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beenbaanbuun · 15 days

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Haiii this might be a weird request but I wonder if you could write an angsty Addams!MATZ fic 😭 so sorry if this is weird I've just been feeling really angsty! You can choose whatever happens lol I just wanna cry 🫶🏽

sorry i didn’t write this sooner!!! i really wanted to but i’ve been super busy over the past few days :(( i never feel super confident writing angst but i did my best!!! i hope you enjoy :D

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hongjoong yelled at you… hongjoong never yells. he doesn’t yell when yeosang is being difficult to train or just acting downright feral. he doesn’t yell when clients are being cheeky and asking for far too much. he doesn’t even yell when you’re being a brat and he slips into ‘dom mode’ to punish you. yet he yelled at you just a few minutes ago…

why?

it’s your fault, you tell yourself. if you’d just listened when he told you he was busy, none of this would’ve happened. he was already stressed so why did you think being a brat and pushing his buttons would be a good idea? of course he wouldn’t want to deal with you when he already so much else on his plate with work. it was dumb of you to even think he’d give you the time of day.

you try and keep your tears to a minimum as you stalk through the house. noisy crying would only be another distraction to hongjoong and you don’t want to upset him any more than you already have done. still, despite your best attempts, you can help the shuddered breathing and quiet sniffles as you make your way down the stairs and towards your favourite spot in the house.

the fire is already crackling, drawing you in like the pied piper. you can hear the hushed conversation behind the soft crepitation, but you ignore it, entirely too focussed on how nice it will be to flop onto your favourite rug and fall into a slumber. perhaps when you wake, everything will be fine. maybe hongjoong won’t be mad at you anymore. he’ll smile at you as he tells you you’re forgiven, placing a kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips. he’ll take you up into his arms and apologise for yelling, speaking to you in the softest, most gentle voice he can muster. it’s a nice thought…

you reach the doorway to the living room, staring up at the large, oak arch that reaches high above your head. it’s carved with intricate details all hand finished by their artist friend, yunho. most of it represents their respective histories, each of their tales beginning from the bottom of the arch and climbing the wood like vines until they reach the apex at the top. prior to your arrival, their wedding had been the carving at apex of the arch, the image of two ravens, each holding a ring within their beaks, sat proudly above everything else.

now, though, the image at the top is entirely different. a lamb with dove wings and a dainty collar around its neck. the ravens still sit proudly on either side of the creature, watching over it as it sleeps. as you stare at it, you can’t help but wonder whether hongjoong will still be upset with you come bedtime. there’s a spare room down the hall that you used to sleep in when you were nothing more than their sugar baby and it was too late for them to send you home alone. perhaps you’ll have to reside in that room tonight, cold and alone and unable to sleep without the warmth of your lovers on either side of you. the thought has you biting your lip to silence a sob.

it doesn’t quite work. you still involuntarily whimper, catching the attention of both seonghwa and yeosang. their hushed conversation halts to a stop as they see you at the doorway, eyes wide and wet as you stare up at the very tippy-top of the arch. your fingers tangle themselves up as they helplessly fiddle with one another, tugging and twisting and picking until blood begins to pool along one of your nail beds. seonghwa can’t recall a time he’s ever seen you like this, and there werewolf had certainly never. they share a wary look.

“my darling lamb,” seonghwa calls to you in a hushed voice. he doesn’t want to startle you by being too loud, but he needs to pull you from this anxious haze you’d found yourself trapped in. he can’t lie that he’s a little relieved when your red ringed eyes flicker over to meet his. smiling is the last thing he wants to do upon seeing you in this state, but he knows his gentle disposition will calm you; it always does. his lips curl up softly. “what happened?”

the werewolf that has taken up residence on your favourite rug watches with concerned eyes. ever since his arrival, you’ve been an annoying little shit. an absolute thorn in his side when he wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful existence in his new home. you have no respect for personal space, you never know when to shut up, and you’re always way too cheerful all the time. they were facts that yeosang just had to accept when he realised you weren’t threatened by his harsh growling and gnashing teeth. all those times he had you pinned to the floor, spit spraying as he warned you to leave him the fuck alone only to have you giggle in his face and call him pretty; that person is nowhere to be seen right now.

“pup?” he hums, deep voice grumbling as his worries work themselves into his tone. even though he quite thoroughly despised you on his entry to the house, it seems you have this magical ability to work your way into the hearts of anyone you set your sights on. you set your sights on him before you even knew him; it took you no time at all to become one of his top priorities. “tell us what’s the matter. we can’t help unless we know?”

you take a few tentative steps into the room, bare feet tapping lightly against the parquet floor. they’re so used to your thundering footsteps as you traverse the house at your excitable pace. the silent footsteps you take towards them make their skin crawl.

you reach the rug, gently lowering yourself until your bare thighs hit the soft fur. your pastel blue skirt—the one that seonghwa had picked out to match the werewolf’s fuzzy blue jumper—bunches up around your waist, but neither of them have the time to admire how perfectly slutty it looked. it hardly seems right when you continue to wordlessly snivel and whimper, not even bothering to lay yourself down alongside your favourite werewolf-shaped pillow.

“hongjoong was mean to me,” you whimper, and seonghwa can’t lie, it confuses him.

hongjoong is mean to you a lot. it’s how he punishes you for being a brat, bullying you into submission until you decide to be a good girl. he calls you names, pushes you around a little—it’s nothing too severe but still enough for him to have earned the reputation as the crueler of the two of them. for a second, seonghwa thinks he’s landed on the answer, you must’ve been a little too bratty and couldn’t handle the consequences…

but that still doesn’t make sense.

if you couldn’t handle the consequences then that must’ve meant you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished. that in itself is nothing new, although normally, you tend to realise that before you decide to go and act out. it could’ve been the case that you didn’t realise you weren’t feeling up for a punishment but then you should’ve used your safeword. the fact that you’re sat downstairs with him and yeosang and not snuggled up in hongjoong’s arms is testament to the fact that you can’t have done that either. his husband would never do something so utterly stupid as to let you out of his sight when you’re clearly still upset over a scene you stopped.

so what happened?

did you just force yourself to take a punishment you didn’t want? no. seonghwa knows you’re too smart to do that just like he knows his husband is too observant not to notice. it’s something else entirely. something that seonghwa just can’t put his finger on.

“i need a little more information than that, darling,” seonghwa coos as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on his lap. his chin sits prettily in the palms of one hand, the other coming to rest atop your head. he pets you a few times, his touch like a cloud as tries to soothe you. your shoulders relax a touch, but your fingers still pick at one another in your lap. seeing you in such a state makes his heart sink. “lamb, what exactly did hongjoong do to make you so upset?”

you sniffle, separating your hands for just a second to wipe your tears away. they fall right back onto your lap, twisting and tugging and smearing the blood around. seonghwa can’t help but be thankful that nothing in the house is pale enough to be stained by your blood; otherwise he’d be marching you the bathroom to wash your hands, begging you to tell him what happened as the two of you walk.

“he yelled at me,” you say simply, as if that would answer all of seonghwa’s questions. it doesn’t. in fact it only fills his mind with more.

“he yelled? as in he raised his voice?” seonghwa asks softly. he hopes that the answer is no; that you just mean that hongjoong has scolded you for something. it’s a little bit of a strong reaction for just a small telling off, but you have been known to take these sorts of things to heart.

but you nod, and seonghwa’s heart sinks. hongjoong never yells at anyone, let alone you, his little dove. seonghwa and yeosang pass an odd look between them.

“master yelled at you?” the werewolf hums as he shuffles his body closer to yours. an arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly tugs you until you’re lay flat against the rug alongside the pretty creature. he lays the hand atop your own, stopping you from doing any more damage to your nail beds. the blood that spills onto his hands is nothing that bothers him. “why would master do that?”

the question is more aimed towards seonghwa than it is you. as close as you are with the couple, it’s only really seonghwa that knows the inner workings of his husbands brain. he always has an explanation to everything hongjoong does…

“i don’t know,” he says, a frown taking over his beautiful features. you hate it because you know it’s your fault. you upset hongjoong, you got yelled at, you told seonghwa, and now you have upset him. every sign points to you…

“it’s my fault,” you whisper. yeosang’s arm tightens around your waist in an instinctive display of protection. from what, he isn’t too sure. “i just wanted him to take a break but he’s too busy right now. i should’ve known.”

of course. seonghwa could’ve guessed it would be down to stress. it’s been a rough few weeks for hongjoong, the stress of yeosang arriving and finding his way into their weird, mismatched family, mixed with an increase in customers with the jewellery business, it’s safe to say hongjoong had barely had a moment free. of course, yeosang has calmed a little by now, but that doesn’t take the stress of the business away from his poor husband. he’s still being worked half to death by demanding clients who have more money than sense.

seonghwa imagines that any moment now, his husband will come to his senses and see that you were just trying to do something nice. that you weren’t just being difficult for the sake of it—which, granted, you often are—but were instead just trying to take care of him. you lacked the grace and finesse that the two of them did, but you still tried. demons, it fills his heart with love to know that you desire to care for them in the same way they care about you. you’re such a precious little lamb for them; they must’ve done something very special in their past life to deserve you.

“oh, my lamb,” seonghwa mumbles through a soft smile, “you have nothing to blame yourself for except being at the mercy of your own empathy. you prodded him because you were worried and that’s very thoughtful of you. your daddy should be worshipping you for such a kind act. i’ll go and see if i can’t talk some sense into him, hm?”

he stands up, long flowing trousers pooling gracefully over his feet. his red nails dance along them as he straightens the material out, trying to iron out the creases with only his bare hands.

“i’ll be back soon,” he hums, “let your puppy take care of you for now.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #matz x reader #yeosang x reader #opposites attract universe #poly ateez #poly ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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The Things We Do For Love

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict and his wife ask for Anthony's help to conceive a child.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, MMF threesome, fingering, dirty talk, vaginal sex, no incest. Married couple, infertility, conception, childbirth. Angst & emotion.

Word Count: 5.5k

Authors Note: This is a fic request fill for @broooookiecrisp from this ask (in essence, Benedict and his wife turn to Anthony for help to conceive a child). Thank you to @colettebronte and @makaylan for their invaluable advice and betaing. This is very different to my usual threesomes. This is much more angsty and emotional, but there is a happy ending. I hope you all enjoy <3

“Don’t worry, darling,” he soothes as you tear up, “it will happen for us one day.”

Despite his words, you stare at the bloody rag and feel nothing but failure.

More than anything, you want to give him children. Perhaps not a brood to rival his prestigious family, but a few children would be nice—two, maybe three. And you, more than anything, want to be a mother. To nurture life, be surrounded by children's laughter, and bring wonderful, new humans into the world.

But six months into your marriage, despite frequent, wonderful, vigorous, and enjoyable attempts, every month, your courses have arrived like clockwork, and every time, you feel you are letting him down.

“Please don’t cry,” his sweet, comforting voice almost pained; his lips mashed into your temple as he gently rocks you. “I love you regardless of if we can ever have a family. I need you to know that,” his voice sincere, maybe a little desperate.

“I know that, Benedict; I love you too; I just….” you say between muted sobs, “…I just want to give you a family like yours.”

“Darling, for all we know, it is I who is at fault, not you. In fact, we would never know unless…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but his mien turns thoughtful.

“Unless what?” you prompt, lifting your head to look at him intently.

“Unless you attempt to get pregnant via another man,” he sighs, his face pinched.

“No!! No!!” bile rises in your throat at merely the idea of being with anyone but him. He is the only man you have ever known intimately, the only one you trust. “I can’t do this with anyone but you, Benedict,” you plead.

“And believe me, my darling, the thought of you with anyone else makes me nauseated, but this may be our only choice to find out. And perhaps actually have a baby we can raise as our own,” he points out.

He’s right, and you hate it. You would do anything to let him be the father he so obviously yearns to be. And if that means you have to lay with another man, for him, and only him, you will make yourself do it if that is what he wants. It will hurt your heart beyond belief, but you want him to be a father as much as you wish to be a mother. The problem is that the only man whose babies you want is the one asking you to take another man’s seed.

You draw your knees up on lean on them, sobbing bitterly. Benedict kisses your temple and hugs you as you cry it all out.

——

Benedict hovers nervously outside Anthony’s study at Bridgerton House, having no clue how to broach the topic he wants to discuss. But after weeks of consideration, it’s the only way forward he can see that doesn’t turn his stomach.

“Brother, will you be lurking all day or just for a half-hour?” comes the dry, bemused voice from behind the door.

Benedict stops pacing, closes his eyes briefly, and then, with a decisive nod, heads into the room.

“There is a sensitive matter I would like to discuss with you if you are amenable?” he begins, too nervous to sit in the seat Anthony gestures to. “I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever can it be? You seem quite the bag of nerves,” Anthony observes wryly, leaning back casually in his chair behind the desk.

“It’s regarding children,” Benedict begins slowly and carefully.

“Ah, right, family and intimate matters,” Anthony gets up and closes his office door. He stays standing as Benedict rocks on his feet, and Anthony looks at him expectantly.

There is nothing else but to dive in headfirst. Benedict steels himself for this tough ask and then begins.

“Despite our best efforts, my wife and I are… struggling to become pregnant,” he exhales.

“I am sorry to hear that, but I think a doctor may be a better confidante than myself,” Anthony argues, “should your wife need examining….”

“Well, that’s the thing; I’m not so certain she is at fault,” Benedict counters.

Anthony scoffs. “You are a Bridgerton. If there is one thing we are capable of, it’s progeny,” he laughs, pointing at the row of miniatures of their siblings.

“Well, maybe I am the exception that proves the rule,” Benedict replies quietly and seeing the pain written in the lines of his face, Anthony’s whole demeanour changes.

“I did not mean to make light of your challenges, brother,” Anthony states slowly, “merely that the balance of probability it is not your fault is quite high.”

“Well, there is only one way I can think of to confirm that suspicion,” Benedict answers, “and that is for another man to attempt to impregnate my wife.”

Anthony's shocked expression is a picture. “You wish for your wife to lay with another man?” the contempt in his voice unmaskable.

“Wish it?” Benedict scorns. “I wish anything but. It is the very definition of my nightmare, but… she deserves the world, and If I am at fault, I could never forgive myself if I do not explore all avenues to fulfil her dreams. To make her happy. If I cannot give her children, I will not begrudge her the happiness of motherhood she so desperately craves.”

Anthony is floored by the self-sacrifice his little brother will always make for those he loves.

“And this brings me to my proposal….” Benedict adds warily.

Anthony senses the nerves emanating in waves off him and clamps a reassuring hand onto his shoulder.

“What is it, brother?”

“Selfish as it may sound, I want any child I raise as my own to be a Bridgerton. And there is only one man I would allow to lay with my wife without my stomach turning…. and that dear brother,” he takes a deep breath and meets Anthony’s eye squarely, “is you.”

