Deep down you are just as ruthless as I am."

I hated how safe I always felt with him even though I should have been terrified, because he was the only person in the galaxy who I could show the worst of me and he wouldn't even blink an eye. Even on Tatooine when I was Jabba's prisoner. Because the worst of me was only a fraction of the worst of him. "If I'm a killer then what are you? A masochist? A traitor? You are a man without honour Boba Fett."

Those last words struck a nerve. "You can pretend all you want. But you aren't a good person. You aren't a hero." He had me backed up against the wall of his room that Jabba's guards had thrown me into as a personal thank you for giving him Han. Jabba's gift to Boba. "Do you really think they'll love you once they know everything you've done?" His hand was around my throat as burning tears slipped down my cheeks. Not to choke me, but to keep me still as he revealed "Do they know you're the one who led me straight to Solo? That I incinerated your friend Skywalkers aunt and uncle?" I shook beneath his touch. "That you knew all along he was Vaders and lied to him, to everyone." But it was when his blaster pressed against my exposed stomach I knew that he knew. "To me."

"I lied to you?" I repeated dangerously, now in pure disbelief at the words I heard. "I?" I pushed him off of me then, my voice raising to a scream of pure rage as I shoved him again into the opposite wall. "I lied to you? All you ever did was lie!"

"I never lied to you princess, I told you exactly what I was," he said as my hand itched for a blade. "You just never wanted to hear the truth." He stepped back towards me, telling me the words that were the truth. "You are not an innocent, you are not a victim, you are the one who never listened when I warned you of what I was and what would happen."

It was the truth, and yet it didn't make him an innocent either.

"Look at it," I told and slapped him across the face before I grabbed it and pulled his eyes down to the brand Vader left on me. "He left it just for you." He shut his eyed like a coward as I hissed. "Turns out he doesn't like his little bitch fucking his targets."

He pulls my hand back, and I'm smiling knowing I've hit him where it hurts. "I'm no one's bitch."

"You were mine," I remind him, knowing he was once my hired blaster. "A shiny bar of beskar and you're owned by anyone."

He grabbed me by the chain around my throat. "And you're the one in chains now princess so tell me how that's worked out for you? No home, no family, no one to love you that won't soon be dead. No one but me."

I slammed him back into the wall, reaching for any weapon within reach I could get my hands on "You fuck-"

"Hate me all you want princess, you love me."

"No," I lied, hating myself because it was true. "How can I after you fucking left me to Vader, after you betrayed me!"

"No more than you betrayed me," he said as if I had a choice, as if I wasn't screaming on the floor of that cell on Cloud City and it was then as I reached for his blaster he grabbed me again, throwing me back and pinning my wrists to the wall. "You took my chance to be a good man from me, to be a father-"

Tears burned in my eyes and I realised the greatest cruelty I could inflict upon him was to let him believe whatever Vader told him and I stopped fighting then as I looked him in the eye. "And I would do it again."

He held me by the throat and I watched seething as he dragged his blaster along my exposed body, the same blaster he'd used countless times to do such unholy things to me, and I didn't look away as he pressed it into my stomach.

He was deadly silent, finger over the trigger as I searched his cold eyes and felt the things he never learned to hide from a person like me.

"I know you Boba Fett," I told him, I might have been the only person in the galaxy who did. "I know you love me." Finally his fist closed around my throat to prove to both of us that he didn't but I hardly blinked as he held it tight, enough to constrict my airways but still unable to bring himself to truly hurt me and somehow that made it worse. "Don't be a coward now, you could choke me to death and still would never come close to inflicting the pain Vader did."

"You were my target," he told me, digging the knife deeper with his words since he couldn't bring himself to do it physically. "From the moment you returned to the rebellion. You were my target when I dug you out of the rubble on Mandalore, every night together was all to get the information I was paid to bring to Vader, but you knew that didn't you?" I didn't give him an answer, I couldn't even give myself one as he tapped his blaster against my cheek. "And you let me do it because you loved me."

I could have used the force to pull the trigger, to end this as I begged him to do half a year before. For my blood to be on his hands, the blood of the woman he loved. It would have been cruelly poetic, but I was too bitter to die before seeing the end of the empire.

"How?" I finally asked him as I searched his heart and mind, finding such strong love twisted with darkness, finding the same in mine own heart and that darkness was what I could not forgive. "How could you do this to someone you love?"

"This was never love," he told me, seeing what I couldn't but his heart- he could not hide it from me, not from a Jedi.

"Liar," I breathed, smiling at the hate in his eyes, his lips hovering just above mine. "If it wasn't we would have killed each other a hundred times over by now."

"Kyra."

I jump at the sound Din's voice, pulled from the meditative state that's reminded me of why I don't meditate. I wanted clarity not pain, and I certainly don't have the time to unravel years of torture before I can figure out what the immediate danger at hand is.

"Are you alright?"

I nod stiffly, composing myself but still Boba's words haunt me amongst much else.

"I'm just thinking, that's all."

"About the nightmare?" he asks and comes over to me, sitting down in front of where I am and takes my hands in his. "We're raising a child together ner karta, there isn't anything you can't tell me."

But there is. There is so much I haven't been able to speak a word of to anyone. Not even Leia after she found me there a bleeding mess on the floor but she knew. Her and Lando both saw me there, Lando in all these years has never once dared to mention what he saw and Leia... we held each other all through that night, not having to speak a word of what we'd both lost.

"Sometimes I dream of the war," I tell him, not going into detail. "More often than not they turn into nightmares."

"But not like that," he says and gently presses "All these nights we've spent in the same room, I've never seen you like that."

I swallow hard and tell him just enough "In my nightmare I was trying to break out of a cell and when I woke I didn't know where I was."

He nods slowly, thumb running over the side of my hand, gently calming me but the only interpretation I can find of those dreams is that something is coming and I can't afford to let myself end up trapped and helpless again. I need to heed Boba's words instead of pretending I am not what he knows me to be. I never fought out of the goodness of my heart as a Jedi should, it was a search for justice that quickly turned to revenge.

The time of pretending I am a peaceful person is over, I've trained Luke and Leia, I did my duty to them in resisting those violent urges to keep them from being tempted by darkness. I will fight darkness until the day I die instead of surrendering to it, but I can't deny my Mandalorian nature.

"My mother Satine, she was the most staunch pacifist in the galaxy," I tell him and realise how little I've told him of her. "She watched Mandalore be destroyed by civil wars before either of us were born, her father was killed during the last of them. I never knew him but he was a follower of the old ways, a warrior. It was him who taught Bo-Katan the way, and her who taught me. It was at the end of these wars your people were exiled to the moons of Mandalore."

"Concordia," he reveals and suddenly it all makes sense. "My people were of Concordia, it was there we lived before the purge."

"And that was the divide that almost got her killed more times than I can count," I tell him while he listens carefully. "She believed that the moment we commit to fighting we've already lost and that was the ideology that kept Mandalore neutral until the Empire decided otherwise and she did her part, playing along in order to protect her people until she couldn't." It's then an old guilt surfaces, a wound Boba would always tear open to be cruel. "All because her daughter was a Jedi. I had worked with the Rebellion for three years at that point, since the last time Death Watch tried to kill her, and so when she surrendered and was taken to Vader Leia and I tried to rescue her. By the time I found her Vader had tortured her to the point her body had all but given out, and her last words to me, the greatest pacifist to ever live, were that Mandalore's fate was in my hands now and to never stop fighting."

He's silent in contemplation of my words until he says "And you've never stopped. Even now you're still fighting the Empire."

"But what if I'm fighting the wrong battle?" I ask him finally, trying to find some meaning in these nightmares. "What if running around the outer rims fighting Imperial remnants is the wrong battle, one I've been fighting since the moment the war ended. What if the battle I should be fighting right now is for Mandalore? What if fighting the Empire to keep ourselves safe isn't enough?"

"Then I'll stand behind you," he swears to me but cautiously asks "What's brought this on?"

"I want Moff Gideon dead, I want my enemies to burn," I confess to him, that violent streak I've tried to hide baring itself. "I don't want to just hide away with Grogu living the reclusive life of a Jedi. I want justice, I want the one thing a Jedi shouldn't which is revenge."

He tilts his head towards me and I can feel the concern as he takes my hand "Then when we kill Moff Gideon we will find other Mandalorians, the fight for Mandalore is not lost unless you say it is."

I look at him and ask a careful question "I know you have the same ruthless streak that I do Din. You're a bounty hunter, I'm a soldier. We're both killers." He's quiet, not knowing where I'm going with this but all I know is that I need him to see the parts of myself I don't know how to love myself, to prove to myself Boba's words aren't true, that there will be no one to love me but him. "We might fight for peace, but that doesn't mean we aren't killers all the same."

"I know what I am," he tells me, voice rough. "Before the child, I was a cold-blooded killer, a bounty hunter, but I thought you hated that."

"No," I say quickly, immediately separating what Din is from what Boba was and realise "I'd be lying to you if I said I ever did. You said that you were never a hero like I was but I was never a hero Din, I never did the things I did for the greater good. I did them because like Ahsoka said, I had my mothers passion for justice but more than that I wanted revenge for the things the Empire had taken for me and to protect what I feared losing. I could never admit it because that is not the way of the Jedi."

"But it is the way of the Mandalorian," he says and I look down at our joined hands. "If you think that for even a moment that seeing that side of you would make me love you less then you're wrong." He lifts my chin back up as he tells me "I only love you more."

And with those words he makes me realise something no one else could in almost ten years, that I don't need a bloody and violent love that leaves me in agony. Not when I have him, a man who knows my past and what comes with it and yet loves me unconditionally. Who has taught me I can love without pain.

The next thing I know I'm in his arms and he's holding me tight, the cold beskar feeling like home as I tell him "I love you Din Djarin. When I'm with you, somehow everything makes sense."

He chuckles lightly as he tells me "I wish I could say the same but I'm still trying to wrap my head around all this Jedi stuff."

I laugh with him now, the darkness forgotten as I tell him "This is what I mean, you can always pull me out of anything, no matter how caught up I get in my own head."

"Well it's hardly like you don't have anything to worry about," he tells me, always practical in his reasoning and admits to me "Sometimes I swear all I do is worry. Is this what it's like being a parent?"

My smile turns a little sad. "I wouldn't know, but I'm learning." My fingertips run along the edge of his helmet. "And I'm glad to be doing it with you, with a man who understands what it's like to be willing to do anything for those we love, no matter how violent."

He tugs me close as he tells me "Do you really think I fell in love with a peace loving Jedi? I fell in love with a Mandalorian woman who could hand my ass to me on a silver platter."

I laugh against his helmet "You've barely even seen me in a fight yet."

His voice is deep as says "The day I see you in beskar fighting is the day I'll be on my knees begging to make you mine."

My chest tightens at what he's suggesting and I play coy "I'm already yours."

He pulls me into his lap, squeezing my waist as he tells me "Not until I can call you my wife you aren't."

"Din-" I breathe, my hands on his chest plate as he pulls me flush to him and my forehead touches his, wanting it, wanting something I swore to myself I'd never want again but here I am.

And I'm not afraid anymore.

"I want to kiss you," he murmurs, taking my hand and holding it to his beskar cheek.

"Then kiss me," I say, pressing my lips to the beskar, quite comfortable with the circumstances that come with it "I can-"

"I don't want you to close your eyes," he tells me quickly, and he nervously lifts up his helmet as he would if he was drinking and I gently put a cautious hand on his before I can see anything.

"Are you sure?"

"I am," he says and lifts his helmet enough that I can see the patchiness of his beard, his lips. I take his shaking hand in mine as I bring my lips to his, tracing the outline of his jaw with them, leaving soft kisses in my path.

"I love you," I breathe, letting him feel my words as I kiss him. "All of you, helmet and all."

"And I love you," he says, his voice raw and unmodulated and beautiful.

"I know I'd love to hear more of that voice," I say, running my thumb over his lips.

I can feel his smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I smile back, kissing him softly before pulling his helmet back down. "But only what you're ready to give."

"I want you to see me," he says, but I can feel the conflict behind those words. "The creed I- I know it isn't what I was raised to believe but-"

"You don't have to explain my love," I tell him gently. "I understand, and I love you. You don't need to force yourself to abandon the beliefs you hold or make any decisions until you're sure of them."

"Thank you," he breathes, hands heavy on my body, showing me his love and need for me in the way he knows how since words don't always come easy to him, but he does better than he thinks he does. "I love you Kyra, more than anything."

Except for the child but we both know that.

"I know," I promise him and he grips my waist just right and I have to bite back a moan as he begins tugging my dress up and I gasp out as he lifts me up, my back slamming into the wall as he pulls my legs around his waist, his strength always stunning me.

I'm breathless as he asks "How do you want it?"

"Rough," I answer, needing the release, needing the feeling of him inside of me that clears my mind better than any amount of meditation could and he holds me up with ease as he unzips himself and tugs my dress up to my waist, finding nothing beneath.

"Ever practical," he teases, wasting little time as I feel him line up with me, always ready for him.

"Always," I smile only to find myself choking out his name as he enters me. "Din-"

"That's it," he says soothing me through it, this being one sensation I don't think I will ever get used to. "Say my name."

By the time we're approaching Tython we're in the cockpit with Grogu, dressed now for combat in case it finds us as it so often does. Grogu's in my lap while Din's doting over him from the pilots seat.

"Grogu." The kid looks up from his ball in surprise at hearing his name and Din chuckles lightly while Grogu goes back to his ball but he can't resist. "Grogu?"

Grogu looks back up at him and Din makes a sound of astonishment that leaves me sitting there drowning in adoration for this man but remember I'm still responsible for training the little green rascal. "Din, cyare, try the trick you did with Ahsoka, the one with the ball."

He nods and holds his hand out, voice gentle "Give me the ball."

Grogu leans away, not wanting to give up his precious ball and looks up at me as if asking if I'm really going to let him take it and I chuckle "It's okay Grogu."

"Grogu," Din says again. "Give me the ball." Grogu resists, and I begin to wonder if I should be more concerned over his attachment to that ball than to us. "Come on."

He hands it over and I do find it interesting he does understand us almost completely when we speak with him even if he can't talk back, not yet at least but considering all the poor thing's gone through I wouldn't be surprised if he was selectively quiet and that it's delayed his speech. One of the many things we will work on together.

Din holds the ball up between his fingers and Grogu leans forward on my lap "Okay, here we go. You can have it, just like before." Grogu reaches out but not with the force and Din tilts his helmet towards him "Grogu come on, you can have it."

And then I feel it, the focus and nod approvingly as he uses the force to reach out and bring the ball to him and as he catches it Din proudly exclaims "Dank Farrik!" Grogu quickly drops the ball and I kiss his little head as Din quickly backtracks "Hey no, I'm not mad at you, you did good."

"You did Grogu," I affirm gently as he coos "So good."

Grogu listens to Din as he says "When the nice lady said you had training I just-" for a moment I remember my own father training me, how excited he'd get when he saw the progress I'd made and Din reaches forward to put the ball in his hands "You're very special kid."

"You are," I say cuddling him in my lap. "And I'm going to train you just as my dad trained me. " He coos up at me and I smile "I'll teach you to use the force and to speak, to read." Din's watching as I lift him up and he squeals happily. "I dare say your dad will teach you to use a blaster."

"Not a proper blaster yet, but a training one," Din says and I laugh as he makes the motion with his hand. "He won't be able to pull a trigger so it will be one of the ones you squeeze."

"Oh maker I love you Din Djarin," I tell him in pure adoration and feel the warmth beneath that beskar. "And I love you too Grogu."

The kid's smiling as he reaches out, dropping the ball to touch my face and I kiss his forehead, holding him as Din reaches over to squeeze my knee before lowering us into Tythons atmosphere.

I'm absentmindedly humming to Grogu as we enter and look about realising we have absolutely no idea where to find this singular rock on a planet that's no doubt filled with old Jedi relics but thankfully it finds us as we lay eyes on what looks to be a type of temple with a stone in the centre.

"That the one?" Din asks me as if I know anymore than he does but remember I am meant to be the Jedi after all.

"That's the one."

"Alright kid," Din says. "Let's take you to the magic rock."

I shake my head at him while smiling, it's hard not to love him when he views the force with more wonder and mysticism than anyone I've ever met, it makes me see it through new eyes.

He circles it looking for a place to land while I hold Grogu up so he can see and Din says "I can't land on top, we'll have to travel the last stretch with the windows down."

"That's fine," I tell him but can't help the anxiety that comes as we land, that nagging feeling still there. "I just don't want to be too far from the ship."

He nods and he has a hand on my back as we walk out, I sigh when I see the distance we have to walk "Well, we'll be stretching our legs at least."

Din just tilts his head down towards me "Do you really think I'd make you walk?"

And so moments later we're flying to the top, Din holding the kid and I, and it makes me begin to reconsider the issue of my own armour. I discarded it out of shame but now... now it feels as if I'm starting to atone for my defeats.

Perhaps it's time I pick up my armour again, if not for myself then to better protect the child and Din's words are certainly a contributing factor.

We land at the seeing stone and I take in the geometry of the temple, hesitant at what exactly this seeing stone entails but the force's presence here is undeniable. I'd heard stories but feeling it is something else entirely.

"Well, I guess this is it," Din says but still I look back towards the ship, not denying the feeling in my gut but try to not let it show for Grogu's sake.

"The legends say this planet is where the call of the force was heard by the first Jedi," I say to Grogu, the recognition of the name having come to me in the ship. "I remember the stories my father would tell me of the wars here between the light and the dark." I look around, having found the stone but know there should be far more ruins scattered across the planet Luke would find interest in and tell Din. "I want to stay and look about but I've got a bad feeling."

"A bad feeling?" he repeats, trusting my instincts by now.

"I can't pinpoint it, but I want to leave as soon as we're finished at the stone," I answer and he looks about confused since it seems we're the only people on this planet and decide. "After this we're going to Kalevala."

"Kalevala?" he repeats back to me, no doubt knowing the planet since it's in the Mandalore sector but in confusion as to why I'd want to go there

I've come to the place the Jedi originated from, but something is calling me back home and being here, it's as if the force itself is telling me to return.

"To my family's castle," I say and he tilts his helmet towards me in disbelief.

"Your family's castle?" he exclaims. "You have a castle?"

"I'm royalty Din," I remind him and that seems to shock him more than anything else I've ever revealed to him. "You know this."

"I know but there's a difference between saying you're a princess and having a castle."

I look at him incredulously. "Din, I literally ruled Mandalore."

"I know, I know" he assures me but still asks "You have an actual castle and you're living in an apartment on Chandrila?"

I blink at him in offence before confirming "Yes, I have a castle."

"Here that kid?" Din says to Grogu as we walk towards the stone. "You're gonna get a castle."

I laugh as we reach it and remind him "You know for him to inherit we have to take the proper adoption vows."

He stops for a second as if he hadn't even realised he hasn't yet. "You're right, we haven't." His voice is heavy as he tells me "Before you came along I- I could never bring myself to call myself his father. He was always a foundling in my care I thought I would have to give up, but now-"

"Now things are different," I say and hold him as I tell him "He's your son, your foundling, no one's going to take him away from you." I rub Grogu's head as I say "Isn't that right Grogu?"

He smiles and I take him from Din to place him on the rock "Okay now, I don't know what's going to happen but you're going to do what uncle Luke, and no doubt many other Jedi have taught you, and meditate." He makes an annoyed sound as I put him down and sigh "I understand, but you've got to do it, okay?"

He makes a sound resembling an okay and that's good enough for me. Din and I stand back waiting for something to happen and he asks me "Do you feel anything?"

Nothing overly strange aside from the impending doom and overwhelming concentration of the force and ask him curiously "Why, do you feel something?"

He looks around before answering "I feel the wind." He takes a glove off and holds his hand up. "Kind of."

Definitely not force sensitive then.

I take his hand and squeeze it, bringing his attention back to Grogu who sits on the stone watching us instead of connecting to the force.

"Grogu, concentrate," I lecture him. "I know you can feel it."

Din tries to help as he says to Grogu "This is the seeing stone, are you seeing anything?" Grogu just coos and he looks at me and asks "Can you?"

"I will" I answer, knowing if I sat on that stone and meditated I could certainly see many things, but it is Grogu who first needs to. "You see he and I always feel the force but because of how strong it is here it is easier for us to channel it and to have visions."

"Visions of what?" he asks me and I swallow.

"I dare say nothing happy," I tell him stiffly. "But we need Grogu to reconnect with the force without fear and for me to be able to use it to communicate with him as Ahsoka did."

He turns his head towards me and quietly asks "Why can't you?"

A question I've been asking myself for a while but the answer is simple, a combination of my own neglect in connecting with the force and the fact the only force sensitives I ever knew were my father, Luke and Leia. It's out of my expertise.

"You see Din, some people are naturally stronger with the force than others, they would be taken to the Jedi temple to be trained but there are those who are stronger than others. Grogu is one of the strongest to live, as was his father or rather sperm doner," I find myself muttering. "My father was never exceptionally strong and neither am I, he was only a few years younger than myself when he finished his training. It was his devotion and discipline to the force and to his training that made him strong in comparison to his apprentice who was much like Grogu, all raw strength but little discipline."

Grogu makes an offended sound and Din assures him "We know you're trying hard Grogu, it's okay. You're doing great kid."