Anthony freezes and falls back into a nearby chair. Literally stunned.

“I.. “ he begins but can not find more words.

“I'm aware this is a huge ask,” Benedict rushes out, “but I can't think of another palatable solution to my wife's happiness, and, more than anything, I want to give her that. Happiness.”

Anthony can see the quiver in his brother's lip, and his heart breaks for him at this impossible impasse.

“Brother, I’m not sure I can do this,” Anthony wavers honestly, standing up again and beginning to pace.

“Please,” Benedict implores, “please at least consider it. I will sign any private sealed paperwork you wish, ensuring that should she become pregnant, the child has no rights to your title or estates….”

“It’s not that,” Anthony cuts in, frowning that would even be a consideration, “it’s just… Benedict, it’s your brother bedding your wife. This choice seems fraught with potential anguish.”

“It seems unlikely to me at least that two men in the same family would be similarly afflicted, coming as we do from a man capable of siring eight children. If you do not impregnate her, then maybe we will know it is not me at fault,” Benedict argues, appealing to Anthony's logical side that he knows will often win in an emotional moment.

Anthony stops pacing and instead shuffles a pile of perfectly neat paper, nerves manifesting in the need to keep himself busy in the motions of a pointless task. “Allow me to think on it.”

Benedict gives a short sharp nod and, with nothing else he can think to say, takes his leave.

——

His fingers trail gently over your stomach as you lay in post-coital bliss.

“Darling, I have an idea for our baby dilemma,” he offers softly, tracing his lips over your collarbone.

“Mmm, I'm all ears, husband,” you reply drowsily, your ankles twining with his, your fingers running into his thick, lush hair.

Tonight he took you somewhere truly primal, and it feels different. Like it's possible you are actually pregnant this time. That something so fundamental happened in your moment of pure blissful release that, indeed, life was created.

“There is one way to ensure we have a Bridgerton child,” he begins quietly, his warm breath dusting over your dewy skin. “And that is for you to lay with my brother, Anthony.”

The world stops. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and a weird static buzz in every bone of your face. Like you have been struck by lightning.

No, No, NO, Benedict, your mind wails. Literally anyone but him, dear god.

Unbeknownst to your husband, there is only one man you had ever considered before you met him. And that is his older brother—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. You harboured a flame for him upon your first visit to Aubrey Hall with your family when you were fifteen, and that really only abated a few years later when you met his wonderful, soulful younger brother who utterly stole your heart.

“Benedict…” you sigh, going to move away, but he holds you in place, staring deep into your eyes, running his hands over your jaw, your cheeks.

“Think about it, my love,” he cuts in. “He is someone I trust with my life. He will not attempt to blackmail us or steal you away from me,” he petitions. “And we look so alike, my brother and me; no one would bat an eyelid about the child’s appearance, should you conceive one. It is the perfect solution,” he looks at you so beseechingly that you almost feel like you are betraying him just by wanting to object. And so you can’t, you don't. You will never deny him the right to fatherhood he so obviously deserves. If that means playing with the fire of your attraction to his brother, you will do it.

You grab his hand and lace your fingers with his. “My love, if this is what you want. I consent,” you murmur as your insides riot at the idea of lying with his brother. “But I have conditions.” you swallow thickly.

“What are they? Anything, my love,” he says pleadingly. “I will do anything for you; you know that,” he asserts as he kisses a fervent line over your cheek to your lips.

“I cannot do this without you,” you answer meekly. “I need you there the whole time. Not just in the room, I need you with me, skin on skin; I need you to hold me when it is happening, to talk to me.”

He inhales sharply. “You wish to lay with both of us? At the same time?”

“Yes, Benedict, my love. I cannot give my body to another man unless you are right there with me. Please, please.”

“I… I….” he stumbles, “I will have to check with him, but if that is what you need, what you desire, I will, of course, be there, my love.”

“Will you fuck me too?” your use of the base, crude term somehow feels necessary in this context.

You see the vein in his neck jump, and his voice turns gravelly. “You want that?”

“Yes, husband. Once he has been with me, I want you to be with me too.” you push up and kiss him deeply, trying to transmit just how much you love him, that for you, how much all of this is for him, for his happiness.

“Alright, my love,” he appeases with delicate kisses, “of course, of course….”

——

When Benedict rises the following day, his valet hands him a hand-delivered note. It is from Bridgerton House, and inside the wax-sealed envelope, on Anthony's signature note paper, there, in neat-looking penmanship, is just one word.

Yes.

Benedict drops the card onto his desk and rubs his temples, uncertain if he should feel elated or empty.

——

The fateful night arrives sooner than you would like, but equally, the weight of anticipation felt like almost too much to bear in the lead-up. You fidget nervously with your silk robe, which all at once feels too heavy and not thick enough, your skin prickling with the uncertainty of what is to pass.

You stay in the bedroom, brushing your hair at your vanity with repetitive calming motions as Benedict greets Anthony and invites him into your home. In advance, you and Benedict had agreed a few strong brandies would likely assist both men before embarking on this journey; you declined to imbibe in the hope it would aid with conception. So you sit nervously awaiting as they partake downstairs in your drawing room, no doubt.

For some reason, you prefer not to see Anthony before the ‘act’ begins; it feels too much like danger knowing what will happen, the ghost of your past attraction like a potential unwanted spectre taunting you. It feels safer to keep your distance until, well, until you cannot.

You get onto the bed and attempt to read, but your butterflies mean you are staring at the same page for minutes at a time, words just a jumble of letters that bleed into each other, your mind too preoccupied. Just as you start to fret about whether you can do this, you hear voices and a pair of heavy boots ascending the stairs.

Then there in the doorway are your husband and his brother, looking at you with the same expression you give them. Nervous apprehension, but theirs mellowed by alcohol.

“Darling,” Benedict drawls as they walk in, and he closes the door, “how are you?”

“I am fine,” you assure with a quick, tight smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. The butterflies are truly rioting now.

Your gaze falls to Anthony, who flashes you a brusque smile before he peels off his jacket and rapidly moves onto his boots. It seems almost business-like, and there is a hot flare in your stomach. Benedict is already more casual, barefoot, just his white shirt and trousers; it's like he senses your spike of anxiety and is on the bed with you in the blink of an eye.

“It's okay, my darling,” he mollifies, pushing you gently down into the pillows, his breath sweetened by brandy and smoky from cigars, “I’m here, my love, I’m here.”

His kiss is gentle and pitched to reassure, his lips soft on yours, intuiting the need to settle your fears. It works, and as you always do, you find yourself melting into your husband's loving embrace and attention. His hands run delicate patterns over your thin robe.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his lips as he moves to kiss down your throat, his lips warm and plush as his words vibrate over your skin. He goes to untie your robe, but you halt his hand, covering it with your own.

“Please, Benedict, I need you naked before I am,” you plead quietly.

He lifts his head and meets your imploring gaze, nodding slightly, understanding your reasons without you needing to vocalise them. It's part of why you love him so much, this shorthand you have developed, this unspoken bond. You can't help the little flutter in your chest as he whips off his shirt and settles over you, so much body warmth seeping through your robe from his skin. As he kisses the cord of your neck, you sigh and allow your hands to wander, loving the feel of his toned flesh under your fingertips.

With him over and surrounding you, he is your whole field of vision, perhaps by design to centre your focus on him. In the background, you can hear the sounds of Anthony disrobing, but Benedict utters soft, reassuring words against your skin to drown out the sound. His warm lips feathering down over your collarbone, skirting the edge of your robe. As ever, his tender treatment makes you stir, and you feel your body become pliant under him, allowing him to ease between your legs, your robe falling open as his wool trousers tickle the inside of your knees.

“My darling, you smell wonderful. Did you bathe in your favourite magnolia petal soap?” his voice buzzes over your breastbone as he breathes deeply and smiles indulgently as you hum in the affirmative. “Your skin is so soft; I am such a lucky man.” you know he is being extra vocal and reassuring with his words and actions; it makes your heart melt a fraction. He wants you comfortable and aroused. He wants this to be pleasant for you. You would never have the heart to tell him his efforts are not perhaps as needed as he believes.

You cannot look at Anthony to this day without a tiny stab of desire, perhaps remnants of a theoretical scenario where he could have been your intended, at least in your mind. Or it could be that he is an objectively handsome man. Either way, the thought of laying with him is not abhorrent on a physical level; in fact, the genuine possibility of the opposite stokes the blaze of nerves in your belly—that you could enjoy it a little too much.

You reach down and begin unbuttoning Benedict's trousers, wanting, needing more, as he continues languid kisses on your exposed skin. This time you do not object as his fingers insinuate between your bodies and tug at the ties holding your robe closed.

You inhale sharply as his naked body surges over yours as he kicks away his trousers. So much heat and warmth as your thighs cradle him. You can feel his rigid cock searing the apex of your thighs, and more than anything, you want him to push into your body.

As his lips close on your left nipple, you moan and cant up towards him; you sense something else happening in the room. You realise, without looking; you have an audience. Anthony’s gaze feels heavy on your skin; you know he is watching as his brother's tongue peaks out and lathes over your nipple, watches as he sucks the nub into his mouth, and you cry out. Somehow the audience makes this more hedonistic. You want to feel ashamed at the throbbing between your legs, yet…. you don't; you just feel a molten desire. The idea of being the sole focus of two of the most handsome men of the ton does not escape your mind.

Somehow you know without looking that Anthony has taken his cock in hand and is ogling your body, just as Benedict's hand slides between your legs and glides over your folds.

“Are you ready for us, my love?” he asks softly. Part of you wants to lie, to ask him to dive his face between your legs and suck your clit until you are writhing and panting, but you know tonight is not about pleasure; it's a means to an end. And besides, he would know it's unnecessary as soon as his fingers slide between your lips, which they now do, and he hisses at the pooled, slick viscous heat he finds within. “Oh, darling, you are more than ready, aren't you? You are positively weeping from your gorgeous little cunt.”

You moan again at his words, almost surprised he is willing to talk like this in front of his brother, but you suspect it’s because he knows how much it arouses you. And indeed, you hear a noise from Anthony as you writhe on Benedict's fingers, wishing more than anything for him to sink them into your body and massage that spot you love so very much that only his fingers can reach.

“Please, fuck me,” you exhale, and it's a dangerous elixir thrumming in your bloodstream when there is a duet of responding groans to your breathy plea.

“I will, darling, I will,” he promises with an aching urgency, propelling one of his fingers into you and you crying out his name.

His fingertip massages that spot as his mouth is on your other breast, and you don't hide your enjoyment of what is happening. In truth, perhaps you are more performative, your whispered pleas just a little louder for Anthony’s benefit, your body flexing a little more pronounced; you almost want him to desire your body as much as your husband does. Sometimes playing with fire is such a beguilingly hypnotic idea.

“Make her climax, brother; I have heard it can help with conception,” Anthony’s smooth voice rings out, and you gasp, whipping your head to look at him for the first time since clothing was shed.

There’s a stab of what almost feels like betrayal as your eyes fall on Viscount Anthony Bridgerton—naked and imposing, standing as he does next to the bed. Unlike his brother, his chest is covered in a thatch of dark hair; his build is thicker and more muscular than your slightly taller, lither husband. Perhaps predictably, given their shared genetics, he is physically appealing too. You can tell by the motion of his arm he is stroking himself, but you daren't allow your eyes to wander lower than his taunt, defined abdomen, almost scared to see what lies between his legs. And yet curiosity wins out as he mounts the bed on all-fours, you glance down the plane of his torso and glimpse his cock nestling in a patch of dark hair, just like Benedict's, but it looks different. You can't deny that. A shade thicker, perhaps, just like their bodies. That you are comparing your husband's cock to his brothers fills you with a self-disdain you don't want to contemplate, so you quickly cut your eyes away. It matters not the pleasure he can provide during the act; what matters is the outcome: his seed, the hope of progeny.

“Here, let me help,” Anthony offers casually. And your breathing accelerates rapidly as suddenly he is next to you and his lips close around your other nipple, still wet with your husband's saliva.

A long, low curse slips from your mouth unsolicited as you experience the blinding pleasure of both nipples being sucked simultaneously.

Something burns white hot, not just desire but also shame. Shame that you want this so much. That your whole axis is thrown off by the equally talented tongue of Anthony Bridgerton swirling and sucking your nipple. But then he himself did just say female pleasure is paramount to conception. Who are you to deny yourself this pleasure if it is a means to the ultimate end? Your selfish, licentious side greedily courting all the attention they are willing to offer.

Benedict's finger curls more insistently inside you as a thumb lands on your clit, rubbing in an unfamiliar but alluring motion. It is not your husband’s. It does not have the same softness; there's a rasping quality to Anthony’s more pen-calloused skin that snags perfectly on your sensitive bud. Having the mouths and fingers of two Bridgerton brothers teasing you is overwhelming, but part of you feels overridden with guilt that you are deriving such pleasure from them both.

“It's alright, my love,” Benedict assures, sensing your emotional quandary, and it’s the license you need. Allow yourself to indulge in the sensation enough to be carried away by the sheer wonder of it all.

Within moments, a potent tide rips through your being as you writhe, surrounded by their bodies. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate, consuming kiss as you clench so hard on his finger and holler his name so loudly into his mouth. You don't dare speak his brother's name, but something makes your hand grasp Anthony's hair as he gently laps your breast.

Benedict eases himself from between your legs and arranges his body against your left flank as you calm. On instinct, still fuzzy from your orgasm, you turn your head towards him, seeking his lips for more kisses, sighing as he obliges, your nostrils filled with the scent of your own arousal on his damp fingers that cradle your jaw as his lips open gently with yours. His cock is branding your hip as he pulls your left leg towards him, opening you up, and your heartbeat spikes as you feel Anthony climb over your right leg and shuffle between your thighs.

“Benedict,” you gasp over his lips. He knows. He knows you are at your most vulnerable, and he clutches your face tight, keeps your gaze locked on his, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Shhh, my love,” he soothes, “you are doing so wonderful; you are my whole world; I love you so much,” his searing words pour into your soul as you feel Anthony’s body over yours.

Benedict holds your face, his grip almost vice-like, not letting you look away, to his brother, as arms band around your hips, and Anthony heaves you onto his thighs, your pelvis now higher than your head.

“Don't stop talking,” you plead into your husband's mouth as you feel the tip of Anthony’s cock at your entrance.

“I love you; I can't wait to raise a family with you, my darling,” he entreats. The mix of desire and hurt on his face breaks your heart as you cry out with the force of Anthony’s cock ploughing into you. It feels so different in a way you can't explain and want to weep, but you can't do that to your husband, hurt him like that. So you keep staring into his hazy eyes, breathing his exhaled air and familiar scent as Anthony starts to move inside you.

It feels so wondrous, your walls clinging to his thick veiny cock as you bite your lip to trap the sounds you want to make. There is no denying how utterly incredible Anthony feels inside you. He almost immediately hits a harsh snapping rhythm, making slight panting noises with the exertion. Benedict shuts his eyes and swallows heavily, and you know it's to school his emotions, yet you can't help but steal a glance up at his brother while he does so. Anthony looks so handsome and majestic, an errant curl of hair bouncing on his forehead as he throws his whole body into the thrusts. His skin glows dewy in the candlelight. His eyes meet yours, and a flame there startles so much that you swivel your eyes back to your husband’s as they reopen. Guilt makes you utter his name, each syllable rising and falling with the motion of your body as Anthony fucks you so hard.

“It's alright if you enjoy this, my darling,” Benedict affirms sotto voce, and it's like whiplash to your heart how giving this man is, how much he is sacrificing so you can have a family together. You know it must be eating him alive on some level to see the pleasure his brother is giving you.

“I only want to come if it's with you,” you whisper harshly.

“But you need to come, my darling; it will improve the chance of a baby,” he assuages.

You feel Anthony’s fingers at your clit, and you seize Benedict’s face. “Then talk to me, my love. Talk like it’s just us, say all those debauched things that make me burn so hot for you, just you,” you implore desperately.

Benedict growls and surges his rigid cock against your hip, leaking onto your dewy skin as his warm lips capture your cheekbone.

“I want you, my wife,” he intones through clenched teeth. “Every day, I want to strip you down and take you so hard.”

“Yesssssss,” you hiss, writhing on Anthony's cock, who groans and grips your hip bone hard. “More, please, more.”

Anthony’s fingers are a frenzy on your clit now as you keen loudly, urging him on; you unwittingly squeeze his muscular forearm.

“I know what makes you come so hard; only me, only I can do that. You are my wife, mine. Say it,” Benedict orders, his tone as desperate as yours, spying the way you have latched onto his brother, needing reassurance.

“I'm yours, Benedict, always, forever,” you cry, and it turns into a scream as Anthony starts to spear you so hard you want to see stars.

“I love you, my darling wife. You are going to be such a wonderful mother; I know how much you want that. To be a mother. To have a baby,” he murmurs, placing his forehead onto yours, “that is why we are doing this, my darling.”

"But Benedict, I only want your baby… Our baby…" you lament, raw with emotion, as you battle the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. Anthony's cock makes your eyes roll back in your head, and Benedict's words take you over a soft edge, your blood boiling in your veins for your husband and his brother. Your scream muffled into his jaw as your cunt flutters hard around Anthony.

“Fuckkkking hell, I'm going to come,” Anthony warns, and for the first time, you look away from Benedict, uncaring that he sees.

“Give it to me,” you growl at Anthony, “give me your seed Bridgerton; I love my husband more than life itself; give us our baby right now!”

Both men seem equally shocked and aroused by your voracious demand.

“Darling…” Benedict pants raggedly on your cheekbone, his leaking cock pressing rhythmically against you again as you wrap your arm possessively around his head, fingers tugging no doubt painfully on his hair as you stare Anthony down, urging him to come.

There is a long guttural noise as Anthony stills. You feel the warmth of his release bloom inside you as he slumps over your body. His head on your damp diaphragm, puffing hard breaths over your ticklish skin as he keeps jerking and pumping little aftershocks into you.

The act over; as much as Anthony is an attractive man, all you want, crave, need, and desire is your husband with every fibre of your being. Like a siren calling across an ocean, he is the only place you want to be wrecked.

“Benedict, now, please, please, I need you,” you turn to him and cry.

You rasp lightly as Anthony pulls out and slumps back breathlessly against the footboard of your bed as you almost drag your husband on top of you. You chant a litany of pleas as he fumbles to line up with your fluttering body. And your eyes well with emotion as he finally surges into you. The stretch of his cock is different but so familiar, mind-bending and heart-stopping.

Your mouths mash together in a frenzy, and you cling to Benedict, pleading with him for more and harder, uncaring of the audience you have. You think he won't last long, but you don't care—you crave his release more than your own. You just want to revel in the carnality of your husband’s body and of what you have just permitted to happen for each other, for love. You steal a glance at Anthony over Benedict’s shoulder, and the soft, understanding look he gives you fills you with unspoken gratitude that he agreed to do this, to help you in this amazing way.

Benedict is not gentle, and you are grateful for it, conveying all of his passion for you with firm hands grasping your flesh, destined to leave imprints, teeth grazing your neck, thrusting into you with no mercy. You were mistaken, though - he does last. Keeps pounding into your body over and over and over as you make needy noises with each movement, climbing higher again.

“Come for me, husband, please; I need to feel it,” you beg, clasping his bum encouragingly, kissing every inch of skin you can reach, dragging your nipples over his chest, greedily pursuing your satisfaction as well as his.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, sweat dripping from his forehead onto yours, his eyes burning into yours.

“I love you; you know I love you,” your response is a reflex. And that is what causes the dam to break for him, his whole body jerking violently, hissing and groaning loud against your ear as he spills inside you, fingers flexing, nails leaving moon-shaped marks on your shoulders where his arms curl under around them. The visceral feel of him coming apart, his body smashing against your clit takes you over too. Eyes fluttering closed as your body clenches in waves around his spasming cock.

And as you lay there sharing ragged breaths, Anthony’s warm hand encircles your ankle, and your eyes meet again in a moment of connection that feels warm and profound; you hope beyond hope a baby was conceived tonight.

——

Nine months later.

The birth of your baby is the most harrowing but rewarding day of your life. As you hear the infant’s first cry, your whole world crumbles and is rebuilt around her. Your precious, precious gift.

Benedict’s embrace is so tight as you cradle new life in your arms, scarcely believing the truth. Then a tiny set of eyes blink open, and your heart soars to heights you never dreamed possible.

“Benedict,” you breathe, joyful tears flowing unabashed, “look… she has… she has your eyes,” your whisper tremulant.

There, unmistakable as anything, is his baby. Not Anthony’s, not just a Bridgerton baby. His. Benedict’s.

“I don't think she can be anyone’s but yours, my love,” you assure ardently.

His fervent kiss on your dewy brow is only made wetter by the gentle tears that roll down his cheek and onto your skin.

“I love you,” he whispers reverently, his large hand wrapping delicately around your swaddled baby. “I love our daughter. We are finally a family.”

Benedict & Anthony Taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @queenofmean14

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Not What You Expected - A Joel Miller Story

dad!Joel x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

They're still acclimating to life with baby Miller, a far cry from how they first met.

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst-ish, mostly fluff tho

a/n | another installation in the Unexpected Expectings universe after much request! This can certainly be read as a standalone, but it's much more fun alongside the other pieces in this world :)

..........................

“She just spit up on me again, didn’t she?”

“Just a little. Here, I’ll get it.” Ellie huffs while she steps behind the girl to wipe off her shoulder where Libby just dribbled her breakfast. Perhaps not surprisingly, Ellie has been as hands on as she can be with her little sister, helping out at bath times, feeding her, reading to her. But she draws the line at changing diapers.

She sighs, stepping out from behind Ellie and leaning against the crib to take in the sight of her gently bouncing Libby in her arms, making ridiculous faces at her wide-eyed little sister and murmuring nonsense.

“You’re pretty cute, huh, Libs? That must come from your mom’s side because it sure as shit doesn’t come from Joel.” She can’t help but laugh at Ellie’s little jab, but, having just come into the doorway to the nursery, Joel seems to feel a bit differently, clearing his throat as he frowns at the girl.

“Kid, I’d rather that one’s first word isn’t some kind of swear, huh? Watch yourself.” It’s obviously lighthearted as Joel’s lips crook into half a grin and he shuffles over to Ellie to gently take Libby from her arms. Even after ten months, she’s still not over the sight of Joel Miller with a baby, with their baby, perched on his hip, his broad palm cupping her back. Ellie doesn’t seem over it either, snorting as she watches Joel rock side to side.

“Easy, killer. Gonna knock someone out with the blinding ray of sunshine you’ve turned into.” Joel scowls over the top of Libby’s head at Ellie who has dissolved into laughter, glancing over at his woman to see that she is also giggling. Not wanting to be left out, Libby lets out a shriek, bouncing her tiny fist against Joel’s cheek. He’s quick to smack kisses to her little fingers, grumbling as he does it.

“You three are gonna kill me, goddamn.”

“With the way you two talk, Libby’s gonna be swearing like a sailor before she can even walk.” Both Joel and Ellie grin at her exasperated look, Ellie sidling up next to her to swing her arm over her shoulder.

“You’re no better. Heard you let out a few choice words in the kitchen the other day when you dropped her bottle.” She huffs at Ellie’s smug look, nudging into her side.

“Alright, alright, kid. Don’t you have a shift starting soon?” Ellie glances at her watch, sighing.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Ellie.” Both she and Joel gripe at her words. Ellie just shrugs, already hustling out of the nursery to get to the stables. With the sound of the front door closing, they look at each other, shaking their heads. Some things never change.

Joel sighs, moving over to the rocking chair and sitting down with a groan as he shifts Libby to cradle her in his arms. She slips behind the chair to lean with her palms on his shoulders, smiling down at their girl who’s quickly dozing in her dad’s hold. She lays a kiss to his temple, and Joel cranes his neck to look at her questioningly.

“What was that for?” She shrugs, grinning crookedly at him.

“Nothing, my ray of sunshine.” She tries to quiet her laughs, not wanting to startle Libby awake, while Joel scowls at her teasing.

“Hey, ain’t the only one softening up, darlin.” She raises a brow at him and he smirks.

“Still remember when I met you. Practically feral, woman. Now look at you. Being all sweet. Wearing my clothes.” She scoffs as she thumbs the collar of the flannel, his flannel, that she’s wearing.

“Oh this? I just wear this whenever I think Libby’s gonna spit up. Better yours than mine, Miller.” He huffs at that as she snickers. She squeezes his shoulder as she continues.

“I may have softened a little. But if I’m remembering that day we met correctly, I did nearly kill you, so you better watch it, sunshine.” Joel chuckles lightly, still gently rocking their girl who is completely out now.

“Mm, I remember alright. Was pissed as hell at the time. But I can say this now – was the hottest thing I ever saw.” They both laugh, their minds now swirling with the memory.

With ten years come and gone, they can both still remember the day they met, clear as anything. Oh, how things have changed.

…

Boston QZ, 2016

He’s exhausted. Another day on burn detail, another day hustling pills to soldiers. The only bright spot, if you could call it that, is the deal he’s working on with Bill and Frank. He and Tess had managed to get their hands on a generator in one of the old apartment buildings, taking it apart to transport to Bill and Frank who had been having some trouble with their own. In return, Joel and Tess had been promised new guns, and ammo, something hard to come by unless you were with FEDRA or those damn fireflies. They’re planning to go in two days. Until then, he’s been keeping the parts under the floorboards in their apartment, so when he gets back to their place that night, Tess still out on some work detail, and lifts the boards to find the parts gone, Joel’s mind reels.

Racking his brain for any possible reason the parts could be moved, he lets out a quiet curse in frustration. He comes up with nothing and the word thief starts to blare through his mind like an alarm. His fingers rest on the hilt of the knife he keeps tucked in his belt as his eyes scan over the apartment. He tries not to let out a chuckle when he sees it. The closet by the door. He and Tess always left it open, didn’t keep anything in it. It’s closed firmly now. Got him.

He moves gingerly over to the closet, drawing out his knife as his hand settles on the doorknob. Before he can swing it open, however, someone is bursting out, knocking him to the ground, his knife skittering across the floor. He can’t get a good look at him as they tumble on the ground, hands at each other’s necks as they roll for dominance. He manages to pin the other man to the ground, but is shocked into stillness by what he sees. He is a she. She sneers at him, a toothy grin.

“Not what you expected, huh, Miller?” Before he can pick his jaw up off the floor, she’s kneeing him hard in the groin, effectively toppling him over as she pins him with her hands around his neck. He grabs at her hands, but she’s strong, stronger than she looks, pressing hard into the sides of his throat and making him gasp for air. He has seen her before, on a few work details, but he had no idea she had this kind of fight in her. It’s all he can do to choke out his question.

“You with Robert?” She laughs hard at that, fingers flexing in the sides of his throat.

“Hardly. His little band of idiots wouldn’t have the brain cells for this.” It’s getting harder for Joel to breath, black spots starting to fuzz his vision. She leans a little closer, unwavering gaze holding him still.

“You got two options here. Number one, you let me in on whatever little business you got going with Tess and I don’t kill you right now. Number two, I kill you and take your parts and your radio and figure it out myself.” He can’t help the wheezing laugh he coughs out. This woman has some serious balls. She doesn’t seem to like that though, her grip around his neck tightening until he really can’t breathe anymore, his legs flailing uselessly on the floor.

“That mean you’d prefer option two?” He shakes his head as best he can in her grip, trying to choke out the word no, and she seems to understand, releasing his neck but keeping him pinned with a forearm across his chest. Joel takes several heaving breaths, trying to clear the haze that had crept into his mind. The first real thought he has as oxygen returns to his brain is that she has pretty eyes. Angry, but pretty.

“I’m not letting you up until I hear you say it.” He takes a few more steadying breaths before he responds.

“I’ll let you in on our business. But you try any shit like this again, I’ll be quicker next time and you won’t get so lucky.” She huffs a laugh at that, finally letting up and sitting back on her haunches as Joel sits up. He rubs tenderly at his neck, wincing at the already forming bruises and muttering to himself.

“You got a grip on you, woman, goddamn. Some first impression.” He’s surprised when she holds out her hand to him. He’s more surprised that he actually takes it, shaking her hand lightly as she smirks at him, telling him her name.

“Figured I’d have to do things a little unorthodox to work with you two. And hey, looks like it worked.” All he can do is shake his head at this woman who has so suddenly become his business partner.

…

Jackson, 2026

“I was going easy on you. Caught me off guard. And you were pretty, even then. Didn’t wanna mess up your face.” She scoffs, nudging him in his side as they stand in front of the crib, watching their sleeping girl.

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the bruises you had on your neck for the next, what was it? Three weeks? Totally going easy on me, uh-huh, so easy you let me nearly crush your windpipe.” Joel huffs around a grin.

“Suppose that’s another thing our girl gets from you. You ladies sure know how to make an entrance.” She stifles her laugh behind her hand as they both dip out of the nursery. Before she can get too far down the hall, Joel slips a lazy palm around her one hip, turning her back toward him and smearing a brazen kiss across her lips, pulling away with a wet smack that makes her eyes widen. He just grins.

“What the hell was that for?” Joel keeps his one hand cupping her hip, the other coming up to stroke along the arc of her jaw as he sighs.

“All this talk of you crushing my windpipe has got me worked up, darlin. Take pity on a poor man, huh?” She lets out a sputtering laugh at his words, but he’s quick to silence her with another kiss, licking into her mouth like a heathen. She pulls back with a gasp, lightly smacking his chest as he gives her a smug smile.