"He is, compared to myself which has been a reasonable enough amount of raw strength but little discipline these past years. Meanwhile Ahsoka was likely one of the stronger Jedi if she was given to Anakin to train," I explain to Din. "And she's still had more training than I, proper training in the temple by many masters which is something I've never had. My father taught me well, but our time together was cut short. Despite training Luke I still have much to learn, and if Grogu can remember his training and I can see those memories it can help both of us."

"So you'll sit on the stone after him?" Din asks and I nod, turning my attention back to getting the kid to concentrate.

"Feel the force Grogu," I instruct him. "I know you can. It's strong isn't it?" He nods and I prompt "Now close your eyes and let yourself feel it, you don't have to be afraid, we're here, you're safe."

Sometimes I still find it strange, the jump from training a nineteen year old grown boy just older than myself to a child. Although it isn't that different really, Luke may be all serious now but maker knows he wasn't when I was training him.

Din looks around and asks me "Is he supposed to see something or is something supposed to see him?"

I actually stop for a moment at that question and wonder "Both could be possible."

Still Din walks around the stone as Grogu tries to concentrate wondering "Maybe there's a control or something."

I watch as he uses the settings of his visor to search for any mechanics in the rock until I have to interrupt.

"Din, ner cyare," I say, finding his effort to be involved in his training truly endearing, I really can't help but adore it, but have to inform him"That's not how the force works. Let the kid concentrate."

But just as the kid looks as if he's gotten into that meditative state his eyes open up and he reaches for a butterfly.

Din sighs and tells me "I'll never understand the force."

"You will," I assure him and squeeze his hand. "The first thing is to remember it is not physical or literal, it is a sense as much as hearing or seeing, or rather feeling like you'd feel an emotion, but it takes effort to connect with." I look at Grogu and tell him "Effort Grogu, now close your eyes and focus."

I use the force to non fatally flick the butterfly away and after a sound of protest he closes his eyes and finally settles into a meditative state leaving Din and I in a state of awe as the inscriptions around the stone come alight and a force shield emerges around Grogu.

"Holy-" I hear Din begin and nod in agreement, not having seen anything quite like this before but our awe is interrupted by the sound of something entering the atmosphere.

Slowly I turn to see the ship entering the atmosphere and the very blood is drained from my veins at the sight of it, a ship I know far too well.

My eyes fall shut, everything making sense now.

"Is it a Jedi?" Din asks in confusion and slowly I shake my head. "Kyra?"

I can feel him so strongly, that whisper that's haunted me right here, right now.

This can only end bloody.

"Get the kid," I order, drawing my saber. "Now!"

But as he goes to grab the child the forceshield blasts him back onto the ground and with wide eyes I help him up, anxiously looking up at Slave I and back to the kid.

"Is it the Empire?" Din asks me but I can't even bring myself to speak his name as I grab Din's blaster and he yells out as I fire five shots right into the forceshield only for each one to be reflected. "Kyra!"

"The kid's safe here but we need to get to your ship and get weapons," I order him, the forceshield being enough protection for me. "Get ready for a fight."

"What-"

"Ship, now!" I order and he yells out after me as I run down the mountain, keeping low as I make my way through the scrub, his voice fading out as he runs after me and I don't stop until I'm met with blaster fire and he quickly takes cover as I reflect the shots with ease and stand out in the open, unafraid and perhaps already a little mad.

"Kyra!" I hear Din barking out, trying to get me to take cover but I am not hiding.

"Come out Boba," I call and feel the pure panic from Din as he finally realises who we are facing, realises why my first instinct was to draw my weapon. "You hunted me down on Tatooine, don't run away now!"

I should be terrified but I'm not. He has haunted me for half a decade now, ten years since I first laid eyes on him. I know him too well to fear him.

But it's as he emerges cloaked in black a different horror has me in its grasp and I look upon the man I once loved as he stands before me, scared and deformed, as if he's aged twenty years from the damage done to him.

The damage I did to him.

I draw a sharp breath and he sees it, he sees the horror in my eyes as I whisper his name.

"Boba."

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandolarian #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin x oc #din djarin x original character #wildfirewildflower #the mandalorian x original character #Din djarin smut #Din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #found.#din djarin x female oc

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supernovafeather · 2 years

Text

Fantasies (18+)

Nathan Bateman x F!Reader

Content : smut, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, Dom!Nathan, android!reader.

Please reblog if you liked it, thank you ! 😊

~1000 words

"Is my body beautiful ?"

This question haunting your circuits finally escapes from your unmoving lips. You wonder what Nathan thinks of it as he examines your broken - or rather cut off - leg on the table of his lab.

"I created you like this so you can only be beautiful." He reminds you.

"But every human has their own preferences so would I still be beautiful for everyone ?"

"Beauty can't result from an objective value. It's all about perception." He says calmly. "I created you so you fit my own vision."

"So am I beautiful for others ?"

The man holds your replacement leg in his hands as he looks at you from above his glasses. Judging ? Maybe. Pondering your question ? Certainly.

"I don't see how anyone would find you ugly." He answers simply. "To my eyes you are perfection made by my brain and hands."

With a quick gesture he wires your leg back to your body, your eyes rolling back as your system assimilates the new data and scans the new material. It takes you a second before stabilizing, your face finally moving normally again.

"So there is no ultimate answer to this ? After all beauty standards change all the time."

"Standards change all the time but people will still recognize a beautiful face when they see one."

"Is my face beautiful Nathan ?"

"It sure is." He whispers with a focused face, his palm and fingers rubbing your cheek. "If only you could see what I see from a human perspective."

"Whenever you have sex with me you always comment about how hot I am. Never about how beautiful I am."

"Because you are hot. Arousing. Your voice, the way you move your hips... it matches with my tastes."

It doesn't answer to this unknown glitch in your program. At least you think it is one. Since your latest update you noticed how many questions you have asked. It never ends as he puts your tights back on.

"If you had to change anything about me to make me more beautiful, what would it be Nathan ?"

"Asking more delicate question than an actual human I see." He comments with a scoff.

"What would it be ?"

"Shut up with your stupid questions." He scolds you.

You don't have the opportunity to formulate your thoughts as he crashes his lips against yours, his hormonal peak crushing your captors. It's not only about his face, it's also about the rough rub between your legs, his crotch against yours beneath your skirt. Everything screams desire, a sudden surge of desire he doesn't care about repressing.

"Wanna know what could be added ?" He whispers shakily against your lips. "Wanna know what I could add to that beautiful body ?"

"Please." You squeal.

It's not long before he pulls you towards him with a brutal grip on your collar, slamming your face against the table as your eyes widen at how fast he cracks your tights open with his hands. You don't fight as he maintains the front of your body against the table, he loves control.

"I could add something in you if only you were human." He snarls before entering your artificially wet entrance with a sharp hip thrust. "But no you can't, you're just some sentient doll."

"W-why a d-doll" you stutter as he pulls on your hair between two powerful thrusts.

"Doll." He says before moaning. "A doll, a beautiful hot doll taking my cock and asking questions." He keeps penetrating you mercilessly. "That's what you are."

"N-n-no Na-than I'm not a-a doll." You argue as you start moaning. "I-I'm..."

His thrusts just hit the perfect spot again and again and yourself open your legs even more as he spanks the fake flesh of your ass, his thick cock still harassing your entrance with sinful wet noises. He loves your buttock, how you feel, you know lal of that already. You feel his desperate grasp on your own hips as you watch the table trembling at each slam.

"You are my doll." He coos before moaning. "My beautiful doll."

"Please." You start to beg as he increases his pace. "Please N-Nathan... what w-w-w..."

You know he ejaculates as he pressed against you suddenly, any idea of distance now a memory as your fill his sweaty shirt against your back, his beard scratching your cheek.

"A baby that's what I want to add into that body." He whispers as he grinds a few more times. "A belly swollen because of me. That's the final touch you need."

"What..."

"I want to make you cum hard several times, have you begging for me to give you a baby as I fuck you in that perfect tight little pussy of yours." He states as he slides out of you. "And feel and see that baby bump whenever I take you and cum in you. Is that clear enough for you ?"

You nod as you stand up, trying to move despite the abundant sperm leaking from your entrance down to your ruined tights hanging on your legs. Is it what is missing for Nathan to find you perfect ?

The next deep kiss is less about control than about communication. Same for the hand grasping your bare asscheek so firmly. There's desperation in it.

Because just like you, he knows his fantasies will never turn into reality.

- - -

@salome-c @stevenngrant @lavenderluna10 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @dailyreverie @thecursivej @lady-targaryen @general-latino

#nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman x reader

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griffin-black · 1 year

Text

‘My Ordinary Life’ (Chap. V)

Author’s Note: I recommend reading this on Ao3 or Quotev.

Chapter Five Absolution V

‘Ever since you’ve born you’ve been dying. Everyday a little more you’ve been dying. Put your hands up and reach for the sky. Cry for Absolution’

The stranger walked into his bedroom; tall, handsome and out of place. He stood next to Toby's mother. Like a powerful force of nature, his presence was immediate and electric. Commanding your attention towards him.

For a second, Toby thought the stranger was Superman, though a different looking superman, coming to rescue him and cure him of his sickness. It was a silly thought, even the young boy knew that much, but it didn't prevent that spark of hope from popping into his head.

Copper red locks fell into the stranger's face and on the bridge of his nose rested thin wire, galvin cut glasses. He was wearing work clothes: black slacks, pressed white button up, black shoes, and a tan shearling jacket that reminded Toby of something a character wore in his favorite video game. He even looked a little like the character.

The stranger's smile was small, barely noticeable, and stoic. He was strong, Toby could tell right away, and confident. He was handsome, but in a delicate and soft sort of way, and fit. Toby could tell he was muscular even through the leather jacket.

Toby swallowed. He didn't trust strangers his mother brought over, especially not ones that were visibly strong.

Toby sat up in his bed, confused by the stranger leaning against his door frame, and eyed him suspiciously. Should he have been a normal kid, he would've liked the man instantly, but years of hardship so early on in his young life made him untrusting and suspicious of all, especially adult men.

Rain pattered against the window to the left of his bed and the EKG to his right beeped and whirred, penetrating the what would have been peaceful silence. Toby looked back at the man and squinted his eyes. He so desperately wanted to trust him.

The man maintained eye contact with Toby, which only made him a little nervous, and never opened his mouth to speak. He was waiting, waiting for him to speak the first words. But he wasn't going to.

"Toby?" His mother suddenly said, appearing beside the stranger. Toby immediately went to work ignoring the situation presented to him. Wanting to appear totally uninterested, the small boy hopped down from the side of his bed, causing his Mother to squeak at the abrupt movement of her ill son, then proceeded to rummage through his rather large bedside drawer that looked more like a tool chest than a boy's bedside table. Grabbing, wrapping, unwrapping, and re-wrapping various bits of plastic holding syringe, serums, bandages and medication bottles, the boy began his regular morning routine. Filling a syringe, whilst keeping a close eye on the stranger's reaction, Toby stuck the needle into his arm with ease and tossed it once its contents had emptied. Then, he adjusted his child-size IV pole and checked the bags hanging at the top. They were fine. The last step was Toby's least favorite. Luckily he only had to do it once a week. A device was placed atop the bedside tool chest, what appeared to be a blood drawing contraption, next to a black leather journal stamped 'TOBY.' The boy scribbled something in it, making sure to check his alarm clock and document the correct date, next to what could've been hundreds of other entries hiding within the thick journal's pages. His mother cleared her throat.

"Toby. Don't you want to say hello?" She asked meekly, almost tepid.

Toby didn't respond, the boy only picked up the device on the chest and handed it to his Mother. He hated whenever his Mother spoke to him like that. Like a feral, wounded puppy. It made his face all prickly with heat. As he plopped the device in her hands, he caught a scent he hadn't smelled before. It was woody, and deep, but also sort of sweet and clean smelling. Toby looked over at the man. Cologne, he decided.

With a small sigh, the beautiful Mother with warm brunette hair took a seat next to her son on his bed and stuck the device into his arm. A little vile connected to the needle in his arm began to fill with bright red blood. His Mother winced as she always did. It was a lot of blood coming from such a small, sickly looking child, but it was necessary to keep him as he was. Not healthy, but in a constant state of undying. Every other day of the week, instead of drawing blood, Toby had to participate in a clotting test, where all that happened was a cut was made on his arm and left to bleed . . . and bleed . . . and bleed. He didn't like seeing the blood. He liked the syringe days much better, because after he was pricked, he could bandage his arm and not have to think about the puncture in his skin. But with clotting tests, he was forced to sit and watch along with his mother, copious amounts of blood leak from his arm for at least twenty minutes.

As his Mother pulled the needle from his arm, Toby met eyes with the stranger who had a strange expression on his face. Intrigue, but almost like this wasn't happening in front of him. Like Toby wasn't connected to a thousand machines and IVs.

He didn't know what to make of it.

Once the prick was cleaned and properly bandaged, just above the layers of gauze spanning from both of his hands to his elbows, Toby began trying to piece apart the man, at least as much as he could. He never liked the men his Mother brought home and this one especially was weird, but he was still trying to make up his mind whether that was a good or bad thing. The man simply watched, arms crossed, at the sad display but was still slightly smiling like when he first appeared.

Toby knew how people behaved when they saw him. It was easier to categorize them accordingly that way. Even at five he was acutely aware of how everyone around him acted. Pity was the biggest reaction. "Can I get you something?" "What can I do to help?" "Are you in any pain?" Toby never talked to any of them. Instead he liked to pretend they didn't even exist, and soon they didn't. Something strange happens when you don't acknowledge people, they tend to disappear rather quickly from you, and permanently. They always left after the perceived ineptitude to talk, but he could. He always could. It was just more entertaining for him to watch them fumble and trip over their own stupid, fake, sugary sweet words. It was his own little secret, the fact that he could speak, he had always just chosen not to.

His Mother had taken him to many a shrink to figure out why her son was mute, but none of them could figure out why and none of them could ever get him to utter even a small peep. The only person he ever spoke to was his sister Lyra, and even then it was minimal at best. After a while, his Mother gave up trying to get him to speak. Toby was talking to Lyra, and that was enough for her.

Toby's shoulder twitched aggressively.

"Jesus, Toby." She whispered. Toby hung his head. "We've gotta get that looked at." She looked up at the stranger. "He's been twitching recently. It doesn't seem like he's doing it on purpose, though. The other day during lunch he practically threw his juice. I wonder what it is."

Another thing Toby hated. Her talking like he wasn't directly next to her. She placed a gentle hand on his back and moved it up and down which seemed to ease his tension slightly.

"Hopefully nothing serious." The stranger said. He had a firm voice, it was pleasant to hear, but Toby would never admit that. The man suddenly made his way across the room and got down on one knee in front of Toby. "Your Mother tells me you don't like to talk?" He asked.

Toby glared at him, a trick he had always used to get people who simply wouldn't disappear away from him, but this time it wasn't working.

"That's a scary face." The man said with a grin. "You always greet strangers that way?"

Suddenly a hand slapped gently against Toby's back. "Toby! Cut that out!" His Mother scream-whispered at him. He ignored her and continued to glare.

"No, no, that's alright, Rach. I think it makes him look rowdy. Tough, even. It's a good look for a man, wouldn't you say, kid?"

Toby raised a brow, unwilling to be the first to break eye contact. To his surprise, the stranger looked away first.

"I guess I'm not making the best first impression." The stranger said with a grimace.

"Toby," His Mother began. "This is my boyfriend, Ryan Rogers."

Implode.

Toby's face immediately became hot and that familiar pins and needles sensation traced up his spine, shoulders, neck and face. He glared at the man.

Ryan.

"Toby?" Someone called out to him, but his eyes were still plastered on Ryan. He wasn't going to look away.

"Toby!" The voice called again.

Tim shook Toby by the shoulders. "Toby!" He shouted.

Toby jumped as though Tim had just woken him from a deep sleep. He made an awful gasping sound and looked around confused. Tim's upper lip pulled and his hands fell from the boy's figure. Something on his face let Toby know that Tim had already made up his mind about why he hadn't heard him even though he was right in front of him. But whatever conclusion Tim had come to, he didn't let Toby in on it. Tim shook his head dismissively and adjusted his flight jacket. "C'mon. We're all ready now."

Toby nodded in a daze as Tim disappeared through the thick early morning fog. The other proxies were still a mystery to him, even after spending an entire week under their constant surveillance. He was terribly wary of them and at times even plain terrified of them. He knew he was probably a mystery and something to be wary of to them as well, but still existed the power dynamic of a teenage boy versus two psychotic grown men who have known the Operator for years. It was horribly unbalanced and Toby could never shake the feeling that he was permanently in immediate danger.

Tim seemed to be the nicer of the two, but interacting with him . . . Toby compared the sensation to walking on a tightrope over a shallow canyon. On one side, a sea of pillows and cushions for a soft landing, the other, a pit of spikes and needles filled with venom.

Brian was just a constant stream of bitterness, spite, and apathy. At least, Toby thought, he could count on him always being that way. He wasn't sure which he preferred. Both were equally as miserable and detrimental to his mentality.

Toby sat on a log near the newly extinguished fire. It was twilight, just before the sun was set to rise, and the sky was dim, bringing out the greens of the trees. Smoke swirled from the black fire pit before him and his hands, clasped together in a praying position, pressed against his nose and lips, his thumbs tucked under his chin. Though his eyes were positioned on the fire, they were wide and far gone, somewhere very far away. His right leg bounced up and down nervously and his head twitched every so often, accompanied by his 'hurling' tic as the lovely miss Wilson had called it. He knew he should be heading to meet the others, but he had to try to rid himself of the churning pit in his gut.

That morning, everything was damp and hidden behind mist. The campsite was barely visible, even when sitting in the middle of it, and anything beyond it was completely hidden from sight. A rough wind blew, striking his back.

The hood of his brown jacket was pulled over his head, underneath, a black turtleneck that Brian had gifted him the previous night, telling him he wasn't dressed warm enough for the weather. New bandages now covered his hands and wrists, trailing all the way up to his elbows so he had to roll up his jacket sleeves, and his ashen, light brown nearly blond, curled tufts stuck out in every direction from beneath his hood. Grey, doe eyes like pools of winter water were pulled down by dusty purple bags, completing his sunken look along with his hollow cheeks and a sporadic strip of freckles spangled across his face. His skin was nearly grey, along with everything else which made him look terribly diseased, and his thin, frail looking frame hunched over slightly, elbows placed upon his knees.

He was focused on something, but it wasn't anything he was looking at. In his mind he could hear them, a cacophony of swirling moans and groans like ghosts, invisible, yet present, hollow, yet haunting, and full of agony. Stern, but airy like smoke.

The voices had returned. And they had yet to stop.

Toby's leg continued to bounce, shaking his silhouette, and he focused intently on the voices, trying to discern why they had returned and what they were saying. He hadn't heard them since the night he killed his stepfather, and he had adjusted just fine to the silence. But now they are back.

What has changed?

That wasn't much of a question. Everything. Everything has changed. But why did this have to remain the same?

Toby continued to bounce. He really should be listening to Tim and heading over to the car, but it was unsettling. He couldn't make out a single word.

They were whispers, maybe they weren't even speaking any words, but with them ringing in his ears he had no choice but to focus on them before doing anything else.

Suddenly, he collapsed between his legs, clasping his bandaged hands over his ears, gripping his hair.

Cracking, piercing wails battered at his eardrums so fiercely he thought they might just burst. They were screaming things at him, but he had no idea what. He winced and writhed. But they just kept shouting at him!

"Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—" He continued to repeat barely above a whisper, rocking back and forth. "Why? Why are you all shouting? What do you want? I thought you all had finally died! Just stop! I can't understand when you're screaming all at once! Stop it, stop it—"

"Toby?" A hand fell on his shoulder.

Toby jumped so violently, he fell straight into the dirt. He looked at Tim, who had likely come over to see why Toby hadn't followed him, with a wild look in his eyes. He pulled his knees close to him and continued to whisper nonsense.

Tim seemed just as shocked as Toby.

"Did something happen?" He asked suspiciously. Toby stared at the ground, still mumbling. It took him a moment before he could speak.

"N-no. It's nothing . . . No, it's fine." He stumbled, slurring his words. Tim held out his gloved hand and Toby grabbed onto it, hoisting himself up with ease.

"Man, you're light." Tim remarked, though there wasn't any weight to his words. He was only making small talk. He was still eyeing Toby who dusted off his jeans and the bandages on his hands that caught his fall. He hadn't noticed Tim's expression, or anything in that moment, he held a thumb to his bottom lip and looked around the deserted campsite. Earlier that morning Brian had woken him up to help them pack up their things, not that there was much to pack, and wouldn't explain to Toby exactly what they were packing for or where they were going.

"Tim! Toby!" Brian suddenly called from somewhere amidst the fog. "Get your asses over here!"

Toby sighed.

"Get your asses over here!" Tim mocked in an extra strong southern accent that Toby never noticed before.

"You're both southern." He stated more than asked. Tim nodded.

"Probably. No other real reason we'd talk this way." Tim said, still eyeing him. "Of course Brian knows for sure, says he grew up somewhere in Alabama, and our twangs, I guess, are really similar. I think we're from the same place, but Brian doesn't like that theory very much. Especially since you're here now."

"Wh-what do I have to do with where you're from?"

"You always shout your questions? That fire damage your ears or something?" Tim asked, looking concerned. He was genuine which somehow stung Toby more than if he was just plain insulting him.

"No . . ." He said quietly. He hadn't realized he was shouting, but with all the noises and screams in his head it made perfect sense.

"Anyway. You're from Colorado, right? If we—" He wasn't asking, but Toby had to look at him for confirmation. Was he from Colorado?

"Shit." Tim said, shaking his head, bewildered. "You don't remember?"

The pair had stopped walking.

Toby furrowed his brows. No. He doesn't remember. Where was he from?

He gripped at his hair again and clenched his eyes shut, trying his hardest to pry his skull open and claw his way to the right answer. Tim placed a hand on top of one of his.

"Kid. You're fine." He said softly, pulling Toby's hands from his hair. "You are from Colorado. You're from Veilwood."

Toby blinked. If he didn't know where he was from, how the hell did Tim? "I never told you that."

"No, of course you didn't." Tim said 'of course' a lot, like Toby was supposed to know everything about a memory erasing, time warping, teleporting creature. "That night . . . the night you set fire to your neighborhood. You passed out. Didn't you?"

Toby nodded. He passed out and woke up in a forest he'd never seen before. Then the Operator appeared and made him its proxy. His hands trailed across the underside of his wrists.

"Toby! Tim!" Brian yelled again. Neither paid him any attention.

"We did that." Tim stated.

"What?" Toby hissed, shoulders rising to his ears. "What the hell did y-you do to-o me?"

"Look, we didn't have a choice. We didn't bash your skull in or anything like that. No chloroform either. The Master can knock out whoever he chooses at will."

"What the hell else are you not telling me-e about that thing?" Toby snarled. A hazy sound then filled his ears, so subtle he barely noticed it.

"A lot. But Brian and I both agreed it's best you learn yourself. You don't want us telling you everything."

"What kind of b-backwards logic is that? That fucking monster can knock me ou-out at any g-given moment or wipe my memories, but because two serial killers decided it's best for me to learn whatever else it can fuh-fucking do by myself then-- O-oh! W-well, I should just bend over and ta-tak-ke it!" The sound began to grow louder in his ears, but Toby had a sneaking suspicion Tim could hear it as well. He suddenly forgot about their argument. "What is that?" His voice shook.

"Junior." Tim said dangerously. Toby took the hint and stopped talking. The sound crescendoed then began to wane away until there was only the sound of the woods around them.

No one spoke.

Fast-paced footsteps crunched towards them and Brian appeared from the fog. He looked furious. "Car. Now." Was all he said. Tim and Toby followed his instructions immediately and Toby thought it was odd that Tim was obeying him. The proxies trudged over to the truck, Brian's beige '77 Ford pickup, when Toby noticed a black bag in the trunk on top of the camping supplies. It was open. He looked around to make sure neither of the other proxies would see him snooping around and quickened his pace to reach the trunk before the others. The bag was a large sports bag, bigger than one Toby had ever seen before, and the flap was still hiding its contents, but it was completely unzipped. With one last furtive glance over his shoulder, Toby slowly opened the bag and felt his heart drop to his feet.

Knives, daggers, rope, duct tape, batons, crowbars, and his two hatchets he thought he'd lost the night of Paul's murder were sitting inside. A strange sensation overcame him. Toby thought he might throw up, his stomach twisting so intensely, but also came with it a rush of excitement. He felt far, far away staring at the weaponry, wide-eyed, nearly smiling. Like digging up some part of himself he had long since locked away, like an archaeologist of his own mind. His heart was beating out of his chest, but he was perfectly calm.

The footsteps of the others were suddenly loud and Toby shut the bag and began tugging at the handle to the backseat. Brian saw him and held up the key fob in his hand, pressing a button over and over, clearly demonstrating the truck was unlocked. The vehicle made various clicking sounds as he did so and Toby tugged at the handle harder that time, but the door still wouldn't budge.

"It gets stuck." Brian stinged, his voice echoing remnants of his anger. "Tug it to the right, then pull."

Toby did. The door opened.

He swung the door shut as he sat inside and inspected the car. It was clearly old, its floors stained and covered in dirt, but the leather interior was still miraculously intact. Not to mention the engine rumbled beautifully too. Brian obviously cared about his car.

Brian got into the driver's seat, Tim on the passenger side, and adjusted the rear view mirror with a clearing of his throat. Toby looked around for any sign of a seat belt before accidentally meeting Brian's eyes in the mirror. Expecting some sort of insult his eyes got large, but to his crushing surprise, Brian flashed him a smile.

"Everyone set?" He asked.

"Jesus, just drive Mr. Hyde." Tim groaned, resting his head in his hand against the door.

"You're calling me two-faced?" Brian bickered back, but it was playful, there wasn't an ounce of venom to his words. Toby felt like he was meeting two different people all of a sudden

Psychopaths. He thought.

"Where to?" Brian met Toby's eyes in the mirror again. Toby was instantly uncomfortable. He had no idea where to draw the boundary lines with those two and eye contact with the Proxy he feared the most was anything but relaxing.

"I get to pick? Wh-why?" Toby snarked.

"Cause you're the new recruit! C'mon city boy, we are still in your county."

Toby straightened his posture at that. "We are?"

"Yeah, National Forest is still King's County, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"So pick the place, kid. Have anything in mind?" Brian rested his head against the seat, waiting for his response.

Toby didn't need to think. "Can I pick who?"

"No." Brian started. The truck was now moving steadily down an old highway through trees so tall, no matter how Toby leaned he couldn't see the tops of them. Even in the car he could hear the road decaying beneath the tires as pebbles and dirt were kicked up, striking the underside of the vehicle.

"Why." Toby shot back.

"Because I said so."

"The Operator said wuh-we're a team." He said dangerously. Brian looked at him from the rearview mirror, seemingly taken aback by his tone, before looking back at the road.

"And I think you're not experienced enough to start picking people."

"But I-I can pick the place?"

"Not anymore. We're going to Grey house." Brian said, once again using codes and language Toby was not privy to. Tim nodded and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a thick spiral journal with numerous colored sticky notes jotting out from its sides. Just the sight of it made Toby feel sick.

"Anyone going to tell muh-me what 'Grey house' is?" Toby asked, kicking his shoes up onto the backseat and sitting with his back against the door. The truck suddenly jumped over what he could only assume was a speed bump or a pothole and his stomach lurched and throat pinched shut. He hugged his legs and hid his face from all light behind his hood and arms.

"It's a grey house."

"Thanks."

"Let me speak, would you? Like we said before, we pick the place, the people, the time and how. But we're not stupid about it, or careless. We study potentials for a long time before they're chosen."

Toby sat up and rolled his eyes, staring out the back window. Chosen. Chosen for slaughter. This is sick.

"Yeah." Brian growled, his grip tightening against the steering wheel. "It really. Is."

#creepypasta #marble hornets #fanfiction #happy birthday #ticci toby!#masky #hoody #brian thomas #tim wright #toby rogers #my ordinary life #horror

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Ticket to Ride - Part 2

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟, 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕙

𝕊𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖

𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The aircraft door opened and you stepped out gratefully onto the air jetty. You weren’t scared of flying, you just didn’t like being cooped up in a flying tube for several hours on end. Up an escalator and along a short corridor and then you were able to see outside through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky was beginning to shade into the colours it would take on for dusk. It looked like it had been a nice day and you hoped the good weather would continue for your stay.

Karen had texted you while you were sitting on the plane at JFK, waiting for it to push back. Frank had told her that Micro had tracked your phone to the airport so boy, were you glad you’d turned off your old phone and switched to the new one when you did. She’d also told you that Billy had asked him to find out where you were headed, and your heart sank. You knew it wouldn’t take long for Micro’s vast and nerdy computer skills to find you but then again, London was a huge city and they’d have no idea whereabouts in it you’d gone to ground, thanks to your new ‘burner phone’.

You were feeling super-excited. This was beginning to feel like an action movie, with you on the run from the bad guys.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“London??!!” Billy shouted, making Frank quickly move his phone away from his ear on the other end. “Yeah, London,” he replied.

Billy was back at his usual post by the window. “I mean... obviously I knew she was gonna fly somewhere but I thought it would the West coast, Miami, Seattle, Alaska... somewhere like that. But to go to a whole other continent....!!!!” Frank sighed, “Yeah, Bill, sounds like she’s really not keen to bump into you anytime soon.” “Yeah, thanks for remindin’ me.” “Bill, you brought this on yourself, buddy.” “I know!” yelled Billy, “An’ all I wanna do is get her back and make it up to her for the rest of my life, and all I know is she’s in London! Do you know how big that place is?” “Yeah, I do. And t’be honest... I dunno how you’re gonna even try to find her over there.”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. “I mean...” Frank continued, “I’m guessin’ you are gonna go over there and try to find her, Bill?”

Billy’s shoulder twitched upwards briefly, and he stared intently out the window at the New York skyline.

“Yeah, Frankie... yeah, I damn well am.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d left two of your big suitcases and the backpacks in a luggage storage facility at JFK, travelling with just the one suitcase and a large shoulder bag. You took the overground Heathrow Express to Paddington before negotiating a change onto the Tube to reach Tower Hill DLR station, boarding one of the driverless trains out to Canary Wharf. Settling back into your seat, feeling pretty proud of yourself for managing not to get hopelessly lost.

Your AirBnB apartment was in a part of the city called Docklands, beside the Thames on the Isle of Dogs. It was an area of shiny skyscraper offices and fancy apartment blocks built round the old docks, and your accommodation for the next two weeks was in one of those. You were suitably impressed when you got inside it... open plan, all trendy furniture and gleaming fittings. Big, big windows with views of the river and the tall buildings.

Your phone chimed and you saw a text from Karen on your notifications. Taking your suitcase and bag into the bedroom, you went back out to the main area and sat on the sofa to read it. Oh. Billy now knew you were in London, and had apparently booked a flight over - he’d be arriving tomorrow. Your heart rate sped up; Billy was a sniper, used to finding, stalking, watching his prey. But, you told yourself, he had no idea whereabouts in the city you were and no way of finding you.

Relax.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy stepped off the Heathrow Express, looking around for signs indicating where the taxi rank was. He’d been looking at the Tube map during the train journey. Nah, fuck that.

He was too wired to even think about getting to London Bridge on the Underground, or ‘Tube’ as he found out Londoners called it. His brain had been working overtime trying to figure out how the hell he was going to find her in a city the size of London. She’d stay central, surely - she wouldn’t head to the suburbs, he felt confident of that.

Getting into the first taxi in the queue, he drawled out, “The Shard, please.” The taxi driver nodded and pulled away from the station without saying anything. Thank fuck, thought Billy, I can’t be dealing with a talker right now. But just as the thought had left his head, the driver’s London accent said, “First time in London, guv?” Billy sighed, “No. No, it isn’t.” In fact it was, but he wasn’t about to tell the driver that. He’d only end up getting taken on the ‘scenic route’, double the time, double the price.

The driver grunted and turned up the radio... really annoying music could now be heard but Billy would take that over inane small talk any day. He looked out of the windows at the city streets and his mind went back to his mission. Mission impossible. Finally he saw the river and the taxi crossed a wide bridge before pulling up outside the lofty skyscraper that was The Shard. According to the blurb he’d read on some travel website it was the tallest in Western Europe, and while there were taller buildings in New York, the shape of this one made it look quite dramatic.

He paid and got out of the taxi with his expensive wheeled duffel bag, heading to the Shangri La entrance of The Shard and going inside. (It’s one of the priciest hotels in London - of course). Checked in at reception on the 35th floor, he was then whisked up to his room on the 52nd by another express lift. The windows were huge and the views spectacular.

Once again, he was gazing out of a window at a cityscape.

Where is she?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Your first full day, you occupied yourself with getting to know the surrounding area, doing some grocery shopping and sitting on your large balcony, enjoying the view and relaxing with a glass of wine.

Every time a plane went overhead you wondered if Billy was on it - he was due here today. You shook yourself a little, you’d just have to stop thinking about it. He wouldn’t find you.

Your mind wandered unbidden to his recent behaviour. Knowing Billy was a player from day one, you’d still got involved with him. More fool you. Another old cliché.... you thought you’d be the one to change him. And you thought you had. You’d dated him for a few months, he seemed to have ditched his old hound-dog ways and when he’d asked you to move in with him, you’d agreed without thinking it over too deeply.

Now, looking back, it seems like you’d made a big mistake.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Micro had spent quite some time constructing a query table that he could run against accommodation reservations in London for her arrival day. She had no reason to book under another name and he’d just have to run with that assumption.

When Billy had come directly to him instead of going via Frank to ask that he try and track down her reservation, Micro had been too scared to refuse. Billy still really unsettled him - he always reminded him of a circling predator.

This query would take a while to run. He hit the go button and wandered off to work on another project while it tunnelled its way through layer upon layer of data.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was pacing his swanky hotel room like a caged panther. He’d given up on the idea of roaming the streets of London trying to spot his target, that was just one dumbass idea. He’d never find her that way, much better to just wait on that geeky twat to come up with the answer with his internet wizardry.

He’d spoken to Frank earlier, who had nothing new to report. Billy wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty at cutting him out of the loop on his recent ask to Micro. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Frank wouldn’t mention it to Karen. Much as he loved him like a brother, Frank was a big sap when it came to Karen and he knew he’d give in and tell her, probably sooner rather than later.

However Frank had told him that Madani had called earlier that day, wanting to know where Billy was and why she couldn’t get in touch with him. Billy had figured out that his girl had got herself a new phone, and he’d followed suit. Which is why Dinah hadn’t been able to reach him. “Whaddya tell her?”he’d asked. “That you were on an overseas operation and were incommunicado.” “Good,” nodded Billy, “....that takes care of that little problem for a while at least,” feeling a sense of relief.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Frank cut the call, a grim smile on his face. He hadn’t been completely straight with Billy, but it was for his own good. What he’d told Madani, however, had been the unadulterated gospel truth.

He’d said to her that Billy had hared off to Europe in pursuit of his live-in girlfriend, who’d suspected him of cheating on her and left him. He was absolutely determined to get her back.

He’d taken great satisfaction in the dead silence on the other end of the line, eventually punctuated by an angry snort and the call being abruptly ended.

That ‘little problem’ was hopefully taken care of for good.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Micro looked at his phone as it beeped at him, the notification saying that his query was complete. That had taken much longer than he thought it would. Now he could only hope it hadn’t returned too many matches as he’d thought it prudent to run it on surname only.

He pulled up the results table and was pleased to see that there were only a thousand or so, he’d feared there would be many more. He scrolled through the list and quickly pinpointed the one he’d been looking for.

With a deep sigh he picked up his phone, typed “Wood Wharf, Water St, London E14”, a building and apartment number into a new message, then hit send. It would be the early hours of the following morning in London, so he very much doubted that Billy would leap out of bed and head right over there.

He finished eating his supper, drank a beer and settled down to watch TV when his conscience started bothering him. Should he? He shivered when he thought about what Russo might do to him if he found out.

Popping another bottle of beer open, he sat and contemplated what he should do for quite a while. He suddenly picked up his phone, sending a quick text to Frank telling him about the whole situation and including the fact that Russo now had her London address.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

While you were lounging on your balcony, sipping your wine and watching the world go by, it suddenly occurred to you that this would be a great base to work out of for a while. You messaged the estate agent and extended your stay to one month, with an option to extend if required.

Then, on a whim, you booked a flight to Barcelona early the next morning from City Airport - it was really close to your apartment even if the flights were a bit more expensive. You’d been doing a little research into other destinations to explore, and having a base in London to travel to and from made you feel much more comfortable. The W Barcelona had caught your eye while you’d been browsing for accommodation and as you were only going for a few nights, you’d booked in there.

Feeling extremely pleased with yourself, you got up and went into your bedroom, looking for a folded-up smaller travel bag you knew you’d packed in your luggage. Finding it, you began to choose some outfits for your short trip, thinking what a joy it was that you could now leave your large suitcase here.

But damn, you were going to have to be up early tomorrow. Best to get an early night, you thought, immediately yawning.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy shot up in bed as his phone chimed with Micro’s text. When he read the information in the text, contrary to Micro’s belief he did leap out of bed and started pulling on his clothes (Micro had forgotten that this was an ex-Marine he was dealing with here).

He sat back down on the bed and googled the location. Oh okay, East London.... Docklands. Too far to walk and he didn’t think the Tube ran at this hour. Then he pulled up the Uber app and booked an immediate pick-up.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Walking into the terminal building at City Airport, you were in the middle of a total yawning fit when a text came in. It was from Karen and you stopped, putting down your bag so you could read it.

Karen: Sorry to tell you this hon, but Billy went direct to Micro 🙄 and intimidated him into finding your London accom. Frank’s told him not to do that again no matter how much he’s shitting himself! Please take care of yourself 💋

You: Bastard 👿 thanks for the heads-up, I will do 😘

Picking your bags up again, you hurried over to one of the automated check-in machines to get your luggage tag.

Whoever had said ‘timing is everything’ had definitely got that right.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Oi!!!” yelled an irate male voice. Billy turned his head to see a groggy-looking tousle-haired guy, obviously just having been woken up. “Keep the noise down!”

Billy said nothing, just gave the guy his death stare. His head quickly disappeared back inside his apartment.

After pressing the buttons of a few apartment numbers at the main entrance, someone had buzzed him in and he’d been pounding on her apartment door for the last five minutes. But there was no response, and he knew she wasn’t that heavy a sleeper.

He slid tiredly down onto the floor outside her door. Had she somehow known he was on his way over here? No.... how would she know that?

His head dropped down in momentary defeat and he ran his fingers through his hair, groaning.

She hadn’t moved on already, had she?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The plane lifted off the tarmac, and immediately you felt a huge sense of relief. You just weren’t ready to see Billy right now - you’d probably kill him if you did, ex-Marine or not.

Now you were off on your next adventure.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

London

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #ben barnes #the punisher 💀

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secretshinigami · 3 years

Text

All Noble Things

Author: @kiranatrix For: @resilicns Pairings/Characters: Near and Gevanni Rating/Warnings: Gen, no warnings Prompt: Near reflecting on his relationship with Wammy’s and L’s reputation Author’s notes: In How to Read, it says that Gevanni’s hobby is building ships in a bottle. So I imagined a scene where Near is observing Gevanni, now in the role of Watari, building a special ship. The time period is flexible but I imagined it after the C-Kira case and before the case with Minoru. This is a loose interpretation of your prompt but I hope you enjoy it!

—

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Gevanni.” Near didn’t look up as he carefully laid out another domino on the floor, perfectly spaced from its neighbor and approximately two centimeters from chaos. Pinched fingers pulled back carefully and twisted around a strand of white hair. “Two things, really.”

Gevanni looked up from his workbench as the long but comfortable silence between them was broken. Since Roger had died and he’d taken on the role of Watari, he was usually the question-asker. Would you like lunch now? Have you heard back about this or that piece of evidence? Did you have another nightmare last night?

He’d gotten used to it, to Near. To being the bedrock that an island could rest upon. “Two questions?”

No, he was more of a species imported to Near’s world and being gradually altered by the isolation, evolving to fill his niche. But he had no complaints–it was a quiet, stable life and Near paid him well. He didn’t mind the solitude. “You’re exceeding your daily allotment. I’ll have to demand a raise if this keeps up.”

“I believe I gave you a raise just three months ago. If these demands keep up, I’ll have to find another Watari.” Near deadpanned it but his eyes flicked up briefly, and Rester knew he was joking. Another domino clinked against the terrazzo floors, this one with hand-carved scrimshaw detailing a breaching whale.

Gevanni snorted and turned back to the ship in a bottle he was working on. “Good luck finding someone else to source those pajamas with the specific blend of Pima cotton you prefer. I’ve kept that a secret. Iron-clad job security.” He grinned as he carefully reached a long wire into the bottle to pat down blue and white putty mimicking ocean waves. “So, what’s question number one?”

“Can you tie back my hair? It keeps getting in the way.” Near flicked a long strand over his shoulder but it fell again, dangling dangerously close to his creation. ��Mind the–”

“Dominos? Yeah, I’m practically a ninja at this point.” Gevanni pushed his loupe glasses to the top of his head before carefully making his way over spiraling lines of set-up dominos to Near at the center. He knelt and pulled a hair-tie from his pocket, holding it between his teeth as he gathered up all the silvery strands. “Holf spill,” he murmured around the band. Near was stone-still as he made a quick and slightly messy ponytail, leaving some loose hair around the face for twirling. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” Near very briefly made eye contact as Gevanni went back to his workbench before looking back to his pile of dominos. He sorted through them for another scrimshaw piece. Gevanni had made a special set for him on his last birthday but he always saved them for the end.

“Mmhm.” Gevanni slid back into his chair and picked up the little ship, a model of a 19th-century whaler. “So what was the second question?”

“I was curious what you were working on.” Near let a domino tumble across his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. “You’ve never spent that much time on just one ship before.” He caught the domino with his thumb and placed it next in line.

“Oh, so you noticed?” Gevanni held up the little whaler on his palm, clearly proud of the highly detailed craftsmanship. All the masts were down and tied with an array of strings that could be pulled up once it was in the bottle to raise them. “I guess this one’s special since it doesn’t really exist. Thought I’d challenge myself. It’s…well, it’s how I imagine the Pequod to look, the whaling ship in–“

“Moby Dick?” Near stared at the miniature vessel, head slightly cocked as he smoothed a loose strand of hair. “The ship Captain Ahab used to chase his white whale.”

Gevanni smiled. “That’s right. It’s one of my favorite books. Have you read it?”

“Years ago. I remember not liking it very much. The whale killed him in the end.” Near placed the last couple of dominos and let out a long sigh. The moments before flicking the first piece were the ones he both cherished and dreaded. The satisfaction of creation could be drawn out like a monotone note, but when it was finished, the spectacular destruction was often over too soon. So, he hesitated and stood up instead, padding to Gevanni’s workbench to watch more creation.