“Watch it, Miller. Or I’ll have to finish what I started ten years ago.” He shakes his head.

“Has it really been ten years? Christ– that’s hard to believe.” She rakes her fingers through his hair as she hums at his words.

“I know. How the hell did we end up here, huh?” He sighs, glancing back into the nursery.

“No clue, darlin. I think you’re the one bit of luck I got in this fucked-up world.” Her fingers still, hands sliding down to wrap behind his neck. She can feel tears welling up hot and fast in her eyes, and to keep them at bay she steals another kiss from him, quick and chaste that leaves them both smiling.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you, Joel.” He squeezes her hip, still smiling like a fool.

“I love you, darlin. Thank you.”

“What? For not killing you?”

“No. I mean– yes, that too. But, thank you for sticking with me. Fuck– for giving me all this. Just, thank you.” His thumb brushes away a rogue tear that has dripped down her cheek and she sighs under his touch.

“Well, now you’re just trying to make me cry, goddamn it.”

“Hmm, look who’s soft now, darlin.” She smacks his chest as he laughs at her exasperated expression, tugging her into a tight hug. She murmurs lowly into his shirt.

“I love you too, Joel. Love you so much.” They stay like that for a while, his arms wrapped firmly around her, her cheek pressed right over his heart. They’re finally broken out of their quiet moment by the sound of fussy coos coming from the nursery. Joel sighs, pulling away and squeezing her shoulders.

“I’ve got it, mama.”

“You sure? She probably needs a diaper change.”

“I’m sure I can handle that. You should get some rest, were up half the night after all.” She slackens under his touch, nodding lightly as he’s already moving back into the nursery.

She goes to head downstairs, but quickly stops when she hears him start to talk in a soft murmur to Libby. It’s a voice Joel won’t use if he knows anyone else is around, she had only caught him talking in it a few times to their girl, gentle and low. Ellie would have a field day if she heard him.

“Hey, baby girl. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” She slides along the wall, stopping just outside the doorway to the nursery to listen in as Joel continues talking to Libby. She can hear Libby’s sweet babblings as Joel keeps murmuring to her.

“My girl’s a talker, aren’t you? Get that from your mama. Woman’s got a mouth on her, let me tell you. One of the things I like best about her. But don’t tell her I said that.” She presses her hand to her mouth, keeping in her giggle at his ramblings.

“I know your sister’s been trying to get you to say her name, but I’d really like it if your first word is mine. Also may have a little bet going with her, but I’ll split the winnings with you if you just say my name first.” She makes a mental note to smack both him and Ellie later for their “little bet,” but continues listening as Libby’s babbling picks up. Joel lets out a laugh.

“That’s it, baby girl. Just string ‘em together. Da-da. I know you can do it. Whip-smart just like your mama, huh?” Libby’s babbling continues, still just nonsense sounds and syllables. Joel sighs.

“Gonna do it in your own time, huh? Think you get that from me. That’s alright, baby girl. Ready whenever you are.” She figures he’s picking her up again from the hesitant coos Libby lets out, Joel quick to shush her.

“I got you, my girl. It’s ok. I got you.” She rests her temple against the wall outside the doorway, closing her eyes and continuing to listen to his gentle words to their girl.

“Love you so much, baby girl. Your mama loves you just as much, and your sister, even if she is already corrupting you. You’ve got all of us on your team, my girl. We’ve got you.”

She smiles to herself. It’s been a long ten years, most of it bad, some of it good. But they really have made a little team for themselves, a little family. It’s certainly not what she expected when she went into business with Joel Miller, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#unexpected expectings #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller au #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #joel miller one shot

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andvys · 2 years

Text

Love will tear us apart // part three

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of nightmares, mentions of anxiety and ptsd, mentions of death, panic attacks, mentions of abuse

Eddie would never admit to himself that he enjoyed spending time with you, just the two of you, he could be more himself with no one else around. Even if there was still a part of him that just couldn't let his guard down.

You looked so pretty, you always do but something about how you looked under the dim light, got to him. He knows that the picture of you sitting on the counter right in front of him would imprint itself in his mind for the rest of his life. Your eyes were so soft when you looked at him, the gentle smile on your face tugged at his heart strings, your skin looked so soft, even the part that was scarred.

The scar.

Eddie’s curiosity to look into your notebook grew more and more after seeing that scar on your thigh but he promised himself that he wouldn't look inside, that he would give it back tomorrow morning.

Sighing, he shuts the door in his room and turns on the lights. He leans against his door for a moment, thinking about all the events that unfolded this day. He hasn't talked this much to you since, forever.

He missed this, he missed you and he doesn't even know why. You have never been close, you have never been friends or anything close to it. You were nothing but enemies, for whatever reason.

Eddie was the one who started it. You have tried to be his friend but he pushed you away and even humiliated you. He doesn't have a full explanation as to why he treated you the way he did.

There was something that pulled him into you, no, everything pulled him into you. Your kindness, the sweet and soft side of you, the sound of your laugh, the soft look in your eyes, that beautiful smile on your lips, your voice.. but god, Eddie hates you and he doesn't even know why.

Perhaps the only reason why he hates you is because you’re everything he's not.

You have functioning family. You live in a big house, in a nice neighborhood. Your grades are good, your future looks promising, people love you.

You have everything. You are perfect.

Eddie is not.

At least that's what he thinks.

He knows it’s a stupid reason to hate someone.

His eyes fall on your notebook on his bed, something slipped out from between the pages. His brows draw together as he walks towards his bed, it’s a picture. Picking it up, he eyes it slowly.

It’s a picture of you and Steve. You’re sitting on his lap, looking rather comfortable with his arms wrapped around you and his lips on your cheek, a lazy smile on your face as you look into the camera.

Eddie’s expression hardens, his jaw tightens. A weird feeling settles in his chest the longer he stares at the picture.

You look so happy.

Fuck. He doesn't know why it hurts to see you like that with someone. Steve Harrington of all people.

Throwing the picture down, he huffs in anger. He knows he has no right to feel so frustrated and angry. You aren’t dating, you aren’t even friends, hell, Eddie hates you but he can’t help it, he doesn't want to see you this way with someone else. He doesn't want to see you look at someone in that way.

Running his hand through his hair, he looks at the notebook. He planned on giving it back, without looking inside again, without invading your privacy but now, now he doesn't care anymore. He grabs it, sits down on his bed and opens a random page.

April, 26th 1985

The nightmares are getting worse again, every time I fall asleep, I keep seeing it, I keep hearing it, I can still feel it, as if it's all happening right. now. I can still feel it’s claws in my skin when it grabbed me and dragged me across my room and into the other side.. only this time I don’t make it. It kills me before I get the chance to fight it.

Maybe I was supposed to die in there.. I know I would have died, if it wasn't for him..

I wish I could tell him that. I wish I could tell him that he is the reason why I’m still here, that he is the reason that I’m still alive. That he saved me.

But I can’t.

Eddie stares at it blankly. He doesn't know what he expected but he definitely didn't expect to feel even more confused.

‘I can still feel it’s claws in my skin’ the scars on your thigh weren't caused by anything human, he knows that now, but what was it? Some wild animal? And what the hell did you mean by the other side?

And who was he? Was it Steve? Did he save you?

“Jesus.” he mumbles, he stares at your handwriting before closing the book “what the fuck.”

When you walked into the classroom that morning, you didn't expect Eddie of all people to be the first in class, let alone see him sitting next to your usual seat.

Was this going to be a regular thing now after yesterday?

He’s looking out the window, playing with the rings on his fingers as he bounces his leg up and down. He turns his head as he hears footsteps approaching him. His eyes find yours, a teasing smirk tugs at his lips, the kind that let you know that he would hit you with some bullshit now.

“Hi.” you mumble as you sit down next to him, trying to hide your face behind your hair. You don't need to see him how miserable and tired you look.

“Good morning, sunshine.” he says cheerfully, leaning in to take a closer look at you, he chuckles “so, who kept you up all night, huh?”

You roll your eyes, not even turning to look at him “please, just shut up, Munson.” you mutter, your night was bad enough, you didn't need him to ruin your morning too.

"Ooh so was it the old guy from the bar?” he asks.

A frown takes over your face as you turn to look at Eddie who only chuckles at the look on your face.

“Well shit, I see stopping him last night didn't slow his roll.”

You huff in anger as you turn away from him. You felt so disgusted by those old men last night and Eddie knew it, if you didn't say it, he could definitely see it and yet he was still making jokes about it.

“Did you use protection at least? Wouldn’t want him having a baby at 50 to take car-“

“Just fuck off Eddie, not today. Please.” you mumble angrily, raising your hand to brush your hair away from your face.

His eyes widen as he looks at your hand, his bandana, that he gave you last night, was tied around your wrist. His eyes soften, as he stares at it and then at you. There’s a frown on your face, you look tired and mad, certainly not anywhere near happy as you looked on the picture with Steve.

He clenches his jaw, he doesn't know why he’s so pissed at the thought of the two of you together but he is fucking. angry.

“Damn old men and Harrington huh? Guess you’re open to all types.” he says in anger, not even caring about hurting you with his words.

You blink, your jaw almost dropped at his words, you feel disgusted and mad. Is that what he thinks of you? That you’re some slut that gets with every guy that even looks your way?

You turn towards him, there’s no trace of guilt or regret in his face, you shouldn't be surprised. Eddie always says what he thinks, he never sugarcoats anything, he never holds back either. He is serious about his words.

Shaking your head, an emotionless laugh leaves your lips. You feel like a fool for believing that there might be a chance for the two of you after last night.

“Fuck this.” you mumble, grabbing your backpack, you get up and walk away from him and your usual seat. You walk to the other side of the classroom, away from him.

Throwing your backpack down you sit down with an annoyed huff. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, you are frustrated and you are tired, your head hurts and you had the worst nightmare last night and yet somehow that’s not the reason that pushes you closer to a breakdown. It’s him. He’s hurting you, so much and he doesn't even know it.

Every time he gives you the cold shoulder, every time he says the coldest and meanest things to you, he hurts you more and more. Shattering your heart a little more every time.

You can feel his eyes on you but you don't even turn to look, not wanting to see the smug look on his face. You cross your arms over your chest and lean back in your seat.

The day hasn't even fully started and yet you can’t wait for it to be over already.

First period went by slowly, way too slowly. You couldn’t even concentrate on anything, you couldn't even remember what the teacher was talking about. You were too busy trying to ignore his eyes on you. Trying to ignore the annoying ticking of the clock that seemed way louder than usual.

The ringing of the bell startles you, flinching at the sound. Something that doesn't go unnoticed by Eddie as he eyes you slowly. He feels bad for what he said to you, as much as you tried to hide it, the hurt look on your face was obvious even when you tried to hide it by putting on a brave expression, acting like his words didn't affect you in the slightest.

He wants to apologize, he went too far this time but you rush out of the class room before he even gets the chance to walk up to you.

“Fuck.” he mutters, grabbing his backpack, he jumps out of his chair and hurries out of the classroom, rushing through the hallways, he ignored the glares and whispers of the other students, “watch where you’re going freak!” someone yelled at him as he almost bumped into a group but he payed them no mind “y/n! wait!” he calls out as he spots you walking towards the bathrooms. He curses under his breath as you walk inside, not even glancing back at him.

A defeated sigh leaves his lips, his shoulder slump as he looks at the door. He should just leave you alone but something keeps him from walking away and leaving this situation alone.

Usually he’s good at burying the guilty feeling, acting like it doesn't hurt him to treat you the way he does but the hurt and shocked look on your face made him regret every dumb thing he ever said to you.

You almost bump into him on your way out, stopping yourself just in time before you slam into his chest. You look up at him and roll your eyes as he speaks your name lowly.

You try to walk past him but he steps in front of you “wait, please.” he says.

“What the hell do you want, Eddie?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as you look into his eyes.

Only now as you are standing right in front of him does he notice the tired and exhausted look in your eyes. He thinks about the nightmares you have mentioned in your notebook. A pang of guilt hits him, he shouldn't even know about this.

Your eyes look red and glassy, as if you had been crying all night. Fuck. He feels so horrible.

“Listen, I-I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that, that was mean.” he says.

You squint your eyes, chuckling darkly “what exactly are you talking about- cause you say mean shit all the time, Eddie.”

Shit. He gulps as he watches your face contort in anger and frustration.

“I have never done anything to you, I have never said any of the mean and hurtful shit you throw at me all the time so what the hell is your problem, Munson?” you exclaim, breathing heavily, your stomach suddenly drops and you feel this overwhelming sensation out of nowhere.

Eddie begins to stutter, face growing red as you stare at him, waiting for an answer.

You blink, furrowing your brows, a weird feeling settles in your chest. Your heart begins to race and you feel like your throat is closing up. Eddie’s voice sounds further and further away, fading slowly. You look up at him in confusion, his lips are moving but you can’t hear him, all you’re able to hear is your own heartbeat and that annoying ticking sound again. You take a step back, stumbling slightly as you put your hand on the wall next to you, trying to steady yourself.

“And I- whoa, you okay?” he asks, looking at you in concern. You put your hand on your chest, trying to take a deep breath “y/n?” Eddie takes a step towards you, putting his hand on your shoulder but you flinch away from his touch, pushing his hand off your shoulder, you throw your backpack down as you take another step back.

“J-Just leave me alone, Eddie.” your voice sounds shaky and weak “f-fuck.” you mumble as you turn around and rush back into the bathroom not expecting him to follow you inside, you’re about to yell at him to leave you alone, when your knees wobble slightly, almost dropping to dirty floor, if it wasn't for Eddie catching you “hey- whoa, I got you.” he mumbles as he grips your waist tightly, he eyes your face in concern “what is it? Do you need to throw up?” he asks.

“N-No, I can't- I can't breathe.” you whimper, your vision blurs as tears fill your eyes, you try to push his hands off of you so you can sit down but he doesn't let go of you, instead he kneels down with you, not caring about sitting down on the disgusting bathroom floor “E-Eddie, I can’t-”

“I got you, y/n, just listen to me okay?” he grabs your face, tilting your head up so he can see your face. Your eyes are filled with tears, your bottom lip is trembling and you look so scared and terrified, his heart aches in his chest, seeing you this way hurts him for some reason “here.” he whispers, taking your hand in his, he gently pulls it up towards his chest, setting your palm against his warm chest “can you feel my heartbeat?” he asks, eyeing your face slowly.

You nod as you look into his eyes, trying to blink your tears away. You would've felt embarrassed about this whole situation but your mind is too hazy to comprehend anything right now.

“I want you to focus on it, focus on my heartbeat and on my breathing, try to match it okay?” he speaks, softly, caressing your cheek with his thumb while he keeps holding your hand against his chest.

“O-Okay.” you whisper.