“I bet you’d like the book more these days. Single-minded obsession to defeat a power past human control? Throwing all caution and sense of self-preservation to the wind? The thrill of the chase?” Gevanni arched a brow. “Can’t tell me that doesn’t sound familiar.”

Near frowned slightly and hunched in on himself. “I suppose you mean L. Or do you characterize me as so foolish?”

“You’re L now.” Gevanni disliked that he had to remind Near of that even now, years after the first L had died. “But yes, it reminds me of what Matsuda told us about your predecessor’s obsession with Kira. I never met the first L, but maybe I can understand him, in a way.” He quoted Melville, "All my means are sane, my motive and my object mad.’ You’re L but you’re not him, and I’m glad for it.”

Near wasn’t sure if he was glad for it or not. So many times over the years he’d compared himself to that avatar and wondered if he could measure up. Drily, “I guess that makes me Ishmael."

"You survived, didn’t you? Lived to tell the tale and learn what he couldn’t."

Gevanni turned back to the little ship, carefully threading another string through the rear-most mast. He worked quietly for a while, cognizant of Near’s focused attention and feeling sorry for bringing up the Kira case. It wasn’t often that Near took such an interest in his own projects, or perhaps the man was merely thinking about what he’d said. “Sit down, if you want to. I’m about to get to the exciting part.”

Near pulled a chair closer and slinked into it, one leg pulled tight to his chest and the other dangling off the end. “Which is the exciting part? Stuffing it into the bottle?”

“That’s part of it. The thrilling part for me is raising the masts and sails inside the bottle.” Gevanni pointed to the flat masts and the multiple lines of string leading from them. “If anything goes wrong or a string gets tangled…or some bit of glue doesn’t hold, well–”

“You’re screwed.” Near smiled faintly and rested his chin on his knee. “Hours of planning for one moment of glory. Or disaster.” It also sounded familiar, so familiar.

“Exactly.” Gevanni chuckled and looked over at Near, pleased to see that small, rare smile. That in itself was the product of so much patience, of hours spent in understanding and the slow building of confidence and trust. “Once I get the ship in, would you like to raise the sails?”

Near’s eyes widened and he rocked slightly in the chair. That was Gevanni’s moment of glory and he deserved it after so much time and hard work. The inlaid wood, the meticulous paint, the delicately carved and articulated ship’s wheel capped in brass. The hand-sewn sails and gold script that read Pequod on the ship’s side. Each detail was evidence that someone else had built this and he would only be stealing the best part, swooping in for the end of the trick.

“You built it so you should do it.” It didn’t help that he was worried about making a mistake and ruining it at the last moment. How would it even fit? Despite the masts lying flat, it seemed impossible that the ship would make it inside the bottle. “I don’t know how.”

Gevanni sensed Near’s hesitation and uncertainty, recognizing the subtle tics of anxiety. “I can show you. You’re great at stuff like this.” He motioned to the vast lines and towers of dominos filling the room. “Plus, I trust you.”

When Near didn’t answer, he turned back to the ship, placing a small line of glue at the bottom and oh-so-carefully maneuvering it into the narrow mouth of the glass bottle and onto the ‘waves’ of translucent blue putty. It was a very tight fit and when it stuck down in the right position, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Not bad, huh?” The strings dangled from the bottle’s mouth as he held it up to show Near. “Offer still stands.”

Near wanted to do it, to try. Honestly, he wanted to ask Gevanni to show him how to build one of his own, how to trump the rigid enclosure and build something impossible inside. To raise it up not by magic but by human ingenuity and patience. A creation not to destroy but to keep.

“Alright.” His fingers moved from his hair to tentatively touch the white strings hanging from the bottle’s mouth. “All of them?”

“Just these.” Gevanni pointed out several lines connected to the three masts. “Don’t yank, just pull slowly until you feel resistance and I’ll tape them up.”

“If it works.”

Gevanni laughed quietly. “It’ll work. Stop stalling.”

Near mumbled, “I’m not stalling,” but stalled a moment more before gently tugging the strings. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat when all three masts raised in unison, perfectly aligned and straight. He smiled as Gevanni secured the strings, then slid off the chair to gaze at the bottle from the side. This floating world, this impossible thing that’s bottled the sea. “I can see why you like these so much.”

“It passes the time.” Gevanni felt warm inside since it was rare that they connected like this, despite all the time spent in each other’s company. He glued the strings to the ship with a long wire and then cut them, leaving no trace of how it had really been made. Setting it on the bench to dry, he said, “Would you like to have it? I have about a dozen. I mean, if you want it.”

“As a warning against white whales?” Near smirked and climbed back into the chair. He fingered the hem of his specially-ordered Pima cotton pajamas, the exact blend he preferred. “Or for the memory of Ahab?”

“Neither? Or…maybe both.” Gevanni knew that so much had changed for Near when Kira died. Monster or not, that moment of destruction had ultimately felt unsatisfying. He knew Near struggled with assuming the name and reputation of L, a legacy that had become so confused in the mind of a world that would never know two L’s had died and a third now had to make peace with that. It was easier to bottle ships than emotions.

Mildly, “Or maybe just because it’s something we built together.” It was odd, but somehow it would mean a lot to him for Near to have it. “How about it?”

Near found a loose string at the hem of his pants and yanked it, snapping the thread. He got up and crouched beside the winding, spiraling rows of dominos and pressed a slender finger against the first one. That catalyst set off the reaction, the staccato clack clack clack! that echoed in the high-ceilinged room. It was over in seconds and silence crept in again.

“I’d like that.”

-End-

[The title comes from a quote in Moby Dick: "A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy. All noble things are touched with that.” It reminded me of Gevanni’s rather solitary hobby as well as the occupation of solving cases as L.]

#fanfiction #death note #submission #near #gevanni #ratings: general #kiranatrix #resilicns #Near's Bday Finale 2k21

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kareofbears · 3 years

Text

margin of error

Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.

Or, Sophia struggles to grasp why Akira and Ryuji don't follow her predictive algorithm.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Sophia knows a lot.

She can tell you almost anything in the known world in an instant. Calculate the radius of the sun. Who won Best Picture three years ago. The outfit to wear when you need to 'dress to impress.' Just yesterday, she was able to find them a bath, a takoyaki restaurant, and an overnight camping site within 0.3 milliseconds. That’s not very many seconds.

Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.

She’s quiet while she’s propped on the phone stand, watching the rest of them lounge in the RV. There’s a shape to the interior that wasn’t there before—where it had been pristine when they had first gotten it, now it’s littered with crumbs and instant-food packaging despite Makoto’s half-hearted attempts at scolding them for it. Empty surfaces are filled with knick-knacks, stuffies and a plastic ramen bowl rattling gently along with the RV.

There’s a rare lull amongst them, a moment of quiet. Most of them were napping away the road, gently snoring and bodies jostling whenever a pothole hits, oblivious to the scenery that passes by. Only the soft tunes of pop music from the front and the hum of the engine broke the quiet.

Other than Makoto, there were only two people awake: Akira, scribbling in his journal, and Ryuji, watching him do it. They sat across from each other in the booth, with Ryuji’s chin propped against his hand.

Probability and pinpoint accuracy is what she excels at, and being able to apply them to her friends excites her. Not to mention, she hasn’t been wrong yet.

Idly, she runs the numbers—according to the data she’s collected from spending time with them, the silence will be broken by Ryuji within approximately two minutes. Pulling up a time from within Akira’s phone, she waits eagerly.

A minute passes, and then another. And another. Akira is still scribbling in his neat penmanship and Ryuji is still watching him doing it, unspeaking.

Frowning, she double-checks her calculations. No errors that she can see. It seems that he simply does not want to speak. This is surprising, and very unlike him. He is not usually this quiet. In the Metaverse, he is by far the loudest of them; calling on his Persona’s name can often leave her own ears ringing.

The real world does not stray from that data. His voice is clear in crowded areas, helpful in guiding their big group throughout bustling cities. He is often shushed by the girls when they are trying to sleep at night—Futaba even goes as far as to kick the ceiling from her bunk bed.

The data is strong and sure. There should not be a reason that she should be wrong in this assumption unless there’s a confounding variable that she had missed.

Akira looks up and catches his eye. “Am I boring you?” he asks quietly.

Ryuji shakes his head, grinning. “Couldn’t be happier,” he whispers back.

Sophia’s about to ask when Makoto cuts her off.

“Wake up everyone. We’re here.”

—

“Okay,” Akira calls. His voice isn’t raised, despite the crowded street of downtown Sendai, but they all straighten up. “We’re probably not going to spend too much time here, especially once we take over the Jail. Grab what you need now—snacks for the trip. Shopping. Souvenirs. Frozen pineapple. Any questions?” Yusuke raises his hand. “Yes, I’ll pay for you.” The hand falls back down, relieved.

“Cool. How about we meet back here…” he squints at the large clock hanging on the wall, hand blocking out the blaring sun. “In an hour?”

A chorus of agreements rolls through them as they rush out, excited to explore a new city. “Good speech,” Sophia pipes up from his hand. “Do you do them often?”

“I try not to,” he yawns. His thick black hair is even more unruly than usual, glasses barely hiding the light blue that’s beginning to form underneath his eyes. “Most of the time, they can handle themselves fine. All they need is a schedule and some rules to work with.”

When she doesn’t answer, Akira brings his phone up. “What? Did I say something?”

“It’s because she’s worried about you, you moron,” a disgruntled voice says.

Akira’s gaze flickers towards it. “You’re still here?”

“Of course I am,” Ryuji says. “You really think I’d leave without saying goodbye? Glad I didn’t either, cause you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Still pretty, though. No worries about that part.” He shoves his hand deep in his pocket, stray yen clinking against each other as he rummages. After a moment, he throws something at Akira. “Catch.”

He plucks it out from the air with ease. “Car keys?” he asks, surprised.

“Grabbed them from Makoto before she ran off for stationery shopping.” Ryuji reaches forward, gently turning Akira’s head this way and that, frowning. “I told you to quit staying up so late. You’re exhausted.”

“I am not.”

“He is,” Sophia refutes. “Last night, he had approximately four hours of sleep, with only four minutes of that being REM sleep.”

“I told you. She’s even bringing up computer stuff now.”

“I think you are thinking about RAM, Ryuji.”

“Whatever,” he shakes his head. “Look, just head to the RV, get some shut-eye. You can finally sleep in a proper bed that isn’t an overheating tent with three sweaty dudes and a cat. Oh, and trade phones with me.”

He hands it over without hesitation, sliding Ryuji’s phone into his own pocket. “Why?”

“You have the grocery list in here, yeah? Not to mention, I don’t want Sophia getting bored while you nap it up.” He looks down at her. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi!”

Akira still doesn’t seem convinced. “But I promised Yusuke—”

“Who’s with Ann now, shopping like they’d die if they didn’t get the perfect skirt to fit her next shoot,” he says, uncompromising. “Chill. It’s fine. We’ll survive an hour without Joker keeping an eye on us.”

They stare each other down for a long moment with Sophia watching. She does not need to run the numbers on this one; Akira will not allow himself to go back to the RV.

To her surprise, he relents. “Twenty minutes.”

Ryuji scoffs. “We’ll see about that. You suck at waking up.”

“Shut up.” And then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“You know I got your back.”

He yawns once more, slowly walking back to their car. “Sophia, please make sure that when he gets the Pocky to get the strawberry one. Futaba won’t eat anything else. And also that Haru wanted doilies to make the place look nicer. White, if you can find them.”

“Roger that,” she replies, distracted. How is she wrong again? This is troubling.

“My hoodie’s in my bag if you get cold!” Ryuji calls out. Akira throws him a thumbs up without looking back. “Jeez, that guy. He’s gonna run himself to the ground before he’s thirty, I swear. Like some geezer with a bad back but with really good hairline or something.”

An old man with a thick head of hair shoots him a glare as he passes by them. Ryuji laughs, high-pitched. “Yikes, that was awkward. Let’s get out of here, we need to hit up the grocery store before they run out of carrots.”

Sophia doesn’t answer, too deep in her thoughts and running endless calculations.

—

It’s impossible for her to get a headache, but her code is trying its best to give her one.

Two mistakes now. That isn’t allowed to happen. She’s lucky that they were both relatively small errors, but it can easily become a bigger problem. What can she do?

Luckily, that had a very simple answer.

“Ryuji?”

“Hmm?” He peels his eyes away from scrutinizing the oranges in his hands, the wires from his earphones swaying when he does. After one too many strange looks when he talks to nothing, it was just better to act like he was on a phone call. “Yeah?”

“I have a question.”

“What am I, a teacher?” he snorts. “If you got a question, go ahead. Friends can do that.”

That’s right. They’re friends, and friends have trust in one another. Sophia jotted that down as lesson number forty-eight, thirteen days ago.

“Okay,” she says. Questions float around her, and she picks the one that’s giving her the most stress. “If I was not as useful as you think I am, would we still remain friends?”

The orange tumbles out of his grip, and he rushes to catch it before it hits the ground. “Wha—!” he stutters out. “Duh! Obviously! What the—where the hell did that come from? Did we do something to think that we’d just ditch you like that?” he lifts the phone so that she was eye-level with him. “Be honest,” he says seriously, quickly. “Did I say something to hurt your feelings? I do that sometimes, and I’m working on it, and I know that’s no excuse—”

“You did not say anything to hurt my feelings,” she says before he spirals even further. “In fact, I do not have feelings for you to hurt.”

Relief blooms on his expression, and he sags his body against the fruit display. “Okay, good. Good. Thought I was gonna get a heart attack. I’d be pissed at myself if I did, and I just know Akira would give me so much shit.” He sighs, ridding himself of panic before giving him her full attention. “So what’s up?

“Sir…” an employee shuffles towards them, hands shaking knees knocking against each other. He is afraid, she notes, but of what? “I’m sorry, but it’s against store policy to lean on the product. Please try to understand.”

“Oh, shoot!” Ryuji exclaims, straightening up. “Sorry, man. I didn’t even realize. I think I squished an orange, but I’ll buy it so your boss doesn’t give you hell for that one.”

The employee blinks. “You would?” he says, shocked. “That would be great, actually. Thank you so much!”

“Don’t sweat it,” he waves it off. Tugging the shopping cart, he places Sophia where they’d normally put babies. “Hope he doesn’t get in trouble. I feel kinda bad.”

She thinks for a moment. “Ryuji, why was that man afraid?”

Swiftly, red rushes to his cheeks. “That obvious? Aw, man.”

“I don’t know if it was obvious, but all the signs were there,” she says, watching as he ducks his head, embarrassed. “What is happening? I do not understand.”

“It’s just—” his eyes shift sideways, meeting the eye of a young girl. Immediately, she directs her gaze downwards. “I look really scary to people.”

“You do?” It isn’t in her program to doubt, but she is rather skeptical. During the entire trip, he has been nothing but kind to her. Yes, there are times when he has arguments with others in the group, but more often than not it’s him that’s being teased rather than the other way around. “Why? You aren’t even that tall.”

“Ouch?”

“I’m just saying that you are not scary to me, so I don’t really understand why other people would be.”

He sighs, picking up a box of miso unseeingly. “It’s a combination of a lot of things. My hair’s bleached, and people usually see that as like, punk or whatever. My posture sucks and my voice is loud.” Shrugging, he throws it in the cart. “It doesn’t really bug me though. At least that means strangers usually don’t bother the group, cause they think I’ll kick their ass.”

“And would you?” Sophia crosses off miso. Only bandages are left on the list, but the cart is filled with snacks, sodas, and a small cactus. “‘Kick their ass?’”

“No way. If I did, my mom would kick my ass, and I can’t pull that shit twice in a lifetime.” Pushing the cart, they slowly meander through the aisles, occasionally looking at what’s on sale. Ryuji tosses in rainbow marshmallows, and after a moment, reluctantly puts it back.

“But you know,” he says eventually. “If someone was bothering the group, it’s not as if I’d just let it happen.”

She considers his answer. “You are tough,” she concludes. “But not scary.”

“Uh, yes,” he says, unsure. And then, with more conviction, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Got it. ‘Ryuji is tough, but other people are terrified of him.’ I will make a note of that.” He looks like he wants to say something, but she keeps going. “Synonyms for ‘tough’: robust, stalwart, and strong. Would you say that’s accurate?”

He laughs, disbelieving. “No idea what the first two meant, but the third one isn’t right.”

“Why not? You can fight Shadows. Your muscle ratio is high. One time, when Futaba couldn’t unscrew her water bottle, you did it with no problem.”

“Because, Sophia,” Ryuji picks up gummy worms, and turns to her with pleading eyes. When she shakes her head, he puts it back on the shelf with a grimace. “Strength isn’t always about muscles and who can kill what. It’s more than that.”

It seems as though he doesn’t want to speak about this anymore, but the topic is too interesting to stop here. “Explain, please.”

“It’s...it’s like mental strength,” he says begrudgingly. “Like if someone failed an exam they studied real hard for, mental strength would help them get through a tough situation like that. Like Akira.”

“Akira has high mental strength?”

“Oh, the highest out of all of us without a doubt. The world could explode and he’d be all—” Ryuji lowers his voice by an octave. “‘Here’s what we can do,’ and then fix it somehow. That’s just the kind of guy he is. All plans and no fear.”

All plans and no fear is a good way of describing Joker. “And you aren’t like that?”

“No way. Have you ever seen me have a plan in my life? I’m more of an ‘act before I can talk myself out of it’ person. Usually works out fine in the end. Besides, he does it enough for the both of us.” His eyes light up. “Do you think if I get the panda bandages, it would work better in the Metaverse? Cause of the brain stuff?”

“I think so, as long as it makes people think it works better.”

“Great.” Ryuji tosses it in with the rest. “And I think we got everything! Let’s head out. If we’re lucky, we can grab some ice cream before we meet up with the rest of them.”

“Good job! But you may want to consider removing the orange soda. Makoto is already unhappy with how much junk food you are always eating.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the cactus though.”

It was only when they’re all sleeping back in the RV when she realizes that she never got to ask him her actual question. Actually, she ended up with even more questions than when she began.

Maybe she’ll have better luck asking Akira instead.

—

They, or rather Akira, have their knees buried in a patch of grass in the middle of Sapporo with a small pile of four-leaf clovers by his ankles when she decides it would be appropriate to ask him.

“Akira, can I ask—” she pauses, and tries again. “I have a question.”

His face is so close to the ground that even the dirt would realize that his glasses don’t have prescription, and people are shooting him worried looks that he completely ignores. “Shoot.”

“Actually, I have many questions, and I’m hoping you��ll answer all of them as honestly as you can in order to have the most accurate data possible.”

“Research?”

More often than not, Akira has been giving her information about the world that she does not have access to. Slang terms that Futaba yells out in frustration, Ann’s tendency to jump from one topic to the next with little regard to who she’s talking to. It’s all confusing to Sophia, so she makes sure to memorize all of these instances and bring it to him for clarification.

“Sort of,” she says. “Some of my predictions have been off lately, and I am trying to figure out why.”

“Sure. Oh, another one.” Gently, he plucks it from the soil and gently places it with the others. “For Haru. Apparently, she’s really struggling with economics, so hopefully this helps her out next semester.”

“How many more?”

“Four,” he replies. “Yusuke, Sojiro, Akane, and Ryuji.”

She frowns. “Ryuji already has one.”

“He’s going to need more than one.” Akira turns to her, distressed. “Entrance exams are coming up.”

“Oh.”

“Yup,” he turns back to his task. “Anyway, you had a question?”

“Right,” she says, clearing her throat: a sign of taking a more serious tone. “Why are you scared of Ryuji?”

Akira freezes. Sophia waits patiently. But after a moment, then two, then five, there is still no reaction from him. And then slowly, he faces her with a blank expression.

She has not known Kurusu Akira for very long—only a few weeks in fact. But in that time, she feels that she has come to learn a lot about him. For instance, he does not like pears. He also finds grocery shopping relaxing, and he would die for his friends. Another thing she has learned from him is that he is very quiet; even in the Metaverse, amidst the explosions and gunshots, he does not yell. It is not as if he has nothing to say, but rather he would rather express himself through gestures and the odd comment here and there. He is much happier to let the people around him carry the conversation for him.

Shock racks through her as he bursts out laughing. His shoulders move up and down as laughs pour out of him uncontrollably. “What—?” he tries, pushing his glasses atop his head. It’s almost hidden amongst his thick, black locks. “Did you seriously ask if I was afraid of Ryuji? Sakamoto Ryuji? Blond guy, helps out in the Metaverse? My best friend?”

“Um.” This was not what she was expecting, despite having no expectations to begin with. “Yes.”

He sighs, content. “I really have to thank you, Sophia.” Akira brings his glasses back to his nose, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “That was really good. Haven’t laughed that hard since Yusuke thought Italy was near Mexico.”

She tilts her head sideways. “I was not joking.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He sits up, crossing his legs over each other, giving her his full attention. “Tell me why you thought I was scared of him.” Even as he’s sobered up, he can’t quite finish the sentence without smiling.

“My predictions have been off lately,” she says, a wrinkle between her brows. “This is normal—predictions by their nature cannot always be right. However, I’ve noticed that they’re incorrect more often lately. I ran the data, and these errors are related to two things:” Sophia brings her hand to the screen so that he can see properly. “You and him, as a unit. Individually, there doesn’t seem to be any errors. It is specifically when you are being measured together that creates mistakes. My prognosis on everyone else in the group creates more stable and accurate results.”