Eddie moves closer to you, wiping a fallen tear off your cheek. He has never seen you cry before and he hopes to never see you cry again, he hates it.

You grip his shirt tightly, trying to feel his heartbeat but you can’t feel it and the fear inside you grows bigger and bigger, your throat closes up more and more.

“I-I can’t feel it.” you whimper, gripping his shirt tighter.

“Okay, okay- come here.” he whispers, letting go of your hand, he puts his arm around you and pulls you into his chest, holding you tight against him. Your body is shaking as you lean into him, sniffling loudly “hey, it's okay, just breathe with me.”

You try, you try to focus on his heartbeat as you lean your head against his chest. His chest feels comfortable, his touch feels warm as he rubs circles on your back. You breathe in and out, in, out, in, out and then, you breathe him in, his scent fills your senses. He smells good, you can’t make out what it is, your mind is in overdrive, you are overwhelmed with everything but he smells like home.

Eddie smells like home.

“You’re doing good, sweetheart.” he whispers, he didn't mean for the pet name to slip out but you didn't notice it anyways.

You close your eyes and focus on just this moment, just the feeling of his touch, his smell, his warmth, the feeling of his heart beating against your hand, the rising and falling of his chest. You push every other noise away, even your own heartbeat, your racing thoughts and the annoying sound of a clock in the distance.

“You’re okay, y/n, I got you.” Eddie whispers as he moves his palm up your back until he’s cupping the back of your head. He notices how your breathing calms down slowly.

Eddie’s heart flutters in his chest as you relax in his arms, your grip loosens on his shirt, letting go of it, you move your arms around his body, hugging him and god, it feels so good. It feels so good to hold you in his arms, to feel you moving closer to him and it feels so natural, you fit right into his arms.

“You’re safe.”

You are here, you are safe. Away from all the horrors you endured in the past.

His voice is soft, soothing, it calms you down, keeps you from falling into that dark pit, just like it did back then.

“I’m here.”

He holds you tighter, his touch feel more intense than before. He’s here, with you. This time there's no barrier between the two of you, his voice isn't faint, the room isn't cold, you can feel his touch, you can hear his voice, you can smell him.

You’re almost scared to open your eyes and realize that it was all just an imagination but he is really here and so are you and you can finally breathe.

You don’t want to let go of him, you don't want to pull away from him and go back to pretending that you don't care about him, pretend that you’re okay with the way things are between the two of you.

“You with me y/n?” he asks, softly.

“Yes.” you whisper as you pull away from him, letting go.

Your eyes meet his warm brown ones, his eyes are filled with concern.

You sniffle, raising your hand to wipe your tears away. You suddenly feel shy under his gaze, almost embarrassed and ashamed, you don’t want him to see you like this.

“I-I’m sorry.” you whisper.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks.

You already miss his warmth.

“For this.” you mumble, gesturing to yourself, you are a mess right now and he had to see it “b-but thank you.” I wouldn't have made it without you.

“Don’t mention it.” he says, looking into your eyes deeply. I’m glad I could help you, I’m glad I could be there for you, I want to pull you into my arms and comfort you. “You okay now?”

He looks like he wants to say something else but for some reason he holds back.

“Yeah, just tired.” you mumble, feeling your eyes grow heavy. You are tired and you need to get home before you pass out on this disgusting and dirty floor.

“You should go home and get some sleep.”

“No, I’m good.” you say shaking your head.

“I can drive you.” he offers.

“No..I swear, I’m okay, I just- I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, leaning closer again.

You nod even though you weren't sure about it, you felt lightheaded and you could barely keep your eyes open.

He sighs “okay but if you need someone to drive you home, j-just find me, okay?”

“Yeah.” you murmur as you push yourself away from him, you hold on to the sink behind you as you get up.

Eddie watches you slowly as he gets up as well. Your hand is still shaking, gripping the sink tightly, your knees wobble and just as he suspected you almost fall back down on the ground but Eddie catches you again. Gripping your waist tightly, he keeps you from falling.

“Okay.” he mumbles “you’re going home.” he says with a warning look on his face “come on, I’ll drive you.”

You wanted to protest, it was bad enough that he has seen all of this but you didn't have the strength to fight him right now and Eddie was stubborn, too stubborn.

“Okay.” you whisper.

“Can you walk or do I have to carry y-”

“No!” you interrupt him “I can walk.”

Eddie almost wants to laugh at your exclamation.

“Alright then, come here, put your arm over my shoulder.”

You nod, not looking him in the eyes. This is so weird. Why is Eddie out of all people helping you? Why is he so nice and caring?

You put your arm over his shoulder as he pulls you closer, moving his arm around you, he lays his palm against your waist. Through the thin material of your shirt, he can feel something, another scar. A wave of sadness washes over him, it seems as though you have endured nothing but pain. Seeing you like this was the evidence of it, the scars on your body, the haunted look in your eyes. He knows something horrible happened to you.

The drive was mostly quiet, you were on the verge of falling asleep as you gave him directions to your house. His music was playing softly in the background, not blasting through the whole car as usual.

Eddie kept glancing at you to make sure that you didn't fall asleep- and to make sure that you are okay. You looked so different today. So small and fragile. Your eyes look dull with sadness as you stare out the window.

Eddie doesn't want to let his guard down around you, he doesn't want you to know that he cares but he can't help but speak your name softly before asking “are you okay?”

You turn to look at him, surprise written all over your face. For some reason that leaves you more surprised than the fact that he has helped you through a panic attack, that he held you to his chest and stroked your hair while you cried and tried to breathe- surely Eddie would have done this for anyone. But the soft tone in his voice, his warm brown eyes and the genuine look on his face as he asked you this question almost brought tears in your eyes, no one asked you how you are really feeling in a long time. You wanted to say no, you wanted to say that you are not okay, that you have these horrible thoughts, these terrifying nightmares and this fear that latched onto you, that seems to be taking over you, over your mind, over your body.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” you say.

Eddie doesn't believe you. The look in your eyes wasn't genuine but he nods anyways and looks away from you.

He stops the car in your driveway, he hates this neighborhood, sure it looks good, big houses, expensive cars in the driveways, it looks clean and it’s pretty but Eddie hates it and he hates the people here.

“Oh fuck.” you mumble as you look at your front porch.

Eddie furrows his brows as he turns to look at you, for some reason you look even more afraid than before, following your gaze, he finds someone sitting on the steps of your front porch, smoking a cigarette as he looks directly at you with an angry expression on his face.

Eddie looks blankly at him, then recognition dawns on him. He was one of the assholes who bullied him before he graduated two years ago. He would never forget the things he said and did to him.

What was he doing here?

“Y-You know him?” Eddie asks, looking back at you.

“Unfortunately.” you mumble “he’s my brother.”

What?

Eddie’s grip tightens on the steering wheel as his eyes flash with anger. He doesn't know why his mind goes there, you clearly look terrified as you look back at your brother but he can’t help but ask himself ‘was this the only reason why you tried to be his friend back then? So you could get close to him and humiliate him, the way your brother did in middle school when he acted like he wanted to be his friend?’

Eddie clenches his jaw in anger, he feels betrayed, even though he has no reason to.

“I-I’m gonna go. Uh thank you for driving me home.” you stutter, you notice the angry look in his eyes as he looks at you, confused by the sudden change, you cower back slightly “a-and thank you for what you did for me.”

“I didn't do it for you.” he speaks coldly, his voice and his eyes were void of any emotions “I just wouldn't be able to live with myself if something worse happened after I left.”

You blink, a shiver runs down your spine at the way he looks at you. His eyes were no longer looking at you with concern or worry now, they were filled with anger and hatred as always, making your stomach drop. You hold his gaze for a moment and you can see it all in his eyes, all the hatred he holds in his heart for you and it hurts.

You nod as you turn away from him, your eyes burn with tears. You grab your backpack and open the door, you jump out, holding onto the door for a moment before you turn around to look at him “still, thank you, I wouldn't have made it without you. You saved me.”

Eddie furrows his brows at your words, at the deep look in your eyes and the way you said it makes him think that you were talking about something else entirely.

His eyes soften and he is about to speak up when you tear your gaze away from him and slam the door before walking away from his van. He sighs as he watches you walk to your house.

“Fuck.” he sighs, he doesn't know why he feels so horrible.

He watches as you walk up the steps, past your brother who gets up the moment you walk past him, ignoring him. Eddie leans forward as he witnesses your brother grabbing your arm roughly, yanking you towards him, you lean back as your brother speaks to you.

Eddie’s eyes widen as he watches your interaction. Anger flashes in his eyes as he watches you try to rip your arm out of your brother’s grip, who only pulls you closer in response as he yells at you. Eddie is about to jump out of the car but you manage to pull your arm back, yelling something at your brother before you storm inside your house.

Your brother turns around, looking directly at Eddie with a glare on his face. Eddie matches the look on his face, giving him a death glare. He clenches his jaw, he would love nothing more than to walk up to him and get in a few good punches- both for what he did to him and for the way he treated you just now but instead he rips his gaze away from him and backs out of the driveway.

Eddie sighs, gripping the steering wheel tighter. You were right when you told him that he knows nothing about you. Eddie didn't know you had a brother, let alone such an asshole of a brother.

His first reaction was to think that you might be just like him but after seeing that little interaction between the two of you, a bad feeling settled in his chest.

Was he the reason for the scars on your body?

Was he the reason for the panic attack earlier?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines

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spoops-screams · 1 year

Text

| When they realise that MC is allergic to magic

Character(s): Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

TW: Trauma, allergic reactions, suffocation, pain/ injury, allusions to/ mentions of death, hospitals, angst, self blame, spoilers for the overblots

Notes: Gender neutral MC || Yeah <3

Riddle

Riddle realises early on

He catches on after Leona's overblot when he sees the sign of you reacting negatively to something. Since his parents are well known doctors, he's quite accustomed to things like the signs of an allergic reaction but it’s different

It’s more severe than most and he isn’t so unobservant so see the black blotches that stain your skin

He goes to Crowley after consulting you, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the expression of fear that takes a hold of you after having so recently dealt with two overblots and now being told by someone that you knew wouldn’t lie to you that you might fall to the same fate

He doesn’t pay enough attention to to resignation when he says that the best course of action is to tell Crowley. You knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything, but Riddle is scared, more so than he ever recalls being

He’s never heard of this, never thought anything like this could happen and yet here you are breaking all of his belief down and leaving him pieces to at he can’t make out to try and piece them back together

After the first few times, Riddle stops feeling disappointed about the lack of help from Crowley and turns to Crewel. All he can do is request that you be transferred into his care where he can hope that, if it will be the only thing that his mother ever taught him that will be of use to him, his understanding of medicine will aid you as will the professors understanding of herbs

Leona

Leona realises at your first meeting

The smell of blot, something that he'd only ever smelt from his pen, hanging thickly around you

He can smell your weakness and he knows that you weren’t anything like you were the first time he had saw you in the entrance ceremony

He doesn't care though. Not yet

You aren't a priority. Not yet

You aren't until much later when the fact begins to eat him up inside at the idea that his hands could cause you pain, hands that wish for nothing more than to hold you to him and allow you to rest

Azul

Azul never gives himself the chance to fully realise at all

Even after his overblot he's unwilling to talk to you, much less so when he can see you getting tired, weary, struggling to breath, to move

He cares for you of course, to the best of his abilities. It's the least he can do for everything that you have done for him but it's all at a distance

But he knows that it has something to do with him. He isn't sure how, maybe it's just his insecurities again, but he can feel it. He can feel it in how your body draws in his contracts but deteriorates because of it, how magic is drawn to you but your body wants nothing more to repel it

What could he do as a source of magic, who possesses, who possessed, so much other than leave you be?

Vil

Vil realises almost too late

It’s during his overblot, perhaps one of the reasons that he falters and makes it so easy for him to be subdued after that, when he notices the way that the creature behind him gravitates towards you

It screams at him to attack you, you, only you like everything about it, every cruel thought it had ever had was because of you and destroying you would bring it a joy and relief unlike any other

But he doesn’t want to

There’s a flicker of the Vil you knew when the blot reaches out to you without his say so, and your body reacts as though you’re being burned, a hand coming up to grip at your throat as if to clear your airways

No one else reacts like that

Not Rook who’s covered in blot or Ace who has is splattered across his face

It’s just you and, when he comes to, he looks at you with eyes so wide, somehow still having retained the fear that he felt when he saw how you reacted, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself

Idia

Idia realises mere moments before you were lost to it

He’d been tracking all of the overblots, sure, and he can see all of the traces of it around you when he does so but he chalks up the fact that you’re in pain and so painfully out of it up to you having to deal with them all and he doesn’t care beyond that and the fact that he briefly entertains the idea of needing to take you in to be looked over

It’s not until after you collapse when you return to NRC, lips, skin, hair losing colour and being replaced with a disturbing grey and deep black pools of blot clinging to your skin, that he realises that he should have taken you in as well

But he’d never seen anything like it before and it’s all he can say when your body weakens further any time that any one gets close to it

He’s never cared for a human life beyond Ortho’s before but he’s downright terrified as he calls in as many contacts as he can - everyone else with the capability following suit - to help you at the idea that your death might be on his hands

He doesn’t think he would be able to deal with that and, with all of his devices blaring at the high blot levels of all of the people surrounding, he doesn’t think anyone else would be able to either

Malleus

Malleus realises immediately

He isn't sure what it is but he can feel the way that your body reacts to his magic

His entire being radiates it without restraint due to him being a Fae - a magical being by nature - and he can feel the weakening of your heart the longer that he stays around you

He doesn't understand why, not even really when he can see blot clinging to you and your body almost failing

He doesn't really ever realise that you're allergic to his very being and only understands that you must be kept away from extreme sources of magic for whatever reason - perhaps the fact that you were from another world and magicless so shouldn't be able to host blot at all

No, he only realises when he feels his heart shatter at being given the information that magic causes you harm, the first time that he saw you collapse still burnt in his mind, and isn’t quite sure what to do with himself next

He knows that the best thing would be to leave you be but whether he can hold himself to that he doesn’t know and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to make you leave him be either. Not when you’re the first person who has been so willing to approach him in years

It hurts him so much and he can’t decide between his duty or his selfish, painfully human, desire to keep you close to him

Do not repost or claim. Only reblog 💕

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 10 months

Note

Love your Bale Batman shop girl series! Was wondering how shop girl would feel if Catwoman or some other kick-ass woman came on the scene?

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Sure thing! I did go with a different kickass woman, since Catwoman does show up in the Nolan trilogy

Warnings: Light angst; fluff added for tasty goodness

You don’t really worry about the tabloids anymore. At least, not in the way that you used to. Michelle still sends you the odd article, but it’s usually accompanied by several 😂 emojis (the most notable is the one that suggested that you, Bruce, and Liz are in a throuple, and Grant is your collective beard). Whatever the press says about Bruce becomes white noise.