Sophia twists her hair in her hands. “The only reason it would be wrong is because of a confounding variable. Maybe there’s something between the two of you that others do not have. So I thought that answer—”

“Was fear,” he finishes. There’s an odd tone in his voice that she doesn’t comprehend. His gray eyes, sharp but never unkind. “I see where you’re coming from. But, and I can swear on this fact—it isn’t fear. I am not, nor will I ever be, afraid of him.”

She deflates. Wrong again. “And he’s not afraid of you?” she asks, out of desperation than anything.

Akira thinks for a moment. “Do you remember when I was cooking, and Ryuji went in to smell the broth, and knocked the whole thing over and onto my suitcase?” She nods. She had taken many pictures of that moment. “He felt really guilty, but he wasn’t scared of my reaction. He was more scared that he had ruined my stuff. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do.”

He bops the top of his phone a few times, an odd resemblance of patting her head. “Cool.”

Sophia stares at the road past their garden of clovers. Cars speed forward, too quick for her to focus on what the driver looks like. It’s hot today, but she doesn’t feel it. She runs her data one more time. “Akira, do you love Ryuji?”

His hands do not pause. “I love all my friends,” he answers simply.

—

At the end of the day, it does not matter if her attempts at predicting the future are fruitless. If she is in fact humanity’s companion, her code makes sure of one thing above all else: to help humanity with any of their endeavors.

That’s a tall order, especially when there are 7,874,965,825 humans within that humanity at this moment. Sophia is only one being, and realism is etched into her. To make things simple, she gave herself a domain of discourse. A sample size. Narrowing what she can do, and who she can help. The entirety of humanity then, at least in Sophia’s mind, falls under the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

Sapporo is freezing. Frosty. Crisp. Chilly.

“Fucking cold!” Ryuji shivers, jogging around them in an effort to get warm. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”

“Even with the space heaters on, it seems that the winter isn’t interested in going anywhere,” Makoto says. She’s standing uncomfortably close to Ann, trying to leech off of her inherent heat. Actually, she wasn’t the only one—Haru is also inching her way to her. “It should probably get better once we start moving. Good thing we won’t be here long.”

Yusuke nods, unperturbed. “Yes, this should be a quick run. We’re just here to collect a desire gone astray, yes?” It seems that the ice does little to bother him. “Oracle, can you find its location?” No response. “Oracle?”

He glances to the ground, sighing when he finds her on the ground, eyes closed and breathing deeply. “Wake up,” he says, nudging her with his boot. When she doesn’t move, Yusuke throws an exasperated look at Akira.

Reluctantly, he nods. “Yeah, yeah, I got her,” he says, summoning Queen Mab. Instantly, the temperature seems to rise, just a little bit. Scooping her up, Akira shakes her roughly like a particularly malicious sack of flour. “Wake up, your space heater’s here.”

“This may be a quick run,” Haru says. “But it doesn’t mean we should take this any less seriously. Someone’s desire got lost on its way back, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds—Mona, get off my leg—about right.” Ann squints her eyes along the horizon. “It’s far, right? If we start moving now, we can probably work off the frost on our skin.”

“Yeah, it’s about…” Futaba yawns as Akira sets her on her feet. “Twenty-minute walk? Ten-minute run, but unless you want me slipping and turning the ice red, we’re gonna want to slow down.”

Akira touches his mask. “Agi.” A wave of heat rushes over them, and she sighs, grateful for the respite. “Hopefully that helped a little. But it won’t last long, and we shouldn’t waste energy warming up. Quick recap—someone lost their desire, we’re here to make sure it gets back. Our top priority is getting that desire back as quick as possible. Questions?”

Sophia raises her hand.

“Yup?”

“Did you say top priority?”

“Yes, I did say top priority.”

“Understood!” she chirps, making a note in her head. It was hard to concentrate when she felt like her insides were freezing up.

Another hand shoots up.

“Noir?”

“I don’t have a question. I just think you’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, Noir. Always a pleasure.” He looks around, nodding. “Alright. If that’s it, then let’s do this thing.”

They all move ahead, wary of their footing. Sophia frowns as she scuttles forward, scared of being left behind. There is no room for error here. If she feels that she is not useful in the real world, then she can at least utilize her talents here. And the first step to doing that is to make sure she is doing two things:

1) Not slow

2) Won’t trip

After a while, she looks up and feels her eyes bulge. How did they get so far already? Sophia can hardly see them anymore, especially with the slight fog that’s beginning to emerge. She has to get there faster.

Failed step number one already. For once, she’s glad she wasn’t hardcoded with emotions, or else humiliation would be overwhelming. Quickening her pace, she’s determined to do this correctly. One foot, then the next. One foot, then the next. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left—

She slips.

With a gasp, she moves to twist her body so that it wasn’t her head that would take the impact, and closes her eyes shut.

Just before she slams into the ice, arms grab her torso, swinging her forward. “Whoa there, shorty!”

Ryuji uses the momentum to swing her onto his back, and she latches around her neck, bewildered. “You okay? Almost got knocked out before any Shadow got to us.”

“Yes,” she replies, breathless. “Thank you for saving me. That would have been bad.”

“No prob!” he marches onward as if he wasn’t carrying an entire human being on his back while treading through sleet.

“...You can settle me down if you’d like.”

“I would not like.” He grins, boots finding matte ice with ease. “I kinda love carrying you like this. Not like I can do this in the real world, can I? ‘Sides, Futaba would chew my head off if I tried it with her.”

“Have you?”

“Maybe.”

She laughs as they finally reconvene with the rest of them. When Akira turns to them, his expression softens with relief. “All good?”

“All good,” Ryuji says. “Nothing Sophie and I can’t handle.” He raises his fist at her, and she bumps it enthusiastically. Lesson twenty-three: never refuse a fist-bump. It’s one of her favorites.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Futaba calls out from beside Ann, arms were linked as if they were strolling through a park, and not a Shadow-infested land. “I said stop!”

“We heard you the first time!” Morgana yowls. “Are we here?”

“We’re close. Kinda weird though.” She smacks the side of her goggles a few times impatiently. “Nothing’s showing up.”

“Lucky!” Ann whoops. “Let’s get this over with and get some gelato!”

Rounding the corner of an empty street, Yusuke points forward to a glowing heart, beating in time to its pulsing light. “That’s it, I take it?”

“I can get it.” Sophia pats Ryuji’s shoulder, and he lets her down. “That way, we can finish this as soon as possible.”

She runs forward, eager.

“Wait—!” Futaba cries out from behind her. “We’re getting ambushed!”

As she says it, footsteps surround them, the clanging of weapons and the grunts of Shadows appearing out of nowhere. She starts to run faster, terrified of slipping but pushes on anyway. She can do this.

“Shit,” Akira hisses. “Sophie, come back here!”

Sophia ignores him, the Desire almost in her reach when she feels it. A cold breeze, impossibly colder than the temperature before, almost seems to pierce through her skin. She did not need to turn around to know what it was—every cell in her body is screaming it for her.

A curse. A strong one that would have no problem wiping her out like fly on the RV’s windshield wiper.

Would she at least be able to save the Desire? Even if she ceases to exist? Would it be worth it then? It should be, since this is what she was made for.

Something solid shoves her from behind, and she gives out a yell before hitting the ground, hard.

“What…?” she mutters, disoriented. Somehow, she isn’t dead, or even near death. Shaking her head, she grasps for the Desire in front of her before turning around.

Instantly, her heart stops. The Desire in her hand continues to pulse steadily as she stares down at Ryuji, collapsed on the ground.

“Skull?” she whispers. Leaning down, she can still hear his breathing, though it’s faint. Her hand reaches out, before she remembers. Top priority. The Desire needs to get to Joker first.

The ground begins to rumble, and Sophia looks up in time to see an arch of glowing white explode. Every Shadow is eviscerated, their ashes scattering violently at the aftershock of wind that follows from the impact. Concrete cracks, snow blows away. Without a doubt, it’s an attack from a Persona user, but she has no idea who it came from.

As the dust settles, stray bits of ice falling from the sky like hail, Akira shoots out from the fog. He’s moving faster than she’s ever seen him, and there’s a desperation to his movements that throws her off-guard. Maybe he didn’t see yet? Sophia steps forward.

“Joker!” she calls out when he gets closer, thrusting her hand forward. “I got the Desire!”

He rushes past her without a blink.

Akira skids to his knees. “Ryuji!” When there’s no answer, he pulls Ryuji to his knees, resting his head on his lap. Akira presses his fingers against the pulse on his neck, concentrating intensely. Then he grits his teeth. “I can work with this.”

More footsteps. Familiar ones. “Dammit, Joker!” Morgana says. “You can’t just throw around attacks like that, especially with such weak enemies. You know how draining that spell is.”

He ignores him. Akira removes Ryuji’s mask with great care, setting it aside, before touching his own. “Aid me, Sarasvati.”

“Joker?” she tries.

A floating woman donned in green with a delicate instrument in her long fingertips appeared from the fibers of his mask, her expression kind and tender.

“Joker.”

Healing power flows through his hands, so potent that it glows green. Sweat pours from his brow, and his wrist begins to tremble with effort.

“Joker!”

“What, Sophie?” he rounds on her, gray eyes intense.

“I got the Desire!” she announces triumphantly.

A beat passes. And then another. It was as if there was never even a deafening battle not one minute prior.

When Akira finally speaks, his voice is low. “Panther, take Sophie away please.”

Her breathing stops. She could not inhale the air even if it was demanded of her. Akira turns back to Ryuji, but Sophia’s eyes stuck to him—like she was hypnotized, cemented to the back of his head, unable to look away. Every inch of her body is numb, but none of it has anything to do with the cold.

Ann gently takes her hand, hot as iron against hers, and takes the Desire in the other. “Come on, Soph. Let’s go for a walk, huh?”

She lets herself be led away, blank and unseeing, a part of her staying wishing to stay behind to...what? She didn’t know. There’s so much she doesn’t know.

They keep walking, rounding street corners, quietly passing underneath frozen lamp posts. Sophia wasn’t sure where they were going, but she didn’t bother to ask. Eventually, they duck underneath a railing, Ann covering her head to make sure she doesn’t accidentally bang her skull against the metal. When they straight up, she blinks.

“A heater?”

“Yeah,” Ann sighs, flopping down on a toppled column as if it were a sofa. “I figured if we were going to talk, you might as well stop shivering during that time.” At her words, Sophia realizes how hard she was shaking. Ann pats the spot beside her. “Sit. Nothing a little girl talk can’t fix.” She does.

At her silence, Ann hums. “Cold, isn’t it? You guys haven’t stopped complaining since we got here. I’m super lucky that Carmen’s here to help me. Warms me up even better than this heater, if you can imagine that. Completely different from the real world, where we feel like we’re going to burst into flames any second.” She yawns. “But god, there’s no one in all of Japan that can run his mouth about the weather like Ryuji.” Sophia clenches her fist, but she keeps going, speaking almost wistfully. “I mean, he’s just so loud, you know? Like, how many times have we driven by cows on this trip, and he’d literally wake us all up just to show us? Not to mention, he eats up all the food and snores like crazy. God, one time I invited everyone over at my place, and he just slept in my bed when he got tired! Who does that?”

Ann sighs. “But man, I’ve never met someone more devoted to his friends than him. Sometimes, he’d even give ‘Kira a run for his money, the way he’d just drop everything and run to where trouble is. Day or night, that idiot would show up on your doorstep the minute you shoot him a text, wearing the most ridiculous pajamas you’ve ever seen,” she scoffs. “He started the Thieves with Akira, you know? All gung ho about justice and stuff, you should’ve seen it. And he had the spine to back it up, too.” She smiles, just a little. “Don’t tell him, but I think he’s really, really cool.”

A drop of water hits Sophia’s wrist. And another. And another, until her vision blurs and her chest is heaving. “I just—” she sobs without restraint. “I was just trying to help. I just want to be useful and do what I was made to do, and Akira said from before that this—this was the top priority, and I even made sure, so I asked, but when I finally got the Desire and I was so sure that I’d finally done something right...” the image of Akira’s cold gaze makes her flinch, hard. “He’s just so mad at me, Ann. And Ryuji—” she chokes on his name like a curse, her tongue tumbling over it as if it were getting caught in a lie. “He protected me from before, but he said he was tough, so I thought it was okay since the Desire was the top priority but he got hurt because of me.”

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling, or why I’m crying, or why you’re being so nice to me even though I know I did something bad! I just—” Sophia buries her face in her hands, muffling her scream. “I just don’t understand anything!”

Warm hands rub her back. “I know,” Ann says quietly. “You’re trying your best. We all get that, and we all think you’re doing an A-plus job.” She pauses. “Sophia, Ryuji didn’t take the hit for you because he was thinking about the Desire. He did it because he didn’t want to see you hurt.”

That makes Sophia peek up. “But that was the top priority, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, but that wasn’t his heart’s top priority.” Ann pokes her temple. “That whole logic and calculation thing you have going on is good and stuff, but the thing about the human heart is that you can’t always choose why you do things, or how you react in certain situations. I bet you anything that he totally forgot that we were even looking for this thing when he pushed you,” she waves the beating heart in her hand, still glowing. “And that’s also why Akira got a little mad at you from before.”

She deflates. “He hates me,” she mumbles, feeling her insides churn uncomfortably.

“That boy doesn’t have the time in his schedule to hate anyone,” Ann reassures her. “He’s just...really, really terrified.”

“But why?” Sophia’s starting to despise that word. “He already knew that he was okay. Why would he still be worried?”

Ann looks up, thinking. “You really love and care about Ryuji, right?”

Love was still a foreign concept to her, but for once the answer came forth with ease. “Yes.”

“Take that feeling, that dense, little ball of love and adoration in your tiny body, and multiply that by about eighteen million. That’s probably about the range of what Akira feels about him.”

She quickly runs the numbers. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. Kinda scary, huh?”

It is scary. With numbers this high, she can only begin to imagine what it felt like for Akira to think that he might be seriously hurt, or even worse, dead. All because of Sophia.

“Hey now, I know that look!” Ann flicks her forehead. “I don’t want you to get all mopey about this. You said it yourself—he’s a tough guy. The toughest there is, but don’t tell him that. It’ll go straight to his empty head.”

She stands with exuberance, stretching. “Alright, I think we’re about done here. How we feeling? You ready to go back?”

No. Her heart speeds up at the thought of going back, her shoulders tensing in on itself, but somehow it would be worse to stay here. “I’m ready.”

“That’s what we like to hear!” Ann cheers. “No chickening out now, okay? You can do this.”

“I can do this.” Sophia repeats, and then, louder: “I can do this!

“Yay! And Sophie?” she looks up in time to see Ann giving her a warm look. “Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean we love you any less. You are allowed to be confused and make mistakes. Do you understand that?”

Sophia smiles wide. “I understand.”

—

They were a block away from the rest of the group when Akira emerged from the fog. With his black attire and dark hair, he could have looked like a picturesque horror movie figure, but somehow his expression ruined that facade the moment she saw it.

“I’m going on ahead,” Ann says when Sophia stops in front of him. “Someone has to make sure Futaba doesn’t sleep on us again.”

“Thanks,” he answers. Then, to Sophia, “Hi.”

“Hi, Joker.” She’s been practicing her speech the entire way back, her points all lined up in her mind, all leading up to the big apology. “I—”

“Pause,” he cuts in, and she shrinks. Is he still mad? She can’t read his expression. He kneels in front of her, squinting, and it suddenly shifts to horror. “Did...did you cry? Did I make you cry?”

“No,” she says quickly, but he doesn’t believe her for even a minute. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Oh god, no, please don’t apologize. Shit,” he rubs the back of his neck, sighing. It’s guilt, she realizes with a shock. “I’m such an asshole. I can’t believe I let myself lash out like that. A thousand apologies won’t even be enough. I was scared out of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I can just treat you like that. I even sent you away, like you’re some sort of kid,” he winces. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”

She stares at him. “I was supposed to say that stuff.”

He looks taken aback by her words. “No? How could you have known that we would have been ambushed? Ugh, I’m so dumb. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” Akira sends her a pointed look. “Though, you really shouldn’t split off from the group next time. Top priority means important, but above all else is your safety. Put that in your code.”

“I will,” she promises.

“Good. And the second priority is—” he reaches forward and engulfs her in a tight hug. “Is that you won’t ever, ever think that I’d hate you.”

She frowns. “How did you know?”

“A hunch.” Beat. “Also, Ann gave me a look.” He pulls back. “Are we still friends?”

Relief washes into her, crashing like a wave. “Of course,” she says, before hesitating. “Is…?”

“Yeah, he is.” Akira rolls his eyes, but there is no hiding the grin that takes over him. “A little too good, actually. He hasn’t stopped running around since I poured some energy back into him. I kind of think I overdid it, actually. Oh, and he’s excited to see you again.”

“He is?” she asks, hopeful.

“Absolutely. Asked about you the minute he came to.” Akira gets to his feet. “Shall we say hi?”

“Please.”

As they walk back, an epiphany takes over her. “Oh!” she exclaims, making Akira jump. “I get it now.”

“What’s up?”

“You love Ryuji.”

“That’s right,” he raises a brow.

She shakes her head. “You love Ryuji,” she insists. Even accounting for a margin of error, there’s simply no mistaking her results.

Akira stares at her for a long moment, before huffing out a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says softly.

The moment Ryuji sees her, she sprints, throwing caution to the wind as she leaps into his arms. He catches her without hesitation. “Glad to see you’re safe, shorty.”

Sophia knows a lot of things, but there’s also a lot she doesn’t understand. But that’s fine. She’ll get there, and her friends will be waiting for her when she does.

#p5 #fic tag #margin of error #mine #ryuji sakamoto #sophia #no p5s spoilers sans the locations #kiss ryuji day #just a quick thing yeah sure 7k is quick #my moon and stars #the leader and his right hand man #big shoutout to pear for holding my hand while i had a breakdown in life and decided to write this #akira kurusu

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exhausted-dog-mom · 3 years

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Underwater (2020) Fix It Fanfic

Last year, I was commissioned to write a fix it fic for the horror movie Underwater. I had no idea it was a horror movie until after I agreed to write it, lol. I'm a coward at the best of times and writing this gave me nightmares for months. It's 24k words and almost 55 pages long. I rewrote the whole dang movie, lol. The entire fic is on my Patreon, but here are the first 2k words.

Norah followed behind Rodrigo as they picked their way carefully through the debris. Her body shivered uncontrollably, her meager clothing long soaked through by water of questionable quality. The tinny, prerecorded voice of the infographics which once lined the walls echoed in the too tight hallways, skipping as sparks crackled along the broken screens. Great slabs of concrete and torn sheets of metal made their progress slow, their flashlights illuminating little more than water. The hallway they were following to CR-7 was far from a direct route, but it was the only one they were both able to traverse, and Norah knew she wasn’t alone in wanting to stick together—not after closing the bulkheads.

She dismissed that thought. She didn’t have time to think about that. Not when the path before them suddenly stopped, the way forward cut off by a serious cave in.

“Can we dig through there?” She asked, watching as Rodrigo crouched down and began moving loose bits of rubble.

He called back, uncertain but willing to try, and Norah began scanning the area for alternate routes. They didn’t have time to double back and find another way. The Kepler wouldn’t last long and every second they wasted not getting to the pods was another second the entire station deteriorated around them.

She took a chance and put her weight on a ledge above where Rodrigo was digging, shining her light down a narrow passage that might allow them both through. Maybe.

“Hey,” she called down to her colleague. “I can fit through there if you can.”

He came up and looked at her discovery, considering the rough looking tunnel.

Distantly, Norah heard something. A voice. She had to turn her head to catch it, the hearing in her left ear completely gone, but it was there.

“Hello?” She called out, hope rising in her throat. “Hello? Can you hear that?” She didn’t wait for Rodrigo’s response, leaving him behind as she clambered over derelict ductwork and dodged sharp edges, shining her flashlight on everything as she searched desperately for any sign of life. “Keep talking, I can hear you!”

She turned her right ear to the ground, tracing the source of the muffled voice to a pile of concrete slabs, the edges sharp against her hands as she began to pull on them with a strength she didn’t know she had. Rodrigo came up beside her, helping to free whoever was trapped underneath. The first thing she saw as they pulled back a layer of rubble was a stuffed rabbit, the furlike fabric covered in grease and who knew what else. She stared at it, confused, for all of two seconds before joy and recognition filled her with renewed vigor.

“Paul?” Sure enough, as she took the rabbit from upstretched hands, her friend’s face came into view, his eyes clenched shut against the brightness of Rodrigo’s flashlight. She handed the rabbit to Rodrigo, reaching down into the crevice to get better leverage for lifting Paul’s not insignificant weight. With Rodrigo’s help, she pushed back the final slab, revealing the drill worker in all his bare chested glory, his skin coated in dust and grime. His hand held on to hers tightly and she watched as recognition bloomed in his eyes.

“Norah?”

“Hi.” She was as breathless as he was, a shaky laugh passing through chattering teeth.

Paul smiled up at her, squeezing her hand as he laughed right back. “Oh, you sweet, flat chested elven creature.”

She couldn’t even be mad at him. She was sure she made quite the sight, in her sports bra and sweats, but it was no better than his.

She watched her friend breathe harshly for a second, lungs taking full advantage of their renewed capacity now that the weight of the debris was no longer crushing his chest. She knew the instant his brain had reoxygenated, because he turned to Rodrigo, a man he’d probably never interacted with before, like Norah, and asked after his rabbit.