But…What the press says about Batman still tends to seep through.

You can’t help but notice the Gotham Gazette where it’s spread open on Rose’s desk. She’s turned away from it, reading through the approval form that you’ve brought over to her. You can’t help but reach out, turning the newspaper toward yourself and eyeing the grainy image of Batman. Your brow furrows as you draw the newspaper up to get a better look, scanning it more closely. He’s tied up in what look like vines, and nose-to-nose with a stunning, smiling, partially-masked woman.

“You haven’t seen that yet?” Rose asks, glancing up from the document. “It’s been all over the papers for weeks.”

“Has it?” You ask dazedly. You’ve managed to miss it. You haven’t been following mentions Batman as closely on social media since you started your new job—you just haven’t had time.

“Mhm.” Rose folds her arm on her desk and leans in, peering at the picture. “Apparently it’s a real love-hate-cat-and-mouse kinda thing. Hot, right?” She waggles her brows. “I’d love to see what’s under that suit.”

“Which?”

“Either.”

You force a smile at the sight of Rose’s salacious grin, but you can’t help glancing back down at the article and skimming it. You commit the name to memory and make a mental note to look her up on your phone when you get back to your desk—

Poison Ivy.

It’s probably not much of a surprise that Bruce hasn’t mentioned her to you. For the most part—apart from the odd knowing glance, the bruises on his body, and the night he spilled into the penthouse half-dead—he keeps that side of himself to himself. Alfred doesn’t discuss it with you, either, and perhaps that’s why he seems so surprised when you slam your laptop shut as he comes into the kitchen that Saturday morning, hiding your googled articles of Poison Ivy and Batman.

Alfred’s brows raise, and you offer him a nervous, guilty smile as your face goes hot. You know that you weren’t fast enough—you’d been so honed in on reading that you hadn’t heard him until he was passing right behind you.

“...Is he awake yet?” You ask lightly, desperate to break the awkward silence.

“Only just.”

“‘Kay.”

“It seems you and Master Wayne are researching similar topics these days,” He comments, swanning around the kitchen counter and setting down the empty breakfast tray.

“Oh?”

“Mm. She's proving to be a tougher nut to crack than he thought.”

You consider for a moment. You could let the conversation go, of course. You’re certain Alfred wouldn’t press it. But:

“Has he got any leads?”

“A few,” Alfred nods, bracing his hands on the counter, “Though I would recommend asking him about his ideas and methodology.”

You bristle before you sigh and slouch dejectedly, resting your chin on your hand.

“He doesn’t talk about that stuff with me, Alfred.”

“He doesn’t like for you to worry.”

“I worry whether he tells me or not. Not knowing just makes me worry more.”

“Then perhaps that’s something you ought to tell him.”

You glance up at him warily, and some of your nerves ease as he gives you a warm smile.

“Now,” He straightens, clapping his hands together and looking around the kitchen. “Despite the hour, Master Wayne is tucking into his breakfast. Shall I get something together for your lunch?”

You consider for a moment, eyes darting down the hall before you stand, shaking your head.

“Let’s put a pin in that. I think I’m just gonna…Go steal some of Bruce’s toast.”

Alfred smiles knowingly, giving you a wink before you turn fully from him and head down the hall.

The blackout curtains have been raised just enough to let a little bit of light into the room, but it’s still quite dim. You can see the empty smoothie glass on the bedside table, and the plate of toast that Bruce has put on the wide headboard behind him. Bruce looks preciously rumpled, scrubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. You can see a few light bruises on his bare chest and arms, but nothing too egregious. His eyes are still narrowed with sleep as he lowers his hands, and his hair looks as ruffled as a baby bird’s. He perks up as you come in, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips as you come closer.

“Hey, baby,” He murmurs, opening his arms as you climb into bed beside him.

“Sleep okay?” You ask, cuddling into his side.

“Fine. I thought you were seeing Michelle for brunch.”

“Got moved to drinks this evening. She had a work thing come up.”

Bruce hums in understanding, tucking you close and pressing a kiss to your head. You bite your lip, grappling with how to bring up the conversation.

“Late night?” You finally ask lightly. You're relieved when you don’t feel Bruce tense, or reel away. He just rubs his hand gently over your arm.

“Mhm.”

“Later than usual?”

“...About on par.”

“Mm.” You eye the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few moments before you hedge: “Hope you don't mind my asking–”

“It’s fine—”

“—You’ve just seemed a little tied up lately.” You give Bruce a sly, teasing smile, and it widens to a grin when you see him fighting back his own smile.

“Is that why you came in here?” He asks dryly.

“Of course not. I saw Alfred bringing you toast.” You straighten up, reaching over his shoulder, taking up a piece, and biting into it. Bruce chuckles, and you grin as he leans into you, nuzzling against your neck. You hum as you chew, your skin prickling at the feeling of his thickening stubble.

“How’s it going, anyway?” You ask.

“What do you mean?”

“You have any leads?”

Your stomach drops when you feel him go tense. He sighs softly, leaning away to get a better look at you. You reach back, setting the toast down and dusting crumbs from your fingers before you fold your hands in your lap, waiting patiently. After a few moments, you can’t help but wring your hands subtly as Bruce observes you, and then lowers his gaze to the sheets.

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you,” He finally admits. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep from shifting and fidgeting with nerves.

“Can I ask why not?”

Bruce pushes a sigh out through his nose, giving a small shake of his head.

“I can’t keep it out, huh,” He mutters.

“Well…You did for a while. Didn’t go so well,” You remind him lightly. Bruce nods, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he mutters, “I know.”

You tentatively reach out, resting your hand atop his. He turns his hand over, taking a gentle hold of yours.

“I’m not asking you to make me a suit and teach me to fight, Bruce. I just want you to let me in.”

His lips twitch with a smile as he reaches up, cupping your cheek and sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone.

“I think…That her name is Pamela Isley. She’s a botanist.”

“Why is she doing…what she’s doing?”

“That’s what I still need to find out.”

You nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you.”

He hums, grasping your jaw and drawing you in for another long, warm kiss.

“That’s never happening,” He adds as the kiss breaks. You frown, brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“Making you a suit, teaching you to fight.”

You pout, cocking your head to the side.

“I ought to know how to at least throw a punch, right?”

“We’ll see about that. It’s a slippery slope,” Bruce chuckles, patting your cheek before nodding over his shoulder. “Eat your toast.”

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half #asks #replies #anon

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accursedhex · 7 months

Text

— 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒆 𝒊𝒕?

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖.

A/N: Perhaps, I've been rewatching Hannibal. Just maybe, Jeonghan has been rotting my brain. Mayhaps, I just want him to be my partner in crime. The devil on my shoulder, if you will.

GENRE: Undecided, horror? angst? pining? soulmates?

T/W: Alludes to a corpse(s) and perhaps, homicide.

SYNOPSIS: Is he haunting you? Or are you haunting him? Is he a supernatural being? Is he even real? Or is he just everything you've kept bottled up for a little too long?

W/C: 550>

♫: end of the dream.

“Stop it,” you hiss, eyes glued to the pool before you.

Watching the ripples, the low, green glow as it glints in the moonlight above.

“I’m not doing anything,” he replies in nonchalance, you were practically able to hear the way he shrugs along with his words.

“You are,” you’re quick to snap back. “I need peace and quiet.”

“I don’t know why you’re telling me that,” he sighs, but you see him in your peripheral; you always do.

“Jeonghan, I’m serious,” you’re all sharp words and short tempered remarks in his presence this evening.

“As am I,” the familiar, smug lilt to his voice only continues to irk you.

“Well, are you going to do it?” inquires he, you could feel his gaze piercing you. The same enigmatic eyes that always manage to draw you in, much like the body of water before you. Dark, unknown, full of uncertainties— ready to swallow you whole.

“I’m trying to think— It’s hard when someone won’t shut up,” you retort, raking fingers through your hair in exasperation.

“I am hardly to blame for that,” he sounds almost disinterested, as though he was fighting back a yawn as he inspects his cuticles.

“Oh, wait,” he continues after a pregnant pause, “I’m always somehow to blame for the tricks your mind plays, mhm?”

“I said shut up, Jeonghan,” your words are followed by an assault; snatching a nearby rock and chucking it at the devil on your shoulder.

The mirage flickers, if only for a moment, before he’s reappearing just at your side. Peering down at you, head tilted, cat-like eyes boring into your own as his hair cascades down delicate shoulders.

“Take it out on me all you want, it’s not my fault you’re in this mess,” lips graze the shell of your ear and you’re shuddering, recoiling, shoulders curling in on you.

“That wasn’t me— it was you!”

“I doubt that,” he deadpans.

“Why don’t you just admit it?” his voice melted into your mind, sickly sweet.

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?” he pries; egging you on.

“Get out of my head, Jeonghan! Get out!” You tense like a spring until it snaps, you’re over him and all he does is stare up at you with a curious look. Lazily blinking as he regards you as nothing more than a pest.

“You could ask, you know,” he leans back on his elbows, head cocking. “That’s all you have to do and I’ll help you.”

“Like you helped last time? Look where that got us!” You scrub at your face, whirling away from him.

Space, you needed space from him. He was suffocating.

“Look at you,” he hums, “You can barely look at me.”

His scoffing raises the hair upon your nape; “Can’t face what you did?”

“It wasn’t me!”

“I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

The silence is unbearable, heavy as it bears down upon you. Crushing you.

“Go ahead; ask.”

Your eyes meet. You hate the self-satisfied look upon his bastard face when your lips harden into a thin line. Noting the way the corner of his mouth quivers in anticipation, a ghosting of a smirk that seemed to be ever present.

“You already know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

He’s baring his teeth and you’re not sure if it’s supposed to be a smile— or a threat.

“What do I do with it?”

“With what?”

You grind your teeth but he doesn’t falter, Jeonghan never does.

“The body.”

#edens diary #jeonghan #svt #yoon jeonghan #seventeen #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt reactions #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #svt smut

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canon-can-fight-me · 3 months

Text

Familiar Faces

Pairing: Kai3po

Word Count: 916 Words

Summary: C-3PO has a chat with a stranger. All aboard the angst train!

Warnings: Spoilers for St.ar Wa.rs Episode IX (Ri.se of Skyw.alker), mentions of loss.

“Excuse me…”

Blue eyes glance up meet his photoreceptors, and with her attention now on him, the droid continues.

“I don’t believe we’ve met quite yet.” He extends a hand to the woman, seated on a bench, sketchpad in hand.

“I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations.”

The woman stares at him for a moment, expression unreadable, before she holds out a hand, using the other to steady the sketchbook now resting in her lap.

“…Kaiyo.”

The name seems familiar, though he’s not sure why. Perhaps it was just one of the many names of the resistance members his new friend R2-D2 had told him about.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kaiyo,” he says, hand still in hers. He stiffens as he notices the ring on her finger before her other hand returns to rest in her lap. He debates asking about who holds the other ring, but quickly decides against it. Instead, he gestures to the sketchpad.

“May I ask what it is you’re working on? Are you an artist?”

Her lips quirk up in a smile that fails to reach her eyes.

“You could say that…”

She hesitates a moment before motioning for the droid to sit down, shifting her body to give him a better view of her sketchpad.

“Ah, is that…a starspeeder?”

“Mhm,” she affirms, turning the page to reveal more mock up sketches. “Ever since the fall of the First Order, I’ve had some more time on my hands.”

“This is quite an exquisite design, I must say,” Threepio compliments, “I am by no means an expert on starspeeders, but this one looks unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

He notices the human flush, what he has come to understand as a response to deep embarrassment…or flattery.

“Thank you. Well, you’re right, it doesn’t exist…yet. I’m working with a friend of mine who’s more adept at this kinda thing. They’re going to handle most of the actual inner workings. But…” she sighs, smiling, “I love creating new designs.”

The woman continues to eagerly show him more sketches, some of starspeeders like the first one, and others random drawings of wildlife, plants, and creatures. She seemed closed off at first, but she prattles on with an infectious enthusiasm that the droid can’t help but be drawn to. He feels as though he’s known her for longer than five minutes, combined with distant glimpses of her around the base. However, he was only activated a few weeks ago; such a thing, though strange, simply isn’t possible.

Kaiyo has flipped to another page, though she abruptly stops her excited rambles, eyes suddenly hardened at the sight of what’s on the next page. He looks down to see what the fuss is about and…oh.

“Is that…a self portrait?”

He is mainly able to tell because of the ponytail, though the anguished looking woman on page has a striking resemblance to the one sitting next to him, stiff as a board. Her eyes dart from the page to him, hand poised above the page like she wants to rip it off, crumple it up, or burn it. Maybe all of those things. Instead, she sighs.

“I didn’t mean to show you that. I…drew it as a form of self expression.”

He’s almost afraid to ask. After all, prying into one’s personal affairs is improper. However, he doesn’t need to pry when the words come pouring out of her like a leaky faucet.

“I drew it shortly after the battle on Exegol. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of us were happy to finally see the actual end of Palpatine, but…” she traces the portrait’s face almost as if she’s trying to comfort the sketched version of her.

“No war is won without costs. And he was a hefty one.”

“He?”

Her eyes widen, shaking her head as she realizes her slip up.

“Um…no one, I shouldn’t have said that…uh—“

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t want to talk about it, Miss Kaiyo.”

“I haven’t for a while—or at least, it seems like it, but…” she fiddles with her ring, pointedly avoiding his attentive gaze.

“My husband…made a sacrifice. It saved the galaxy, and it was by no means the wrong choice. I’m…glad he did it.”

The shininess of her cheeks say otherwise.

“I’m sure that was difficult to learn of…but I’m sure it was a choice he made not just because of the galaxy, but because you’re a part of it, too.” He pauses. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

She says nothing in return, even when he instinctively reaches up to swipe away a tear. His hand is metal, so it doesn’t help much, but it’s the gesture that counts, or so he thinks. Kaiyo seems to agree, reaching up to grasp his hand, still holding her cheek. She seems to lean into his touch, and it feels familiar, it feels natural, it feels—

“Threepio!”

Kaiyo yanks herself away at the sound of footsteps, quickly rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. The young recruit bows in apology for interrupting, explaining that the droid’s presence was requested by General Organa herself. The droid follows, bidding her goodbye, and Kaiyo watches. Her eyes flit down to the sketchpad, and in a fit of frustration she shuts it, tossing it next to her on the bench.

Dammit, Kaiyo. You’re supposed to be moving on from this. But how can you move on from someone who is only partially gone? The same person, just without everything that made him yours?

Note: I made this with the thought of “what if Threepio didn’t get his memory restored?” Because I think about that a lot and I enjoy the angst.

#rina writes 🖊️#ok.to.rb #kai3po #self ship writing #self ship fanfiction

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dindjarindiaries · 1 year

Text

Security - Chapter 61: The Siege

summary: Clan Djarin fights for their home alongside the covert in the siege of Nevarro.