His concern for his little buddy was endearing, though she knew the stuffed toy couldn’t hold a candle to the real Little Paul, alive and waiting seven miles above them on dry land.

Getting Paul out of the hole was a process, but they did it, the large man standing before them in nothing but a robe, boxers, and one lucky sock. He cradled the rabbit against his chest like a living animal, his attachment to the thing so much stronger after so long down in the deep.

Norah lead the way back down the hall, flickering blue lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. “There are pods in CR-7,” she explained over her shoulder, the joy she felt at finding her friend alive tempered by a renewed desperation to get out. “The upper decks are collapsing, so we’ve gotta move fast.”

She pulled herself up onto the ledge, Rodrigo helping her from below. She caught the tail end of Paul’s whining complaint and she rolled her eyes. Leave it to him to find something to complain about during a life or death situation.

Paul was much larger than either her or Rodrigo, but, as Norah crawled through the cramped tunnel, she was pretty sure he’d be able to fit. She had little trouble scooting through the dark, her movements sending the light from her flashlight in all sorts of disorienting directions. Everything was grey, with the exception of the odd wire or two, exposed copper stinging her wet skin as she brushed up against it. She turned back to look at her two companions, the men clearly having a harder time than she was.

“You guys ok?”

“Yeah,” Rodrigo nodded to her, dust clinging to his dark skin. Behind him, Paul grumbled out an affirming expletive.

Turning back, she immediately recoiled, flashlight dropping from her grasp and teeth clacking loudly in her skull.

Closing her eyes against the terrifying sight, she called back to the boys. “There’s-there’s someone up here.” She swallowed thickly. “It’s McClellen.”

Just like that, the high from unburying Paul was gone, replaced by the grim certainty that his survival was nothing short of a miracle and the odds of finding anyone else alive were incredibly slim.

How many were left alive? How many more would there be if she had waited just a little longer? How many were dead because of her?

McClellen had no answers for her, blue eyes locked unseeing on something far in the distance. Norah took a shaky breath, bolstering herself as she began to move past the other woman. Their hands touched as she did, the fading warmth she felt deepening the ever growing pit in her stomach.

If she’d waited, would McClellen still be alive?

Would Paul be dead?

Those questions, like all the others, were tossed aside as she resumed the slow journey forward, eyes locked on the darkness ahead of her. There was no telling what waited out there, just beyond the range of her flashlight, but she didn’t have time to lose herself to what ifs and should haves. There were two men behind her, two living, breathing men, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

The cramped tunnel let out to an open space—another hallway, by the looks of it—and Norah carefully climbed out and set her feet on the ground. The light here was red, a sign that the emergency systems were working, at least, and she could only hope that the way to the escape pods was open. She led the way, following a mental map of the rig as automated voices rang out overhead. Their flashlights reflected off the tall windows which surrounded the evacuation room, the reinforced glass surprisingly intact compared to the wreckage all around it. Norah stumbled over a rogue pipe, her mind going blank as it struggled to put together what she was seeing.

“Captain?”

Sparks flew, the display illuminating Captain Lucien’s back where he sat hunched over inside the closed off rotunda. He made no indication that he’d heard her, his head in his hands as he sat alone in the dark. Norah hit the control panel, but he didn’t react to the obnoxious sound it made in protest. Squinting through the glass, her heart sank as she took in the damage surrounding him, the escape pods they’d all put so much hope in clearly no longer an option.

“Shit.”

“Shit?” Paul winced as he came over to stand beside her, looking over her shoulder into the dark. “What’s shit?”

“The evac pods are gone.” Norah tuned out her friend’s frenzied cursing as she pounded on the glass, calling for her Captain. Could he even hear her through the reinforced windows? They were designed to withstand sudden changes in pressure—likely why they were still intact—but did that mean they also blocked out sound?

The answer was no, they couldn’t, and Norah deflated with relief when Lucien turned around, face lighting up as he recognized first her then the men behind her.

“Norah,” he called, his voice muffled but still intelligible through the glass as he rushed over. “You’re alive.” He didn’t sound like he believed it, but she could understand the sentiment. “The door’s jammed.”

Right. Of course, it was. He probably would have left if it wasn’t. Norah quickly moved over to the control panel, mentally apologizing to the machine for hitting it as she tried to find some way to override the lock. Absently, she recognized the Captain giving orders to Paul and Rodrigo, both men rushing to obey, though Paul complained loudly between hissing breaths.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad’s my rig?”

His attempt at humor fell a little flat and Norah looked up at him incredulously as the doors opened. “Uh,” she looked him up and down in the harsh white lights which conveniently decided to turn back on. His left arm was in a sling, miscellaneous bruises and cuts littered across his face. Shit. “Ten. We’re, um, seventy percent compromised—breathe too hard and we’re in trouble.”

He didn’t appreciate her candor, turning away from her with a grim expression before turning back around and reaching for her face with his good hand, looking at her damaged ear with a grimace.

“What happened,” she asked through chattering teeth, the two seconds she’d spent standing still reminding her body of how cold it was. “Was it an earthquake?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

She watched, still somewhat dazed, as he pulled a large red med kit out from seemingly nowhere, using his one hand to its full effectiveness as he rummaged through it.

“I don’t understand.” Her voice forced its way through her tight throat, swallowing only thickening the knot living there. “Why are you still here? There were pods here, you could have left.”

He gave her a look she was sure he’d leveled on his child a thousand times before. It certainly made her feel like one. “That’s what Captains do.”

“Who cares?” She couldn’t stop the words or the incredulity which laced them. “You have a kid. You should have gone up.”

He froze, expression blank as his mouth opened and closed, eyes shut as he tried to find the words to respond to that. Instead, he urged her to sit down, returning to the med kit as though she hadn’t said anything.

“You know any one of us would have shoved your ass into a pod—.”

“Listen to me!”

Norah shut her mouth, staring wide eyed at her Captain as he kneeled in front of her, mouth tense as he glared up at her. His French accent was thicker in his anger, coloring his words as he gestured wildly with his good arm.

“Everyone is getting out of here alive.” He said it with such conviction, Norah was almost able to believe him. “You here me? I already sent twenty two up, Smith reported seven dead.”

Warmth spread in her chest at the news that Smith, at least, was still alive. She hadn’t let herself consider any other possibilities but having her old friend’s survival confirmed relieved a tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying. She gave a stuttering report of the dead she and Rodrigo had found before coming across Paul, and she struggled past telling him about McClellen, nonsensical words spilling from her lips—she lived three floors up, I was brushing my teeth, her hands were still warm, I shut the bulkheads on the entire East Wing so there’s definitely more.

Captain Lucien, to his credit, remained staunchly focused on cleaning her ear, damp gauze coming away from it bloody. Whatever was wrong with it, it stung when he touched it, the pain a welcome reminder that she was alive, only living people could bleed, and a grim one that so many people weren’t.

#fanfiction #my writing #underwater #underwater 2020 #this took months to finish #i really am a coward #nothing in the synopsis prepared me for a horror movie #i thought it was just a survival drama #lmao

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rubix-writings · 3 years

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Punisher Pt. 8

Eighth part of Punisher. This has been sitting in my drafts forever, I’m not in love with it, but want to get the story moving along. This is a Chicago PD/Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show. Also, it doesn’t follow any particular season or sequence in the shows.

Series Summary: Josephine (Jo) never expected to find support and pure love when she left Los Angeles. She ran away to Chicago and was content with living an insignificant, hidden life. But everything changes when she walks into Molly’s to get a job.

Josephine (OC) x Jay Halstead

The italicized lines are internal thoughts of the character.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, mentions of violence

The week after the renewal I hardly saw or spoke to Jay. A case came in the day after and the entire Intelligence Unit rarely left the station. From what Will told me, it was a house invasion and so far only one young child survived, but they’re coming close to catching the people who did it.

I thank the man handing me brown bags full of take-out. The thin handles dig into my palms as I make my way towards the precinct. I try to hide my face in my warm scarf, as my eyes water from the cold wind flying around the street. I quickly jog up the steps and dodge the people exiting the building. Trudy’s working the front desk per usual. She shoos a man in an expensive suit as I walk up to the front desk.

“Hey Trudy,” I smile and grab her meal out of one of the bags.

“You got something for me,” she asks in her normal pleasant tone. I slide the closed container across the top of the desk. She inspects the meal quickly before closing the lid again. “I’ll buzz you up.”

I grab the handles, hopefully for the last time, and walk up the stairs to the wire gate closing off the Intelligence Unit. My heeled boots announce my entrance to the team. Kevin and Adam are hunched over a computer, while Haley and Voight are going over the board taped with various pieces of information.

“I smell Angelino’s!” Adam announces.

“That’s impressive,” I stand in the middle of the room and gesture with the heavy bags. Adam and Kevin leave their current task behind and take the food away to the kitchen. “Hello to you too,” I say under my breath.

“Hey, Jo,” Hayley waves.

“I’m Hank,” Voight reaches forward to shake my hand. This was the first time we officially met since he doesn’t come to the bar. I only know him from stories and photos.

“Nice to finally meet you.”

“Thanks for bringing this by, there’s only so much vending machine food one can take,” Hayley interjects.

“Of course, it’s from everyone at Molly’s.” Jay and Kim walk up the steps, they are donning their heavy winter coats and their cheeks are pink from the cold. Jay smiles as we make eye contact, I can’t help but smile back.

“Hey Jo! What are you doing here?” Kim asks.

“Angelino’s! You guys have to get in here before it’s gone,” Adam yelled with a mouth full of food. Kim dashed to the kitchen to join the rest of the team.

“You should get in there, that sounded like a threat,” I say to Jay.

“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out this week, after everything that happened at the renewal,” Jay practically whispers. His eyes are red and purple circles sit underneath, his lack of sleep is apparent.

“Hey, there’s no need to apologize about it, that’s not why I’m here. Will found me right away to fill me in. I get it, well I don’t fully get it, but you know,” I match his tone and step towards him, placing a comforting hand on his forearm.

“Thanks,” Jay looks towards the floor.

“How’re you doing?” It’s a stupid question, he’s obviously consumed by this.

“I’ll be better once we finally get the people who did it,” I slide my hand down his arm to find his hand. He grasps it immediately, clinging to any part of the outside world that isn’t tainted by this case.

“You call me if you ever need a break, even just for a minute okay?” I take a step closer and Jay nods.

“You want to stay and eat with us? I can get us some plates and sit in the interrogation room,” Jay offers.

“As intriguing as an interrogation room sounds, I have to get to Molly’s. You’re not the only one pulling a late shift tonight, except I’ll be making the world drunker, not better.”

“Some would say that’s better,” I laugh.

“Be careful out there detective,” Jay leans forward and kisses my temple.

“You too,” I squeeze his hand before letting go. I walk down the steps to head out of the precinct.

***

It took a few more days for the case to finally come to a close, but not in a way everyone hoped. The Intelligence Unit found the criminals that killed the family but soon after they were arrested, men in suits came into the precinct and took them away. They claimed that these men were a part of a bigger operation trying to take down a syndicate. So they practically get to walk free in witness protection and not pay for the heinous crimes committed.

The entire team were angry and rightfully so. A few of them sat quietly at a table against the wall drinking to try and shake the bad case. It’s hard to watch as I know there’s nothing I can do to ease their pain.

“They’ll be okay,” Stella says. I keep staring at the table and watch Jay bring his whiskey to his lips.

“How do you know that?” I genuinely ask.

“Sadly, this isn’t the first case like this and worse, it won’t be their last,” Stella starts pouring tequila into shot glasses. “Alcohol helps.”

“Stella, are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“It’s one shot,” she brushes off and takes the tray over to the table. The Intelligence Unit gladly accepts and down the shots without hesitation. This isn’t going to end well.

The table orders three more rounds of shots, but most of them stop once they start feeling tipsy and the weight they were carrying around was finally lifted. Jay on the other hand kept ordering whiskeys. I stand behind the bar and watch the once stoic man begin to crumble. He’s not crying or yelling, but his demeanor is different. Kim walks up to the bar while putting on her coat.

“Hey Jo, can you keep an eye on Jay? He’s taking this one really hard. He had to tell the kid what happened to his family when he woke up in the hospital, stuff like that sticks with you,” she puts her hands on the bar top.

“Of course, thanks for the heads up,” I look back to the table and see Adam and Kevin getting up, leaving Hayley and Jay at the table. Adam and Kevin wave before heading out the front door with Kim. I’m happy that Jay has Hayley, she gets it way more than I ever could. Normally it’s fun to watch Hayley and Jay interact, it’s like a brother and sister pushing each other’s buttons. There’s no humor between the two right now, Hayley is leaning forward, her brows furrowed trying to get through to Jay about something. I pour a few drink orders before heading over to take the empties away from their table.

“Jo!” Jay slurs, if he wasn’t drunk out of pain his slurred speech and lazy eyelids would’ve been really cute.

“Hey guys, can I get you anything? Water, maybe?” I ask while grabbing the empty beer bottles and glasses.

“I’d like another whiskey, no ice. Hayley?”

“Jay - “ Jay cuts Hayley off.

“No no no, I’ll order it at the bar. I gotchu Hales,” Jay gets up and walks a diagonal line towards the bar.

“Is this normal?” I ask Hayley as we both watch Jay.

“It’s not the first time, but it doesn’t happen often,” Hayley sighs. Hayley rubs her eyes, obviously tired.

“Hayley, I got him, you go home,” she shakes her head.

“No I’m fine -”

“You’re tired, I’m almost off shift anyway. I’ll give him a ride home, it’s not a big deal. Go get some rest,” she opens her mouth to fight, but it turns into a yawn proving my point.

“Call me if anything changes okay?” I nod as she puts on her jacket and heads out of the bar. I gather up the empty bottles and glasses sitting on the table and make my way behind the bar.

“Jojo, one whiskey neat,” Jay hiccups. I giggle and pour Jay a nice glass of cold water.

“Whiskey Jojo, I can’t drink straight vodka.”

“It’s water Jay, and I’m not a huge fan of this little nickname you’ve started,” Jay smiles and takes a sip of water.

“I think it fits you.”

“Keep drinking that water,” I roll my eyes and I start cleaning the used glasses. Jay makes himself comfortable on the stool while sipping his water and causally watches me finishing up my work. Kelly comes in to keep Stella company since she’s closing tonight, but gets sucked into sharing stories with Jay at the end of the bar.

Stella and I start to seal open bottles and close out tabs. I peel off to grab empties and clean tables while she deals with a few more customers. I constantly look towards Jay and Kelly, worried that Jay will start breaking down or switch moods, but it never happens. Jay continually laughs with Kelly, but his eyes start to droop as his exhaustion starts to beat out the alcohol in his system.

“Do you mind if I bail early? Make sure he sleeps in his own apartment rather than the floor of Molly’s,” Stella laughs and nods her head.

“Yeah I’m good, drive safe,” I squeeze her arm before grabbing my things from the back. When I start making my way over to Jay, his head is resting in his hand that’s propped up on the bartop.

“Hey Kelly, you’ll stay with Stella while she closes right?”

“Of course, don’t worry she’ll put me to work,” I thank him and then put my arm on Jay’s bicep.

“Jay, c’mon let’s get you outta here,” he clumsily tries to stand.

“If you want to get outta here, Jojo. Lead the way,” he grabs his jacket and starts walking towards the door without me.

“Go get ‘em Jojo,” Stella mocks. I point at her with a look that could kill.

“Don’t,” I quickly chase after Jay so he doesn’t trip down the few stairs leading from the bar. I grab him, not fully trusting his ability to stay upright. “C’mon, this way,” I wrap my arm around his torso and hook his arm around my shoulders.

“If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was ask,” he slurs. I bite my tongue and hope he’s too drunk to see the blush on my cheeks. I rest him against my car as I unlock the passenger door.

“Wait is this your car?”

“Yes, one you’ll be getting in,” I open the door and wait for Jay to climb in.

“Do I need to sign a waiver first?”

“Get in the car,” Jay laughs at his joke, but finally gets into the passenger seat.

It didn’t take long to get to Jay’s apartment from the bar, but in that short time he managed to change all my set radio stations to all the Christian pop stations because he thought it was hilarious. But as the night carried on, Jay starts to succumb to his fatigue, he’s sleeping with his head leaning against the window.

“Jay help me out here,” I plead. Jay shakes himself awake and leans into me allowing me to pull him out of the car. I lock the car quickly and grab Jay’s waist making our way into his building.

“Just a little bit further,” I coax Jay to make the last few steps out of the elevator and into the hallway. Jay struggles to unlock his front door, after a few minutes and refusing my help multiple times Jay opens his apartment.

“See, I told you I’d get it,” Jay strides through the door making his way to the living room and falls down on the leather sofa.

“Yeah, you got me,” I say while taking in Jay’s apartment. It’s a lot more put together than I thought it would be, don’t get me wrong there’s a ton of sports memorabilia, but at least it’s all neatly framed. It looks like all the furniture was bought together, rather than gathering old hand me downs. I throw my purse and jacket on the counter, then start the search through the kitchen cabinets to find a glass.

“Cabinet closest to the fridge,” Jay yells. I furrow my brow as I walk over the said cabinet and sure enough even in his tired, drunken state he’s right. I pour Jay a glass of water and make my way over to the sofa where he’s laying face down into the cushions. I run my hands through his soft hair making him stir to turn to face me.

“There’s a big glass of water on the coffee table when you need it,” he closes his eyes and smiles.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“How’d you know, your eyes are closed?”

“Your gorgeous face is printed on my eyelids,” and now I’m happy his eyes are closed, I can’t control my blushing cheeks.

“I got to head home Jay, you sure you’ll be okay?” I rise and take his military boots off since it doesn’t seem like he’ll be moving from the sofa anytime soon.

“Don’t worry your pretty little mind,” Jay cuddles one of his throw pillows causing a massive smile on my face.

“Text me tomorrow Jay.”

“Hey Jojo.”

“Yeah Jay?”

“Get ready, I’m gaining the courage to ask you out.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I grab my stuff and leave Jay’s apartment.

***

I walk into Molly’s the next day to start my shift. Most of the lovely firefighters of Firehouse 51 are at the bar this afternoon, since they have the day off.

“JOJO!!” they scream out when they see me. I instantly stop in my tracks and search for Stella, who's hiding behind Kelly.

“You dug your own grave,” I whisper to her.

“I’m sorry, it just came out.”

“Yeah I’m sure,” I throw my things into the back office before going behind the bar.

“So… How was the rest of your night?” Stella asks, I’m grateful that she’s whispering.

“Nothing happened, Jay passed out on his sofa and I left.”

“I highly doubt that’s it. He didn’t say anything more to you?”

“Um…” The phone starts to ring. “I got it!”

“This isn’t over,” Stella goes to bring over some orders to tables.

“Molly’s,” I say as I pick up the landline.

“Hi baby,” his voice is rough like gravel and low. A voice I hoped to never hear again in my life. “You thought you’d run away and I’d never find you? I am your future, you’ll regret ever leaving -”

I hang up the phone before he can say anything else. I can hear my blood pounding in my ears and it’s like at any second my legs are about to give out.

“Jo you okay?” Matt asks, bringing me out of my own mind.

“Ugh yeah, spam. It was a spam call, I always almost fall for it,” I smile. He’s going to kill me.

Taglist: @whit85-blog @bestillmystuckyheart @nocturnalherb16 @5sos-imagine @miranda0102

#jay halstead x oc #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead #chicago one #chicago pd imagine #chicago fire imagine #Chicago Fire #Chicago PD #punisher

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dykeninthdoctor · 4 years

Text

“people not realizing that tony and rhodey are together” but also basically a rewrite of a1 for @lovelyirony and @official-impravidus

Tony knows the minute he meets Rhodey that he’ll marry him, or that’s what he’d tell people, if he could tell people. In reality, he knows two years into their friendship, when Rhodey brings his favorite pasta dish home from his favorite Italian restaurant, when Rhodey shrugs and said, “You said today was a rough day.”

They don’t get together until three years after that, but the switch from platonic to romantic is as easy as falling into each other’s arms; it’s as easy as fitting two matching pieces of a puzzle together; it’s as easy as the love they feel for each other.

They don’t get married until 2004, until Massachusetts signs a law into place. Momma Robbie marries them on the grass outside the building where they met.

“You’re mine,” Tony says, promises, vows, “And I’m yours.”

“You’ll always be mine,” Rhodey says, promises, vows, “And I’ll always be yours.”

They have to hide it, for too many reasons to count.

Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Stark Industries, the press…

It’s easier to hide it.

That doesn’t mean it’s not hard, but when Rhodey wakes up to his husband in his arms, and when Tony comes home to his husband trying to cook, and when the world falls away when they’re together, it doesn’t feel hard.

And then they lose each other.

Rhodey loses Tony to the desert, to the unknown, and he has to grieve not as a husband, but as a friend.

He doesn’t give up his search, no matter what his C.O. tells him, no matter what Obidiah tells him.

“Jim,” they both say, “He’s gone.”

No, Rhodey’s heart tells him. He’s not.

Tony loses Rhodey to the same men who took him, to monsters, and he can’t grieve at all.

“No survivors,” Yinsen translates one day.

Something breaks inside Tony.

He doesn’t give up his plan, because if there’s even a chance, he has to take it.

There’s a chance, he thinks. There’s a chance.

“Tony!” Rhodey screams, the desert wind ripping his voice away.

Tony stumbles towards him, a bloody mess of torn clothing and bruised skin and broken bones, but oh, so very alive.

They crash into each other like colliding stars.

“Hey,” Tony mumbles.

Rhodey almost collapses with relief, but he’s too busy holding Tony up to fall. “How was the fun-vee?”

Tony laughs, and it’s weak and raw and quiet, but it’s beautiful.

“Yeah, next time you ride with me, okay?”

“Okay, platypus.”

They fight about the suit, because Rhodey can’t lose Tony again and Tony can’t hurt people anymore.

They come to an agreement when Tony builds a second suit.

“But the truth is…I am Iron Man,” Tony says, and changes everything.

Rhodey’s never been prouder of him.

And then it all happens too fast.

Rhodey doesn’t know Tony’s dying until after he’s cured.

“You should’ve told me,” he growls, buried deep inside his husband.

“I didn’t want to say goodbye,” Tony whispers, skin soaked with sweat and face soaked with tears.

Rhodey kisses him like it’s his last night on Earth, because it isn’t anymore.

Tony wants to join the Avengers, the team that Nick Fury’s putting together.

Rhodey doesn’t trust a word they say, not after Rushman says volatile, self-obsessed, doesn’t play well with others, because Tony isn’t any of those things.

But he’s never been able to stop Tony from doing anything.

He can only be there to catch him after it all, inevitably, goes to shit.

And it does go to shit.

Phil Coulson is the one to tell them that Captain America was found, dug out of the Arctic inside the same plane he flew into it with.

Tony doesn’t want to process it. Rhodey makes sure he does.

“It doesn’t seem real–he isn’t real. He’s never been real, Rhodey, he was always–he’s not–“

“He was the thing that kept Howard from loving you,” Rhodey says, because it’s the truth, and Tony needs the truth.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Rhodey holds him while he cries.

When Norse gods attack, because that’s what their lives are now, Tony goes. Rhodey doesn’t. He regrets it, later.

Fighting next to Captain America is younger Tony’s dream come true.

Now, it feels more like a nightmare.

Tony knows Rhodey doesn’t trust SHIELD.

So, he lets JARVIS take care of it, an easy quip sliding off his tongue and the hacking implant finding its place on the underside of a monitor.

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” an agent asks.

“Last night,” Tony says, shrugging.

Captain America’s eyes, Steve’s eyes, slide to him.

Tony likes to play with fire, or that’s what he’ll let them think, as he pushes Bruce over and over again.

What he really knows is what it’s like to have something that steals away his freedom living inside him.

“Hey!” Steve snaps. “Are you nuts?”

Possibly, Tony thinks, but instead of saying it, he keeps pushing Bruce.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Funny things are.”

Steve stares at him.

Tony banters with him, because Rhodey isn’t there to stop him.

“Big man in a suit of armor,” Steve spits, eyes blue as glass and twice as sharp. “Take that off, what are you?”

A husband. A mechanic. A man.

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Tony bites back, the words slipping from his tongue far too easy for half of them to be lies.

Steve scoffs. “I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.”

The worst part of it is that it’s true, despite what Rhodey says.

“And I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself.”

And doesn’t that just cut, because no, Tony fights for Yinsen, for Rhodey, for the people his weapons killed.

“You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you–“

“I think I would just cut the wire.”

Because it’s easier to find a solution where he doesn’t have to die, where he doesn’t have to leave Rhodey alone.

“Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” And it’s from years of Howard, years of you’ll never be like him, years of he was my best creation and you’re nothing but a boy, that give him the courage, or the resentment, to speak. “You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.”

A bottle with a serum that Howard helped stabilize.

Steve doesn’t look away, so Tony doesn’t either, because Rhodey isn’t there to change his gaze.

It hurts, when they lose Coulson, but not as much as it hurts when Fury tries to use it to manipulate them.

Tony leaves before he finishes talking.

Steve finds him.

Tony lets him talk, says what he wants to hear, until Steve asks, “Is this the first time you’ve lost a soldier?”

It hits too close to home, and Tony aches for Rhodey.

Fury’s manipulation works. The Avengers assemble, a colorful team of people more broken than anything else.

Tony talks to Loki; showman to showman.

The entire time, his mind is on Rhodey.

Tony doesn’t know whether to be grateful he isn’t there, or fear that he doesn’t know where he is.

And then it all happens too fast again.

Tony’s flying into the wormhole before he knows it, because what he does know is that Rhodey’s already on his way to New York, knows that the second aliens appeared in the sky, Rhodey was in his suit, and this is the only choice to make. No more cutting the wire.

“Calling Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS says.

Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the icon of Rhodey’s face as it rings, and rings, and goes silent.

And then everything goes silent.

Rhodey sees Tony falling, sees his husband falling, and then he catches him, like he knew he’d have to.

Tony wakes up with his head in Rhodey’s lap.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

“You idiot,” Rhodey says, and his voice does break.

“Did we win?”

“You almost died.”

“Yeah, but did we win?”

“I’m gonna kill you so bad, you promised–“

“I love you too, honey bear.”

It doesn’t matter who kisses who first, because they’re kissing, and there are camera shutters going off, and the Avengers are staring, and there are people screaming, and it’ll be all over the news in minutes, but Tony’s alive and in Rhodey’s arms, and that does matter.

#uhhhh so i rewrote all of the first avengers movie but made it iron husbands...this is Fine....this is Good #let's play i spy and point out all of tony's trauma in this #fun fact: tony was gonna be a dad until i scrapped that plot line #anyway i'm thinking of doing a whole drabble solely focused on rhodey's reaction to the palladium poisioning bc that part is my favorite #i'll consider it #tony stark #james rhodey rhodes #iron man #war machine #steve rogers #captain america #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #ironhusbands drabble #tony stark drabble #aven.writing #i still don't know how to tag

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Mold Me New (3) — Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Terry has given very generic instructions to Frog about how to retrieve her birthday gift. A more then welcome surprise follows.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None. (Wow. I’m shocked.)

Once more let me thank potter supreme @joheunsaram (I’d be wandering in darkness and despair without you. Lob U)

Here is my complete masterlist and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

“Hello?”

You felt deeply embarrassed venturing into the backyard of a stranger.

“Excuse me? Hello?”

The heavy sound of something slamming against the floor of a garage had you slightly worried. You were ready to run away when the door opened. The neighbourhood wasn’t familiar to you and Terry’s refusal to tell you anything about the specific address she had given you scared you even more.

You feared you’d end up at one of Terry’s friends with benefit’s house.

You changed your mind, however, when you recognised the man standing out of the door.

“Frog? Is that you?”

“Taehyung?” You said, recalling the name of the man. You had met him only a couple days before, spending a good time with his friends while your own had ditched you.

“Hello Frog!” He exclaimed, incredibly happy to see you. “Are you here for a four pm meeting?”

“All I know is that Terry told me to be here by four. She gave me the address but,” you laughed, shaking your head and touching your hair nervously. “She didn’t mention it was you. She didn’t say anything. She only said it was a surprise.”

Taehyung’s laugh exploded suddenly, deep and loud. “That explains many, many things.” He nodded to himself, waiting for you to get closer. “Welcome to my studio,” he said, letting the door open a bit wider.

The space inside was bright and airy, with a wall that resembled a glasshouse, while the others were made of brick and lined with shelves. In a corner you noticed a strange contraption, like an iron cauldron, and an unfamiliar machine close to a basin. There was also a large table all along the glass wall, like it was waiting for plants to be hosted, but none were found.

“With me you’ll learn the humble, raw art of modelling clay.”

You turned to him with a furrowed brow, completely confused. “Clay?”

“Yes. Clay.”

“You model clay?” You asked, giving him an amused look.

“I am an artist,” he stated clearly. “I also model clay but that’s not all I do.”

“So that’s my gift? A clay lesson?”

“Ten clay lessons. I’ll make you an intermediate.” Taehyung reached a wooden cabinet, opening it and taking out a large block of clay, grabbing something from his apron and detaching a smaller part before putting the clay back in the cabinet. “But first, let me get you an apron.”

You felt your eyes blink in confusion. “You teach?”

“Art should answer anyone’s calls, in my opinion. I help people learn how to call.”

You were positively impressed. The quiet, if a bit Darcy-esque man, seemed relaxed and talkative in his natural habitat.

Taehyung reached a coat hook on the wall, giving a good look at you before choosing a garment suitable for your height. “This should do,” he said, offering it to you and letting you put it on.

You appreciated the independence he allowed you, allowing you to wear it yourself. You hung your tote on the now free hook and slipped your arms and head into the different loops before closing the tie around your waist in a cute ribbon.

“You'll want to fix your hair before your hands get messy,” Taehyung suggested, watching you carefully get it out of harm's way, since the last thing you wished for was dirt in your hair.

“You didn’t mention you teach art the other night.”

He smiled shyly. “The night you introduced yourself, I remembered I had gift lessons booked under your name. I wanted your birthday surprise to stay a surprise.”

You were entirely endeared at the thought. “That’s very sweet of you!” You exclaimed, watching him collect the piece of clay he had previously cut.

“It’s not a big deal,” he murmured, looking away as his cheeks blushed.

He was eager to watch you learn. He already felt like your hands could have so much potential. He had studied them all night after he met you, watching the sinewy fingers arch and straighten and hold and curve. “Okay, let’s start from a little bit of theory.”

He moved to the table by the window, “Would you mind grabbing a bowl with some water, there?” He pointed to a large utility sink in one of the corners, where you found a bowl and filled it halfway with water.

You made a careful work of walking to the table, placing down the bowl and sighing in relief once you realised you had caused no issues so far.

“Two questions. Have you ever used clay before?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Nope.”

“So you supposedly know nothing about it?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled and bobbed his head. “That’s okay. All you need to know so far, is that clay is a mineral, and it can have different compositions which make it more or less difficult to model and to cook. I’ll have you use very generic clay, which is suitable for beginners, isn’t too picky about cooking and will look a bit plain, but is also pretty easy to shape. You’ll thank me later.”

You raised your eyebrows and smiled.

“It’s easy to work with, it cooks at low temperature and is also cheap, which will make it better if you ever choose to continue this hobby,” he explained. “It will take a fairly long time for you to master several techniques with this one, so no use spending money on fancy stuff. We’ll keep that for when you’re an upper intermediate. All cool?” He asked, checking in on you with his beautiful, dark eyes.

He had very pretty eyes, you noticed.

“Yes, got that.” You confirmed, startling when he slammed the clay against the table.

“Cool.” He replied with half a grin. “Let’s start from zero.”

Once more he extracted a tool from the pocket of his apron, showing it to you. “This is a wire. You’ll find one in your apron too.”

You rummaged in the pocket and found it. “This will help you with step one — Wait. Lemme start from very very zero.”

He walked back to the cabinet and dragged a block of clay out — the one he’d cut a piece from a few minutes ago. “This is called craft clay or potters’ clay. It’s ready-made and you can buy it in any diy shop. Some artists make their own mix, but let’s start with this since it’s specifically made for learners.”

“It looks very tough,” you commented, testing the small amount he’d cut before, prodding it with your finger.

“It just needs some love,” he explained, pouting sadly. “Clay is so misunderstood. It needs to be firm. But it’s pliable, as long as you treat it appropriately.”

You arched your eyebrows. “I just thought it was softer. Messier, somehow.”

“It is once you wedge it and moisturise it.” Taehyung acknowledged. “Clay contains platelets. Platelets make it solid, but also plastic as long as it’s not dry. Right now you have two enemies. Shape memory and air.”

Taehyung’s hands got on the piece instinctively. “Today I’ll only manage to explain wedging and centering. So be careful and pay attention. If you mess up wedging, your life will get ten times more impossible on the wheel. Let’s start.” He brought the main block back in the cabinet. “That one needs to stay fresh.”

Once at the table he settled beside you. “What’s wedging?” You asked, staring at your piece of clay.

“Wedging is your starting point. As you saw earlier, ready- made clay comes in blocks. Which means square. On the wheel, you’ll always start from a cute soft ball. Which means round.”

Taehyung’s hands massaged the clay for comfort. He felt somehow uneasy at the way he was going to interact with you. “Basically clay holds memory of the shape it was in. You want to erase it to make it more pliable. Like… When an introvert is in their comfort zone for too long and you need to get them back in society and you just… force them in several different social circumstances to warm them up, make them more versatile. More sociable.”

God, he felt ridiculous. He was using his inner turmoil to explain pottery.

He was going to defenestrate himself.

“Okay,” you laughed. “I got the introvert thing. I like the parallel.” You smiled and for a second you thought about all the years you’d been there, shaped like a block to fit inside someone’s life — or to fit them in yours.

You could use some wedging too.

“We usually wedge on plaster, or concrete or wood, because they get the extra water out of the clay. You want it to be a tiny bit humid. But not wet.” Taehyung spread his large hands over the small disk in front of him. “You want to make it more homogeneous. Uniform. For today let’s use the ram’s head method. It’s basically like kneading dough.”

His hair fell over his eyes as he bent down, leaning towards the table. “We have a small amount of clay, since you’re starting. You basically want it to become a thick block first.”

He bent the disk in two, turning it in a thicker, longer rectangle before placing his hands to the opposite sides and pressing, making the clay become more compact.

“Okay, try,” he invited you to do the same.

You mimicked his actions, focusing on the cold, solid feeling of the material under your fingertips.

“Use your palms. Don’t be afraid to get your whole hands on it. You’ll need all your strength.”

You nodded and followed his lead, the cold expanding to your palms, the feeling amplifying beautifully. It was somehow reinvigorating after the initial strangeness.

“Good. Now. Ram’s head.” He inhaled and regained his position. “These,” he said, wiggling his fingers, “and these,” he explained circling his hand around his shoulder. “That’s where you want to focus. All your strength resides there. You won’t feel it right now, but you will once you work with larger pieces.” He steadied himself and placed his palms on the sides of the piece. “Palms on the sides. Your wrists will do all the work. Your thumbs wrap around the top of the piece. The other fingers on the back of the piece. Focus on the wrists. You want to push the clay downwards first, then outwards, to the back of the piece. Okay. Position your hands.”

Taehyung stood straight up, allowing you to see his clay, on top of which he was previously bent over.

“I’m not…” You frowned and tried to feel the clay under your hands, trying to recognise the different sides.

“It’s okay. May I?” He asked, bringing his right hand close to yours.

You nodded, waiting for the contact.

It was chalky, somehow, almost dusty with the way the clay was already drying up, but it still held some cold dampness.

He corrected your fingers, staring at them and giving them a slight twist. “This way your wrists should reach just fine.”

He stood at your side, respecting your personal space even though his hand touched you. The smile on his face was the gentlest, most exciting thing you had felt in a while.

“Okay, mirror it with your left,” he told you as he stepped back, regaining his own space.

“This feels nice,” you admitted, giving the first twist of your wrist.

“Let’s see if you still think so after wedging for twenty minutes,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Twenty minutes!?” You said, already worried.

He giggled and shook his head, his curls brushing against his forehead, which you didn’t notice, because you were too busy focusing on the clay under your hands.

“Ten, usually. Twenty if you need very pliable clay. Like if you’re doing hand-building. But we can use something a bit rougher.” Taehyung helped you get out of the position your clay body was stuck in. “Help it with your fingers. Bring it back, yes,” he encouraged you once the position was right. “And now your wrists. Exactly. Look at you. You’re learning!”

He looked excited when you turned to look at him. He was literally shining with the meek sunlight coming from the window.

“I’m learning!” Your excitement mirrored his own.

“Okay, now, watch. This is why it’s called ram’s head.” Taehyung showed you the spiral on the sides, and the elongated triangle on the front.

“That looks fancy!” You said, feeling curious about the shape.

“Keep going and yours will be just like this!” He spurred you on, making you work harder and faster, which eventually led you to the ruthless burning that possessed your arms afterwards.

With his elbow, Taehyung pointed at your shoulder blade. “Just push your body weight into the clay. The whole motion should mimic a wave,” he showed you how. “If your hands are positioned right, you only need to lean in to wedge— Just. Like. That! Good job, Frog!”

You smiled and went on, paying attention to his corrections, and his gentle advice, enjoying the gentleness with which his pinkie finger pointed to a specific direction, or a finger that was in the wrong position, realigning it.

“Nice! Now, tuck the corners in in a cute fluffy ball. See how soft and warm and round it feels now?”

You nodded enthusiastically. There was something in menial tasks that always made you happy with yourself. Seeing the results of your efforts and hard work always made you feel accomplished, productive.

And it’s been a while since you felt that rush, except for seeing an organised shelf in your shop, with books neatly aligned and rated.

“Okay. I’ll show you how to work the wheel. We got little time left, so maybe I can show you the groundwork and then you can toy around with the body I centred, so you can get familiar with the feeling.”

You agreed.

Taehyung gave a few more twists to your clay body and brought it to the wheel. “Okay. Here we go. Forget Ghost, this thing is a lot more difficult than that. And forget all that water. Too messy. Bowl?” He asked.

Your forehead creased as he pointed to a small stand with a basin. It looked like a short version of a vintage stand for those porcelain bowls used in bedrooms.

You moved it closer to him.

“Thank you,” he smiled and caught the clay body, throwing it on the middle of the turning plate, currently still as he hadn’t yet activated the wheel.

“You can aim for the centre. There’s an indentation to show it. See,” he pointed to the plate. “There are all these circles to show you if you’re actually following the shape.”

He dipped a finger in the bowl, letting the extra water drip down, until it was just slightly damp. “You run around the base to seal it. That way you don’t need to slam it down and you don’t risk watching it unstick and mess around with you.”

“Okay. Great!”

“Now. Position is very important. With your legs you hold the holster and the wheel. Don’t worry about getting too close. Check three things. Knees around the wheel. Elbows braced on your thighs — that will stabilise you. And your torso leans forward. Not angled but perpendicular to the wheel. You need to be right on top of it, so your weight sinks down. Not across.” He showed you the correct position, his lean frame protecting the ball of clay like a hen defends her chicks.

Watching him become so tactile and connected with the material under his hands was endearing, but also fascinating, especially with the way his hands wrapped around the body.

“Okay, let me centre it for you, then you can try. It’s a procedure that can go back and forth, so I’ll have you doing this over and over for a few times. It will help you familiarise with it.”

“Thank you,” you replied, watching his fingers sink in the water. “Now, trick. You wet your hands. Let them drip down just a little, so you don’t drench your piece. If the piece is drenched, the platelets will loosen and the walls of your cup, bowl, vase, whatever will collapse. And we don’t want that, right?”

The way his head snapped towards you with an inquisitive look made you shake your head and reply readily, “nope.”

“Exactly. So, we sink our hands in, rest, and— one, two three, drip and—” he moved his hands over the clay body, letting a few tens of droplets fall onto the material. “Nice and wet. Not sodden, of course. We don’t want that, remember?”

You blinked and nodded as his hands started moving.

Taehyung grinned as he noticed your captivated gaze. You were learning. You were curious, interested, completely amazed. It was the most satisfying look he had ever seen. “This is your treasure now. You curl yourself around it and protect it. Like a dragon hoards its gold.”

He leaned down into the piece, his foot looking for the pedal and pressing it down very, very delicately.

“Your pinkies and ring fingers are doing all the work right now. They seal around the base, reinforcing the sealing we did before. Once you gave enough spins around the base — oh, feel the plate with the side of your pinkie and palm!” He reminded himself, showing you the part of his hand and securing it around the wheel once more. He corrected his position. “You will feel the clay push you up. That’s when your palms close in. You want to make sure it goes up.”

The wheel suddenly stopped and Taehyung showed you the result. “See. Cute mushroom shape. A two inch stem, and then the round hat.”

You bent down to check and studied the way the table started spinning slowly again, showing you the consistent shape.

“More water. Same technique.” He repeated the dip-drip process. “Now. Pinkies stay in. Lots of pressure. And your palms are going to push the hat of the mushroom up. You want it to turn into a cone. So once the hat disappears, you’re gonna keep your hands steady, with a lot of pressure, and drag them up, slowly. And bend them inwards slightly, into a tip.” He followed the process with his hands, his fingers steady and his veins thicker at the effort and the pressure. The way his elbows braced against his hands brought even more blood to the back of his palms.

Still, you didn’t let that cloud your focus. You stared at the process, especially once he stopped the wheel and took his hands off.

“Now we’re bringing it downwards with the thumbs. We’re helping it regain the center. This,” he prodded the ball of his thumb, the soft part where the finger could sink, “is the part that gains the centre. You push it down, while your fingers lean over. Like you’re projecting energy from your palms.” He finished showing the procedure, showing how the ball of clay was a perfectly round dome, placed in the exact middle of the wheel.

“Now you take the lead!” He turned to you with a grin.

With a shy blush you watched him stand up and gesture to the seat elegantly.

You settled down and fixed your position around the wheel, following the instructions he had given you previously.

“That’s nice. Closer.” He corrected you helping your seat closer to the holster of the wheel.

“Now we’re ready to go. Wet your hands—” he directed you, helping you count the dip and drip. “Steady.”

You placed your pinkies tightly around the base, feeling the dome a bit too large for your hands. That’s because it was shaped for his large hands.

“Yes. Steady,” he encouraged you. “Go.”

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnet #thebtswritersclub #Taehyung strangers to lovers

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ I'M GONNA PROTECT YOU ❜

with Angel Reyes, and reader as Che ‘Taza’ Romero' daughter.