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 5.88k

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chapter 61: the siege

Astra steadies herself with a calculated breath as she views the holoplans in front of her.

“Pirate King Gorian Shard is captaining a Cumulus Class Corsair carrying a complement of snubfighters,” Bo-Katan informs the group through the intercom, though Astra stands alongside Paz and the Armorer inside the Gauntlet’s cockpit. She watches the model of the ship appear in the blue light. “It has aerial bombardment capabilities.”

Astra grimaces at that. It gives the pirates an advantage she and Din haven’t seen in any of the villages they’ve helped thus far. She crosses her arms over her armored chest.

“The N-1 will distract the Corsair and her snubfighters as we drop in to liberate the planet below,” Bo goes on. Astra’s been well aware of this plan, but the mention of her family’s starfighter still makes her stomach tighten with fierce nerves. “Nevarro is an independent planet and no longer under remnant Imperial or New Republic protection. But it’s that very independence that makes it appealing for you to settle.”

Astra smiles at the memory of what she and Din discussed the night before. A place of their own, perhaps a cabin style, fully furnished with a warmth that can’t quite be put to words. It could be just in reach.

“You lived there once, hiding in the sewers,” Bo reminds them. Astra recalls the haunting twists and turns of the tunnels they explored during their escape from Nevarro so long ago. “But now, you can be heroes.”

Bo-Katan looks around the group and nods. Paz turns to Astra and gestures with his helmet towards the drop seats they’d come from. “Let’s return to our post.”

Astra nods to agree and starts to follow Paz. She stops for a moment and turns towards Bo, the corners of her lips lifting in a small smile. “Keep an eye on the crazy pilot of that starfighter, will you?”

Bo chuckles with amusement. “You’ve got it, sister.”

Astra beams at the endearment and continues to follow Paz. They return to their seats alongside the other members of the covert, bringing a rush of adrenaline through Astra’s veins. It’s been many months since their last battle at Mos Espa, aside from the quick fight she participated in against the cyborg on Mandalore. But just as Din had reminded her before, she’s been training for this, and now she has armor and additional weapons that will help her.

It’s not the battle she’s nervous for, though. It’s the fact that most of her heart remains in the sky above the village, preparing to take the heat of the attack to allow for her and the others to move in. Astra would never doubt Din, and she won’t start now, but love doesn’t allow for rationality and logic. Her heart won’t beat in its same steady rhythm until all three of them are back in her arms, safe and sound.

The drop out of hyperspace is loud from where Astra sits. She tightens her gloved hands into fists on top of her armored thighs. She wishes she could have a helmet to hide the way her lips twist in worry at the thought of Din starting the plan. Instead, she looks down, comforting herself the best she can with memories of Din’s cleverness and strength in times such as this.

“You’re a protective pair,” Paz observes, drawing Astra from her thoughts as she looks up at him. His helmet’s tilted at her.

“The galaxy hasn’t always been kind to us,” Astra informs him. The scar that stretches across her face tells the stories she doesn’t wish to relive.

“I understand.” Paz’s modulated voice is low. His armored shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. “But it seems that with each challenge you’ve faced, you’ve become stronger.” He gestures to the armor Astra now wears. “This time won’t be any different.”

Astra’s jaw relaxes and makes way for a small smile. “Thank you, Paz.”

Paz nods, letting their attention return to the task at hand. Astra can sense the Gauntlet’s gentle cruise through Nevarro’s atmosphere as they wait for Din’s signal. She taps her gloved fingers upon her cuisses in anxious repetition. Astra can only hope that Bo relays his comm to them.

Her wish is granted. After many moments of anticipation, Astra’s comforted by the sound of Din’s voice through the intercom. “The Corsair’s on me,” he informs them. Astra tries not to react to the idea of the massive ship pursuing her family. “Coast is clear.”

The Gauntlet starts to swoop down. Astra takes a breath of preparation. “Approaching drop point,” Bo announces. “First team, prepare to drop.”

Astra looks down at the floor beneath them as it opens up. She braces herself and remembers each word of warning Din offered her during her training. Her heartbeat quickens even as the Gauntlet slows down and approaches their landing zone.

As soon as the ship stops, the Mandalorians go.

Astra’s not afraid of the freefall they take before they activate their jetpacks. She follows their guidance, easing down to the surface with a vengeance. The pirates become visible even from a high altitude and each one of them becomes a potential target. Astra thinks back to their pursuit of her family in the N-1 and that’s all it takes for her to become just as fierce and focused as she needs to be.

She pities the first pirate she finds. The momentum from her fall takes him down easily when her legs kick out at him. Astra lands with ease as she draws her blast and fires a single lethal bolt. She uses her fibercord whip to capture the ankles of another pirate while a member of the covert fires their own round to finish them off. Astra and the Mandalorian share a nod before she keeps her blaster lifted and engaged, looking around the area for any stragglers.

“Area clear,” one of the Mandalorians announces, using the comm device within his helmet. “Team two, you with us?”

They wait a beat for a response. While Astra doesn’t have a helmet of her own for her comms, she can hear what’s being said through her vambrace, thanks to Din’s help with wiring and her old comm bracelet. “Team two, moving toward courtyard,” another Mandalorian responds.

The Mandalorian from before signals to the group, his gloved fingers tapping his helmet and then pointing towards the courtyard. “Move out,” he instructs, leading the way with his hefty blaster lifted. “Stay alert.”

Astra obeys, bringing up the rear as she moves at their careful pace. She keeps both hands on her blaster and pivots with each step she takes, never leaving even a single angle left unchecked. The Mandalorians around her do the same, checking every inch of wreckage for an adversary. Astra tries not to let her heart break at the sight of the pirates’ destruction.

They’re close to the courtyard when a squeaky voice alerts them from above. Astra lifts her gaze and sees a monkey lizard hanging inside the very same tree Din had once leaned against. It points towards the courtyard and attempts to communicate with them, though none of them have to understand to realize what the creature’s trying to convey. The Mandalorian at the front looks back and speaks with severity. “Possible ambush,” he alerts them. “Take cover.”

All it takes is the Mandalorians rushing to cover for the pirates’ rounds of fire to begin. Astra hides behind a stack of crates and steadies herself with a deep breath of preparation. She stands taller and lifts her blaster over the crates, aiming and firing at whoever she can get. The lack of a scope on her small blaster isn’t helpful, but her years spent training with what she already has pays off. She takes down at least three from this distance and starts looking around to see if there’s a closer place to take cover.

The whizzing of a blaster bolt just past her head distracts her from her search. Astra whips around to see a group of pirates advancing from behind them. “Behind us!” Astra calls out, turning and kneeling behind whatever cover she can manage to fire at them. Her Mandalorian brothers and sisters help in her effort, though the balance between those ahead of them and those behind them gets harder and harder to maintain. The flame of panic starts to burn within Astra’s armored chest.

“We’re boxed in!” one of them exclaims. Astra looks towards him when she hears his voice just to watch as a different Mandalorian gets knocked down by a hard bolt to his pauldron. Astra lowers her blaster and rushes to his side, using all her strength to help him get back behind cover. She investigates the armor that’s started to steam from the blast.

“You okay?” Astra asks, glancing away only to fire at one of the hiding pirates. Her bolt finds its target with ease.

“I’m fine,” the Mandalorian responds, his modulated voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you, sister.”

Astra nods at him. “This is the Way.”

She starts to observe their surroundings again, and for the first time since they’d dropped from the Gauntlet, Astra realizes that Paz is nowhere to be found. She furrows her brow, though before she can give it any more thought, her curiosities come into fruition.

Paz flies in from above and releases his heavy-duty blaster onto all the surrounding pirates. Their mediocre cover is no match for Paz, especially as the rest of the second team flies in and makes the assist. Astra stands and joins them, exchanging her blaster for her vibroblade as she engages her whip towards one of the pirates. It wraps around them and makes it easy for her to tug them towards herself. She catches them on their vibroblade and draws it from them before they collapse.

Astra flips the blade back into her boot and retrieves her blaster to advance with the rest of the Mandalorians, charging towards the courtyard with no mercy. Paz leads the effort as he clears their path with his heavy blaster, giving the rest of them the freedom to fire and aim with accuracy. Astra’s still careful with her advance, taking time to investigate their full surroundings. She recalls the balcony she and Din once stood on before and her heart falls into her stomach when she sees a weapon not unlike the E-Web Moff Gideon once unleashed in this very same town.

Before Astra can warn anyone, the pirates fire it. The first target is another one of her Mandalorian brethren, but unlike the other, he doesn’t recover. Astra tries to race to his side, but another blast from the balcony cuts her off. She’s forced to take cover and watch as more Mandalorians become victims of the pirate’s aim from above. Most of them start to take cover just like herself, but one stands tall and vulnerable, and Astra won’t let another one of her brethren fall.

Remember to use your armor, the memory of Din’s voice reminds her.

Astra activates her jetpack to fly in front of Paz, using the momentum to knock him aside before she takes part of the hit that was meant for him. The impact hits her on the right side of her cuirass, spreading a heat like wildfire through the area and taking her breath away. It knocks her back hard enough to send her into the wall of the building just behind her. She hits it and falls onto the ground unceremoniously, rolling over a few times before she stops and lays where she is. Nothing’s audible aside from the heavy beating of her heart and the distant ringing of the battle that surrounds her. Astra focuses on regaining her breath, her gaze locked on the blurry view of Nevarro’s sky above her. The sight inspires her to think of her family who soars somewhere within it. She fights to stay awake for them.

Astra’s aware that she’s being dragged behind cover, but she can’t make herself focus on who’s responsible for the action just yet. It’s the gloved hand shaking her armored shoulder that gains her full attention and awareness. Astra’s gaze meets Paz’s visor and the few blinks she takes is what gets him to heave a breath of relief.

“Thank the Ancestors,” Paz mumbles. “Stay here, Djarin.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Astra jokes, her words uttered amongst heavy breaths. One of her gloved hands covers the beskar that had been struck. She presses down and releases a tight groan at the instant soreness she earns. It’ll be just a bruise there if she’s lucky. Astra can only hope it’s nothing worse, more so for Din’s sake than her own. The stinging on her face already promises a haunting sight of bloody cuts from the rubble she’d tumbled over.

Paz stands from where he’s been kneeling behind cover and looks up. “All clear,” he announces to the group that’s left standing. “Advance!” Astra grunts with effort as she tries to sit up on her own. Paz kneels down beside her again. “Not you.” He calls over another member of the covert, each of them throwing one of Astra’s arms around their shoulders to lift her from the ground and support her. Paz uses one hand to keep Astra’s arm secured in place and the other to shoot at the retreating pirates. He speaks over the sound of his blaster fire. “Your riduur’s going to kill me, you know.”

Astra huffs with amusement. “That makes two of us.”

While she’s unable to help them shoot at their adversaries, Astra tries her best to keep her boots from dragging on the ground to maintain the same pace as Paz and the other Mandalorian at her side. When she observes him more closely, she realizes it’s the same Mandalorian she’d helped before, a thought that makes her smile despite the ache that’s already started to radiate throughout her body.

The pirates have since started to retreat to the entrance of the town. The Mandalorians remain in pursuit of them, with Paz, Astra, and the other member of the covert bringing up the rear. Astra’s surprised to see the remaining pirates halt just under the broken archway. When they get closer, she realizes it’s the Nevarro townspeople who have stopped them, led by Greef Karga himself. Astra smiles at the sight, especially as the Mandalorians close in behind the pirates and force them to drop their weapons once and for all.

“What’s their status in the air?” Astra asks, her voice still winded. Now that her end of the fight is over, her worries can rest with her husband and children.

Paz is about to respond when the sound of a large explosion from above stops him. He looks up and Astra’s gaze follows his own. They watch as the Corsair explodes in flames and begins to fall towards the mountains behind the town. Astra doesn’t miss the sight of the N-1 soaring far away from it, something that makes her close her eyes and take a deep breath of relief. She swallows back a whimper at the soreness the action produces.

“I can probably stand on my own,” Astra informs Paz through the noises of celebration around them.

The Mandalorian shakes his helmet. “No need. We’ll wait until you can rest somewhere.” Paz nods at her and speaks with a low, genuine tone. “Thank you for what you did.”

Astra smiles at him. “This is the Way.”

Paz tilts his helmet at her. “This is the Way.”

Meanwhile, Din begins his descent in the N-1, his helmet glancing back at the seat behind him where his children’s pod floats. “How are you two doing back there?” Din asks them.

Grogu opens the pod and lifts his ears in a reassuring coo. Zora claps her hands together a few times in delight. “Goo’ Papa!” she cheers through the intercom.

“Very good,” Din responds, his lips pulled tight in a smile. “You’ve both been very brave.” His chest relaxes before it pulls tight again at the thought of his wife. “We’re going to see Mama now. Okay?”

Zora cheers once more at that. “Mama, Mama!” Din locates the group of Mandalorians and townspeople just outside the entrance to the town and lowers the starfighter. Zora speaks to him as he finishes landing it. “Mama ‘kay?”

Din opens his canopy and starts to look around the gathered crowd. He searches for the familiar shine of her silver armor. “I’m sure she’s…”

His thought vanishes the moment he finds her. Din sees Astra hung between Paz and another member of the covert, her arms thrown over their shoulders and her face cut up enough for Din to notice even at this distance. His heart drops so fast he’s half-convinced it’s actually fallen out of his body.

Din jumps out of the starfighter and slides the children’s canopy open so hard that it nearly cracks the transparisteel. He urges the pod to lift up and out of the ship and closes it, leaving the sight concealed from their children for now. Din’s pace never slows as he closes the distance to Astra, weaving through whoever stands in his way.

“Hey,” Din greets, his voice breathless as he steps forward and holds Astra’s face between his hands. He grimaces at the blood and grime he observes on her. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Astra insists. She has the audacity to smile at him, a ray of beauty that shines through the terror the rest of her circumstances brings him. “I’m glad that you are, too.”

Din tilts his helmet at her in warning. “Astra…”

“Heavy-repeating blaster,” Paz speaks up. Din’s visor meets his brother’s. “She pushed me out of the way and it clipped her.”

Din inhales a sharp breath at the mere thought of it. He glances at Astra again and the lack of breathing he does speaks for him.

“It looks worse than it is,” Astra assures him. “I told them I could stand on my own.” Despite her words, Astra’s tone is laced with fondness.

“Vizsla wasn’t the only one she helped,” the other Mandalorian at her side adds. “She pulled me out of the line of fire when I got hit, too.”

Din’s hit with a confusing mixture of pride, love, and strong worry as he reaches to take Astra’s arm from Paz’s shoulders. He supports her on his own, his visor observing her more closely once she’s standing at his side. Din frowns at the smear of black blaster grime on the right side of her cuirass. “Protecting everyone except yourself,” Din remarks. He can’t help smiling just a bit to himself. “I wish I could say I’m surprised.” Astra lets a smile of her own shine at him, her eyes falling closed as her weary head rests against his helmet. Din forces himself to take a deep breath as he looks between the two Mandalorians in front of him. “Thank you for your help.”