Request: Oooh Could it be where you are a younger sibling to one of the guys or a daughter to either the older three? And you and Angel are somewhat good friends? Well one day you are alone at your house and you hear a noise outside and it freaks you out so you grab your gun and call your brother/dad and they are busy at the moment but they send Angel to check it out and he comes and turns out it's someone trying to break in. Anyway the guy runs away and it ends in some Smut? Then your relative comes!

BY @firebenderwolf

Warnings: brief violence described, I think.

Word count: about 1.8k

Aurora says: I wrote it listening a cover of ‘La Llorona’, by Natalia Doco, so I recommend you to listen this song while you read it. This writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

You can subscribe to my broadcast list, to be notified whenever I post a writing!

The barks coming from the open field, next to the barns, suddenly wakes you up. Your dogs never barks in the middle of the night. You don't give them much importance, lying back on bed again, until they start to howl. Getting up and sticking your head closer to the window, you find some big figures cutting part of the wire fence with a pair of shears. Grabbing your phone, you call your father while leading your feet to his room, to grab the gun under his pillow. A nine millimeters semi automatic, enough to chase them away. Taking off the safety and raising your arms to the high of your eyes, you hang up the call. Probably, Taza will be at Vicki's house getting drunk with Bishop and Tranq, so you type Angel's number by heart. Going downstairs, your eyes looking straight forward, trying to make the least noise possible while you hear the howls and barks getting louder.

“Angel, there's two guys trying to come into my house, and my dad doesn't answer”.

“I'm going, mami. Hide and don' fuckin' move”.

The adrenaline was running through your body, and until you listened to his voice, you didn't notice that you were actually terrified. Gulping, you just hope that they don't hurt your animals. Keeping your phone muttered in a pocket, you hold the gun with both hands. The logic act would be calling the cops, but that is not an option for someone like you, nor your father. Crossing the huge and open living room, you decide to hide yourself into a wardrobe behind a folding screen that your great-grandfather made with his own hands.

Your heart races jumping inside your chest when you are able to hear their voices. Mexicans with a terrible american accent. Sticking your left ear to the door, you try to glimpse if you know them. And it is possible. Biting your bottom lip really nervous, you begin to text your father telling him what's happening, until your body shakes violently when a lot of small glasses fall to the floor after a heavy racket. The thieves are now entering into your house. And actually, they're not going to find anything. Your father is too intelligent to keep his money and valuables belongings inside there. But you're actually terrified because, yes, you know how to fire a gun; but you have never done it to defend yourself. And the only thing you can do right now is to wait. Your father is also coming with the older part of the crew after reading your text messages.

The barks outside don't cease, but your dogs are locked taking care of the animals, and you prefer it. You don't want them to get hurt. And the different noises of more glasses crashing, and different pieces of furniture falling to the floor are turning you anxious. The tears filling up your eyes and your shaky breathing don't help to stay calmed. Resting your back against the wall, with the gun raised to the door, you think that you are ready to fire it as soon as someone opens it.

Gulping a bunch of saliva, when you stop to hear them whispering curses in spanish after some minutes, the heavy steps upstairs call your attention; as the continues buzz of an engine getting closer to the ranch, speeding up in the moment it crosses the main fence. In complete silence, you step out from the wardrobe, with your trembling fingers securing the weapon between them. Checking that there's no one around you, your feet run to the main door to open it. Angel is already there. Without taking off the helmet, the man passes you away with his own gun lifted up in front of his dark eyes. Following him to the stairs, each other take up a side of the wall, waiting for them to go downstairs. The first one appears asking the other to leave, after not finding anything, but before he can warn his sidekick, Angel is already pointing at him, making him a sign to stay silent.

“Mario, where are you?” You hear from the top.

Taking off the gun from the thief's hands, you leave it over the table. But making a false move, the mexican manages to punch Angel, starting to wrestle with him.

“RUN, ANTONIO! MAYA—MAYANS ARE HERE!”

Your mind goes blank by the shock of seeing him fighting, and the weapon sliding itself over the floor, in the meantime the other man runs away jumping through a window and using the bindweeds around the house as stairs. Watching how the other tries to beat the oldest Reyes, you point at them with trembling hands.

“Leave him, pend—”.

Because of the nerves running through your veins, your forefinger presses the trigger shooting the thief by his back. A painful grunt floods the living room. Angel pushes him away, while the mexican writhes between tears and growls. Grabbing the gun from your hands, to not fire anyone else, your friend places an arm over your shoulders to turn you, giving your back to the thief. At the moment he tries to fight again, almost standing up, Angel shoots him again. Twice. Straight to the chest. Clinged to his body, you can't help but break into cries, hiding your face in his neck.

“Look at me… Look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He mumbles, leaving away the weapon, so he can cup your cheek in his hands.

You just nod swallowing, feeling his lips pressed on your forehead, before stretching an arm to the wall to turn on the lights.

“Com'ere, baby”. He says, urging you to slightly jump into him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your tears wet the franel shirt he's wearing inconsolably, leading his steps to the kitchen, away from the dead body staining the floor with the blood gushing out of it. Helping you to sit over the island in the middle of the place, Angel hurries up to bring you a glass of water, not knowing how to calm you down more than with leaving some caresses in your hair. You try to swallow but your throat is hermetically closed, coughing some times, while the salty tears keep flowing onto your lips.

“Did I… Did I ki—killed him?”

“No, no, no”. He says, putting the ringed fingers by both sides of your face, affected deeply by the look of horror in your orbs. “I did it, okay? You hear me? I did it”.

You know him from seven years ago, having a special connection from the beginning. You have been through a lot of shit together, but you never expected something like that happening. Putting the glass away from your trembling fingers, Angel holds you against his body, tightly hugging you, trying to make you feel somewhat better while the crew come to the ranch.

“Please… Stop crying… It's okay”. He mutters with a broken voice, not used to feel you so terrified. “I'm here, baby… I'm gonna protect you”.

“I'm sor—sorry, Angel”.

“Don' be silly. You don' have to be sorry 'bout nothing”. He chuckles softly, leaving a kiss on your right cheek. “Am your superhero, remember?”

The Reyes finally breathes when he hears you laughing with a low, low tone.

“I would never let anyone hurt you”. Sticking his forehead on yours, he closes his eyes for a second, feeling how your fingers get intertwined in his shirt.

You just nod, trying to catch back your breath, almost drinking his. The strokes by his thumbs over your skin helps to maintain a calmed pulse, beating your heart with a low pace; only focused on his touches. Your mind plays a dirt trick on you, making you lean forward some inches until his lips are being pressed by yours. But Angel isn't surprised, and doesn't have any intention to pull himself away, strengthening his fingers on your neck. Your mouths look like two pieces from a puzzle, destined to fit perfectly. Settling himself between your legs to be closer, your hands travel to the back of his head, as your lips start to move softly, tasting every single inch of his. Sliding his tongue inside your mouth to find yours, you can't help but feel a mix of feelings about it. Now you are confused about the fact that you don't know if you're doing it because of the horror lived, or because you really wanted to do it since long ago.

Running out of air, Angel continues kissing your cheek up to your temple with short and gentle gestures, clinging his arms around your body. You have never felt so serene, even if there's a dead body in the middle of your living room and the buzz of some engines are getting louder. He is warm, and seems like he smells better than never, resting your face on his chest with closed eyes. Angel's heart beat is like a hypnotic melody that could make you fall asleep just like that, as if you two were completely alone and you haven't been about to kill a man, for the first time, some minutes ago.

“BAB—HOLY SHIT! BABY! BABY, WHERE ARE YOU?”

As soon as Angel pulls away himself from you, your legs jump down to the floor, running to the place where your father's voice comes from. Your body collides with his surrounding him, breaking in crying again when you feel him finally holding you. Bishop, Tranq and Riz are also there, examining the man lying on the floor with no breath of life in him.

“¿Estás bien? ¿Estás herida, mi amor?” (Are you okay? Are you hurt?) Taza is desperate, looking at you with reddened eyes as you nod in silence. “What happened?”

“There were two men. This… son of a bitch's name is Mario. The other ran away by a window. Antonio, I think he said”. Angel explains under the gaze from his brothers. “Man… they knew where they were getting into”.

“Why?” Bishop asks.

“They knew we are Mayans”. Angel shakes his head slightly, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “And they were mexicans”.

“I think I know him”. Tranq is squatted close to the dead body, narrowing his eyes as he studies his face. “Vatos or Coyotes, I am not sure, Bishop”.

“Figure it out and put in on the table”. Taza demands with the rage consuming him, hugging you tightly under his arms.

“Let's go”. Bishop moves his head to the main door, making the others know that they must go. “Angel, calls the guys. Take care of the trash”.

“Come here, mi vida”. Your father whispers carrying you into his arms upstairs, not wanting you to continue there. “We're going to take some clothes and leave to the club, okay?”

✨ Tag list:

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#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes

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fallingappleshurt · 3 years

Note

Could you possibly write a SBI FD AU of all of the boys at Christmas. Could be at Christmas or any other time during the winter. Genuinely all I want to read right now. <3

Ty, Anon

Snowy Boys Incorporated (Part 1/2)

Sorry y’all, apparently word limits are a thing but anyways here it is!

Sorry if the flow of this was weird, it jumps from Phil to Tommy to Techno back to Tommy then to Wilbur, I have no excuse

This AU was made my the wonderful @antarctic-bay go check her out! And please keep in mind my writing isn’t canon!

Also the two times French is mentioned I used google translate because I am tired

Anyways hope you enjoy!

Phil parked the car and texted Techno and Wilbur to come help him and Tommy with the tree and ornaments. He turned off the engine and pocketed his phone, hoping Techno and Wilbur had actually moved the furniture to make room for the tree while him and Tommy had actually got the tree and ornaments from a storage unit.

“Phil- Phil! The tree is stuck!” Tommy said, Phil could hear him yanking at the box.

“Hang on, watch the ice,” Phil came around to the trunk of the car, ignoring the snowflakes fluttering down, he saw Tommy trying to shake the box from it’s jammed position.

“How did you manage this?”

“I don’t know!”

“Let me try,” Phil grabbed the sides of the box, trying to slowly wedge it out, but to no avail. “How did you do this?”

“Wh- How is this my fault?” Tommy cried, starting to pull at the box again.

“You’re the one that packed it!”

“What are you guys doing?” Phil looked over to see Techno standing by the car, eyebrow raised.

“Tommy’s shit at packing and got the tree stuck.”

“That sounds like him-”

“Hey!”

“You’re just mad-” Techno was caught off guard by Wilbur coming up behind him, slipping, and knocking them both to the ground.

“Wilbur what the fuck!”

“I slipped!”

“Get off of me!” Phil cackled as Tommy laughed loudly, wheezing at the end.

“That’s what you get for being an asshole! Instant karma!”

Techno responded by grabbing a fist full of snow and throwing it at Tommy, it landed on his chest and he yelped.

“It got in my shirt!”

“Good.”

After Techno and Wilbur had untangled themselves and dusted the snow from their clothes, they started to help them with the tree. They ended up having Techno climb into the car and lower one of the backseats and after much more struggling and wiggling the box they managed to free the tree from its very old, silver chamber.

Wilbur grabbed the boxes of ornaments and started up the stairs while Tommy and Techno followed with the tree and Phil locked up the car, listening to his brother's banter and hoping they actually wouldn’t try to race up the stairs.

He was glad to see his brothers more relaxed, they had all been stressed with finals right before break, he had come home from work many nights seeing them with books and papers spread out across the table, empty cups of coffee and energy drink cans littered around.

It was nice to see them fooling around.

Phil entered the apartment and slipped off his shoes, throwing them in the pile, to see Techno dragging the tree out of it’s box while Tommy and Wilbur pulled cobwebs off of ornaments.

They set up the tree in the corner of the room by a window and started to mess with the cords to plug in the lights, after unplugging and replugging every cord they managed to fit the tree lights in.

They started decorating, adding on colorful glass balls and a few candy canes just to be extra even though they knew Wilbur would eat them later.

Phil grabbed his personal favorite ornament, a wooden one with Snoopy and Woodstalk wearing santa hats in the snow, and hung it on the tree. They each had a favorite ornament, Techno’s was a mini violin, Wilbur’s an ornate snowflake, Tommy’s was a glass pickle. They were all hung on the front of the tree where they were easily seen.

They still had some of the little foam ornaments, the kind that are made in elementary school and kept for nostalgia and nostalgia only. Some still had pictures, Phil with an old striped bucket hat that they only let him keep for the first day of school. He missed that hat, it had been lost in a move.

Pulling more from the box, he found a snowman with a picture of Techno, glasses too big for his face, smiling shyly at the camera with paint on his hands. A baby blue foam mitten had a picture of Wilbur, who wasn’t facing the camera, with wild hair and a huge grin on his face as he slapped at a toy keyboard. A fading gingerbread man had a picture of Tommy grinning, eyes squeezed shut with colorful band aids across his face.

He took pictures with his phone and hung them up on the tree, much to his younger brother's annoyance.

Wilbur scrapped old tinsel out of the bottom of the boxes and put a few strands on the tree. Tommy grabbed the bundles of old lights and proceeded to strong them along the walls of the apartment.

“These are the next best things to LED lights,” He said, almost matter-of- factly, Phil just laughed as Tommy attempted to tape some of the wire to the wall. He was eventually able to pull it off after continually yelling at Techno to bring him duct tape and ‘fucking help him or he’d shake the bunk’.

After they had finished setting it up, they turned off all the lights except for the tree and strung ones on the wall. The colorful candy ones shown in the window by the tree and the golden light showed nicely against their white walls.

“The yellow lights kind of look like fireflies,” Techno mused, rubbing at his eyes.

“Maybe in video games, but this is the real world,” Tommy scoffed.

“Aww, are you tired?” Wilbur teased voice raising multiple octaves, “Little Blade need a na-”

Techno shoved Wilbur’s face away, “Shut up Wilbur,” He grumbled.

“When was the last time you slept?” Phil asked.

“Uh,” Techno paused for much longer then necessary, “Can’t remember.”

“Huh, that’s definitely not concerning-”

“I think this looks great!” Tommy interrupted, “Considering half of this stuff was covered in cobwebs!”

Phil nodded, “Oh wait, we forgot the star!” He started digging through one the boxes, his brothers left him to it and sat down on the couch. The star was always Phil’s thing, it was never a spoken rule, just something they had agreed on. Once he found it, Phil placed it on the tree then sat down next to his brothers.

He asked Wilbur about his day and Wilbur told him about finals hell and how every student looked dead or was trying to sleep in the cafeteria.

He turned to the others only to find that Techno and Tommy had already passed out, leaning on each other. Phil nudged Wilbur with his elbow, nodding towards the sleeping pair. They both pulled out their phones, taking pictures.

“Blackmail?” Phil asked, a grin pulling at his lips. Wilbur nodded.

“Blackmail.”

Phil took Techno’s glasses off of his face and set them on the coffee table and Wilbur covered them with a blanket.

The next morning Tommy sat up groggily, his first thought being that he was really hungry, so after untangling his and Techno’s limbs he padded into the kitchen. He started making a bowl of cereal and scrambled eggs, he made them in the lazy way, whisking the eggs with a fork then putting them in the microwave.

Then he remembered that it had been snowing the day before and rushed over to the window. A thick white blanket covered the terrain, sparkling white with soft gray clouds coating the sky. He opened the window and poked at the snow. He squished a fistful in his palm, it was packed, heavy snow.

Perfect for snowball fights.

He was going to destroy his brothers.

He closed the window then went to grab his food and sat at the table. A few minutes later he saw Techno sit up and rub at his eyes, Tommy watched him look around for a moment.

“Glasses are on the coffee table,” He supplied, taking a bite of cereal, Techno gave him a thumbs up then headed into the kitchen, starting to make a cup of coffee.

“Why don’t you eat breakfast?” Tommy asked, Techno looked over at him, glaring at his food.

“Why do you eat breakfast? It’s too early for food,”

“But not too early for coffee?”

“It’s never too early for coffee Tommy.”

Techno sat down across from him, obviously still trying to wake up fully. Just as Tommy was finishing his food Phil emerged from the hallway.

“You guys ready for today?”

“Heh?”

“What’s happening today?”

Phil raised an eyebrow, “Did you forget? We are helping down at the St Francis soup kitchen- my friend is low on people-I told you about this a week ago.”

“I completely forget,” Techno’s response was muffled by the coffee cup.

“Well we gotta be there in like an hour, get moving!”

Tommy put his dishes in the sink and saw Wilbur standing in the hall, staring him down.

“Hey Tommy, didn’t you wanna shower this morning?” He asked, eyes drifting towards the bathroom.

“Wilbur don’t-”

“Tommy-”

“Wilbur don’t-” Tommy’s begging was cut off as Wilbur shot to the side, dove into the bathroom and slammed the door. Tommy rushed over, pounding on the flimsy wood.

“Damn it Wilbur! Open the door!”

He heard the shower start and pounded harder.

“Wilbur you bitch!”

“Tommy it is too early for you to be this loud-” Techno said from the table.

“I’ll be quieter sooner if you help me open the door!”

Techno considered it for a moment then stood up, “Where is that bent coat hanger-”

“For fucks sake-” Phil put a hand on Tommy’s chest then knocked on the door, “Wilbur! You got ten minutes!”

Wilbur’s ‘okay’ was muffled from the door, Tommy sighed, leaning on the door, deciding he would absolutely beat the shit out of his brothers later.

They were running late because of course they were, between the fight for the bathroom, getting the car cleaned off and getting to the soup kitchen in the day before Christmas traffic was not the easier task, at least for the Pandels.

They finally pulled up to the soup kitchen and parked in the back, heading inside. They had barely managed to take off their coats before an employee pulled them into the kitchen.

Tommy was barely able to process what the man said, something about being understaffed, and shoved Tommy next to another boy who was sorting out juice boxes and fruit cups onto trays.

His brothers were being pulled aside to do actual cooking, they had done it before once when Tommy was sick and had to stay home.

After sorting and setting out all of the food along a conveyor belt type thing, Tommy wasn’t really sure what it was, they pulled up a metal covering so people could come get food.

Each person had to pass out different foods to people, Tommy was put at the end of the conveyor belt, handing out christmas cookies. Wilbur was next to him, offering different drinks.

Multiple different people came down the line, filling their plates with food and sitting down in the cafeteria. There was a TV in the corner and a bookshelf, other people milled about, soft chatter against the pots and pans clattering in the kitchen.

Two kids walked through the line with their parents, the girl looked at Wilbur and wrinkled her nose.

“Your hat looks weird,”

Tommy cackled and gave her an extra cookie.

Eventually they shut the windows and started to clean up the kitchen, putting plates and trays into a huge dishwasher, boxing things up in a walk in freezer and handing out non perishables to people as they left.

Tommy leaned against the counter, Techno and Phil were taking off aprons and putting them in a laundry pile, his shoulders loosened. They had helped people, it felt good;

“Just helped some people- feeling good-”

“Just killed a woman, feeling good!” Wilbur cut in, elbowing Tommy in the ribs, he elbowed him back. “Dickhead,”

“Hey! We’re gonna be heading out soon!” Phil called across the kitchen.

“Is there anything else we have planned?” He asked Wilbur.

“We’re making cookies,”

“Why?”

Wilbur shrugged, “Cause Techno got some new recipes from that gang of Lesbians at school.”

Tommy shuttered, “Oh I remember them, they scare me-”

“I thought you said they were cool,” Wilbur interjected, starting to follow Phil out the door.

“They are! But they also scare the shit out of me!”

Wilbur laughed, “As they should.”

Techno was watching Tommy slide around the kitchen in his socks when Phil asked; “Techno, you said you had some new recipes?”

He nodded, “Yeah, the Lesbian group chat gave me some,”

He remembered getting them was an interesting process, he asked them if they knew of any good cookie recipes and they had all started spamming for one girl to get online. When she did get online he asked the question again. She responded in all caps ‘You fucking fuck! Of course I have some! I am a cottagecore lesbian! What do you take me for!’ Then sent him 7 different recipes.

Wilbur snorted, “I still can’t believe you got taken in by a group of lesbians.”

Techno rolled his eyes and sent two of the recipes to Phil, who was preheating the oven.

“Why are we making so many?” Tommy asked, grabbing the baking sheets from the cabinets.

“They are for the neighbors,” Phil said.

“As a gift?”

“As an apology, you guys are fucking loud.”

Techno smiled, getting out the measuring cups and starting to put ingredients into the bowl. One was a recipe for sugar cookies, which is what he and Wilbur were doing, and the other were snickerdoodles which Phil and Tommy were in charge of.

Techno and Wilbur always worked well together, they flowed around each other, passing ingredients and helping each other out. Meanwhile Phil and Tommy had spilled half of the things they were trying to get into the bowl.

As Wilbur and Techno put their cookies in the oven, Phil nudged Tommy.

“Tommy, where is the rest of the butter, you said you grabbed more,”

“I did, I grabbed-”

“Then give it to me,”

Tommy didn’t move, “Hey Phil, remember when I said I had the butter-well- I lied.”

“What!”

“Don’t worry Phil, We still have some over here,” Wilbur passed a stick of butter behind him.

“Do you guys want some help-” Techno asked, biting his tongue, Tommy pushed him away.

“No! We got this!”

So Wilbur and Techno hung out in the living room while Phil and Tommy tried not to kill each other over cookies. It turned out to be for the best though because when they were ready to put their cookies in, Wilbur and Techno’s were done.

The two decorated their cookies with colored sprinkles, the recipe said it was optional but Wilbur had made the excellent point that sprinkles should never be optional.

Once Phil and Tommy’s cookies were done and left out too cool, Techno’s phone buzzed.

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