They both nod at him before Paz responds. “This is the Way.”

Din leads Astra back towards the N-1, the pod remaining at his free side. Astra lifts her head to look at him. “How are the kids?”

“They’re fine.” Din hesitates before he goes on. “I just…”

“Didn’t want them to see me like this.” Astra finishes the thought as if she’d pulled it right from his mind. “I understand.”

Din waits to speak more until they’re back at the starfighter. He urges her to lean against the wing while he reaches for the medpac that sits inside the ship. “What you did is very honorable, and it makes me more proud than I can say.” Din takes a solution-soaked cloth and tends to the cuts on her face first. “But it was also very dangerous.”

“Well, you told me to use my armor,” Astra defends, her words lighthearted as her gloved fingers loop around Din’s belt for stability.

Din stops what he’s doing and tilts his helmet at her. “Rid’ika, that’s not funny.”

Astra sighs and raises her brow at him. “Now you know how it’s felt for me all these years.” She gestures with her head to Din’s own cuirass. “The bruise from Fennec’s rifle, your heroic stunt on Trask, the rancor in Mos Espa, that damn dragon…”

Din’s visor swings away from her. “Okay, okay, I get it.” His visor meets her gaze again and he releases a soft breath. He should’ve known better than to assume his wife wouldn’t throw herself in harm’s way for others. She’s right; He would’ve, and has, done the same. “I’m sorry I scared you all those times. I understand what that feels like, now.”

Astra lifts a hand to cup his beskar cheek. “Better late than never.” She urges his helmet to meet her forehead. “But I’m okay, really. There’ll probably be a bruise, but I’ve definitely had worse.” Astra’s eyes close as a smile of content grows on her lips. “The battle’s done.”

Din leans into her touch. “Our home’s in reach.” He lifts his helmet from her head and continues his work on her face. “And the first thing you’ll be doing within it is resting.”

Astra laughs and reopens her eyes. “Only if you rest with me.”

Din smiles and hopes that she can sense it. “Deal.”

Astra lets Din take care of what he can on the surface. He enjoys the sound of her voice as she continues to speak. “At least your training paid off.”

Din hums at that. “Did it?”

“Yeah. I got at least two of them with the whip, and I used the jetpack to knock Paz out of the way.”

Din gives her cheek a gentle tap of his hand. “Very good, cyar’ika. I never would’ve expected anything less.” He tightens his jaw for a moment as he switches the cloth for a tube of bacta. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Don’t be. They needed you in the air.” Astra’s gaze glitters with her own pride for him. “I saw the Corsair go down.”

Din shrugs and rubs the bacta over Astra’s scratches in gentle motions. “It was just as much Bo-Katan’s effort as it was my own.”

“Then it was a job well done by both of you.”

Din’s face warms underneath his helmet, but before he can muster up a retort, the pod opens at his side. Both he and Astra glance over to see Grogu’s ears lowered in worry and Zora’s lip wobbling as she points at Astra. “Mama ‘kay?” she repeats the same question she had asked earlier.

Din watches Astra melt as she reaches towards their daughter. She picks up Zora and sets her on her uninjured side. “Mama’s just fine, Zo.” Astra kisses Zora’s head and rocks her a few times. “Everyone’s okay.”

Grogu coos, earning Din’s attention once again as the little one points at the scratches on Astra’s face. Din pats Grogu’s head for comfort. “I was worried about those, too.” Din nods at him. “But she’s okay, buddy.”

Before either one of them can continue to comfort their children, applause breaks out from around them. Din turns and stands at Astra’s side to see the crowd’s migrated closer to them and the Gauntlet, which had landed facing the entrance to the town. Greef stands by the open boarding ramp while he waits for their cheers to stop.

“Thank you, thank you,” Greef says to the gathered group of townspeople and Mandalorians. He raises his voice over the sound of the applause. “Thank you to all of you, and especially to our fine Mandalorian liberators, to whom this planet is forever indebted.”

The townspeople start to applaud again at Greef’s words. Din and Astra share a look as she rests her head upon his arm. He lifts his arm over her shoulders and keeps her pulled tight against him.

“Mandalorians,” Greef addresses them with severity, “I know that we have been on opposite sides in the past, but that is behind us.” He nods at Din and Astra in particular. Din returns the gesture. “From this day forward, I, Magistrate Greef Karga—.”

“High Magistrate, sir,” Greef’s protocol droid interrupts.

The crowd chuckles with Greef at the interjection. “High Magistrate Greef Karga,” he goes on, “hereby cede all land from the western lava flats to Bulloch Canyon to the fine people of Mandalore. You may no longer have a home planet, but you do now have a home. Welcome.”

Greef starts to applaud them, but the noise is drowned out the moment Din’s visor meets his wife’s gaze again. Despite her current injuries and all the hardships they’ve faced along the way, her eyes sparkle like never before at the promise of a home. All paths have brought them back to the very place from which they came that night they first met. The Djarins have a place in this galaxy to call home.

Din won’t let anything or anyone take that away from them.

“Welcome, welcome!” Greef continues to say as the townspeople applaud. “And thank you.”

The Mandalorians cross their right arms over their cuirasses. Din keeps his arm around Astra as the other copies their movement, with Astra doing the same alongside him. They bow their heads at the High Magistrate. He looks at Din for further approval, and he offers it with a firm nod of his helmet.

The crowd starts to disperse, causing Din to lift his arm and face Astra once again. “How are you feeling?” he asks her.

Astra beams at him. “Much better.”

Din lifts a gloved hand to her cheek. “Are you telling the truth?”

Astra wraps her hand around his wrist. “I am.” She pushes herself off the ship and stands on her own. “See?” Astra gestures with her head towards the crowd. “Now, we should go brief with Bo about the battle.”

Din keeps his worried sigh to himself and nods at her. “You’re right.” He leads the way towards the Mandalorians, resisting the urge to steady Astra with a hand on her back. Din scans the group for Bo-Katan’s blue-and-white helmet, but it’s nowhere to be found. He wrinkles his brow beneath the helmet and glances at Astra. “Do you see her?”

Astra shakes her head. “No.” She looks at Din with a mixture of confusion and concern. “Where could she have gone?”

Din looks around the group again, but before he’s able to answer, Paz approaches them. “Kryze is with the Armorer,” he explains. “I’m not sure when they’ll be back.”

Din nods to acknowledge his words before he turns to Astra. “Can we take a look at your wound inside the Gauntlet, then?” he asks her. He doesn’t bother leaving the desperation out of his voice. “Please?”

Astra’s gaze softens at him as she nods. “Sure, riduur.” She takes his hand with the one not holding Zora and lets him lead the way. Din retreats to the N-1 first to grab the medpac before he takes her aboard the Gauntlet. They remain in the cockpit and Din encourages Astra to sit in one of the co-pilot’s chairs. Astra sets Zora back in the pod alongside Grogu, both of them looking on curiously as Din helps Astra to set the necessary pieces of her armor aside and lower her flight suit.

Din exhales at what he sees. The place where Astra was hit has already earned a nasty bruise, the colors spreading out in a frightening array. He reaches into the medpac and forces himself to speak. “Your ability to act as if this isn’t hurting you is a huge testament to your strength, cyar’ika.”

“I learned from the best,” Astra insists, smiling even as Din removes his gloved hand and starts to administer the bacta onto her skin. Her chest inflates under Din’s touch with a hiss she refuses to release to the open air. “This is a lot like that shot you took from Fennec.”

Din tries not to smile at that. “You mentioned that earlier, too.”

“It was the first time you really let me help you with a wound.” Astra’s since taken Din’s empty glove and has started to squeeze it between her own hands. “It was also when you…” She trails off, lifting one of her gloved hands to wrap around Din’s wrist and move his touch to the other side of her chest. Her heart beats right beneath his palm and Din’s face flushes not just at the way it races, but also at the memory she’s alluding to.

“You were still the first one to say it.” Din shakes his helmet and goes back to the work he’s completing on her wound.

Astra lets her hand fall to his empty glove yet again. “Don’t remind me of that clumsy speech.” She laughs and closes her eyes. “I felt so awkward after what I’d said. If you hadn’t responded, I probably would’ve just jumped out of the airlock.”

Din chuckles with her. “It wasn’t awkward, rid’ika.” He offers a fond tilt of his helmet. “It was perfect.”

Astra gives her eyes a playful roll. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Well, considering we’re now married with two children… I think it’s safe to say that your speech worked out perfectly.”

Astra remains silent after that. Din keeps his focus on his work as he fills every inch of her bruised skin with bacta and any other treatments he can find. He only stops when her quietness starts to worry him. Din’s visor meets her gaze and his heart twists inside his armored chest when he sees the tears she holds within them.

“Hey.” Din’s voice is as soft as he can make it. He sets everything aside and holds her face between his hands. “What is it?” He chest flames with concern. “Was I hurting you?”

“No, Din, not at all.” Astra chuckles and takes a deep breath to steady herself. She meets his gaze with a look Din wishes he could memorize and keep in his mind forever. “I’m just remembering how I felt back then. I spent so many years on my own and I wanted another home to call my own so badly. And now…” she pauses, giving her head a shake of amazement as her trembling lips spread in a wide smile, “I have a person and a place I can call home.”

Din runs his gloved thumbs over her cheeks and smiles with her. He wishes he could remove his helmet for her, but with the uncertainty of someone else boarding the ship, it’s a risk he can’t take. Instead, he urges her forehead to rest against his helmet and continues to hold her tight. “Those were all things I never realized I wanted so badly. I thought I was just fine on my own.” He runs his knuckles along the side of her face. “Then you came into my life.” Din lifts himself high enough to pull her into an embrace, his glove hand securing her head against him. “Thank you for being my home and for trusting me enough to be yours.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “And thank you for waiting so long to find a place we can call home together.”

“I would’ve waited a lifetime.”

Din rests his helmet against her head. “I know. But you should never have to.”

Din’s chest floods with an overpowering sensation of warmth that could only come from their children. Both he and Astra lift their heads to see Grogu and Zora hugging inside the pod, both of them smiling as they emulate their parents. Din and Astra laugh together at the sweetness of the moment as Din pats his children’s heads. They look at him with radiant joy, though Din still forces himself to look away from them and release a soft exhale.

“We should head back out there,” Din says, helping Astra to fix her flight suit and put all of her armor back on. “Bo-Katan should be back soon.”

Astra helps Din with her armor in silent agreement. Once they’ve finished, he takes the medpac along with some of the storage Bo had let them use on the Gauntlet and unloads it just outside the ship. Din opens the crate of rations for the covert and Astra helps him sort through it. It’s not long before Grogu coos to alert both of them, and when Din looks up, his breathing stalls with panic for a long moment.

Bo-Katan approaches with the Armorer at her side, though the Nite Owl has since removed her helmet. Din shares a nervous look with Astra and keeps her close as Bo and the Armorer stop just in front of the Gauntlet. Bo’s brow is furrowed in uncertainty as she glances at the Djarins.

“Bo-Katan Kryze is going off to bring other Mandalorians in exile to us,” the Armorer announces to the group of gathered Mandalorians, “so that we may join together once again.”

Paz has since stepped in front of the Gauntlet’s boarding ramp, as if he’s blocking Bo from going inside the ship. “But she shows her face,” he argues. His words cause chatter to rise amongst the group. Din and Astra remain silent, instead sharing another look.

“Bo-Katan walks both worlds,” the Armorer insists. “And she can bring all tribes together.”

Bo gives Paz a hopeful look. Paz’s helmet turns and Din’s surprised to find that his Mandalorian brother seems to be seeking approval from him. Din offers a firm nod and that’s all it takes for Paz to relax and start stepping aside for Bo.

The Armorer lifts her helmet in decision. “It is time to retake Mandalore.”

The crowd of Mandalorians starts to call out in fierce agreement. Before Din can even turn to Astra, Bo approaches the two of them, her gaze looking between them with the ghost of a smile spread on her lips. “I would be honored to have the two of you by my side for this effort,” Bo-Katan says, her voice low and hopeful.

Din looks over at his wife, anticipating the weariness of having to leave a home they’ve just gained. Instead, her gaze shines with determination as she raises an eyebrow at him. “One more adventure wouldn’t hurt,” Astra agrees.

Din sets his hand over her back and nods before he looks at Bo-Katan once again. “Count us in.”

Bo lets her full smile spread as she returns his nod. Din takes a quick glance around the covert with the view of Nevarro’s town sitting in the background. Their fellow Mandalorians had helped Din and Astra save the place that will become their home. It’s the least they can do to return the favor.

One more adventure, Din tells himself, though all he can do is wish upon every single star in the galaxy that this one keeps his entire family safe and brings them back to their home as quickly as possible.

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murphy-kitt · 7 months

Text

Black Cat - Ectober Day 3

AO3 Link (TBA)

Tags: Angst, Referenced/Implied Pet Death

After noticing a classmate struggling with the death of her cat, Danny decides to anonymously help her complete an art project.

Usually, she finds art class is a time to relax. The last period every Friday before the weekend, a time to wind down and forget the chaos of Caspar High whilst splodging paint on a canvas.

Bianca likes it this way. A routine. Half the time she’s not even focused on what she’s painting, but the teacher hasn’t flagged her up yet, so she must be doing something right.

Now it’s a new grade, a new school year. The class is still scheduled every Friday last period, so Bianca expects nothing will change.

Until it does.

In the form of one Danny Fenton.

He’s a new addition to the art class, and quite frankly, Bianca is surprised to see him. She hears plenty enough about his constant truancy to know he’s more absent from lessons than present.

But all in all, Danny seems okay from what she knows of him. Two close friends, an obsession with space, a kind-heart. Somehow normal, considering his parents come in the form of two hazmatted weirdos.

So apart from the truancy and absences, there’s nothing really that strikes Bianca as being odd. There’d been a rumour last year about him having glowing green eyes. Bianca doesn’t know where that one came from, but she figures someone probably just saw his reflection in the light of a ghost alarm and jumped to conclusions.

The black haired girl settles into her seat, watching other students file into the room. The teacher, Ms. Harper, fusses with the board before returning to her desk. Her eyes scan the class and the obvious gap beside Bianca.

No Danny Fenton, not yet. Or maybe never.

After five minutes of taking register and waiting, Ms. Harper claps her hands together, fracturing the casual chatter in the class to silence.

“Right class. Second art class of the year. You had last week to get settled back in, but now we’re going to put our heads down and focus properly on our new project, okay?” She pauses, diverting a gaze to the window, “Even with the ghost attacks.”

She presses a button on her keyboard, the title of the screen shown in large bold letters.

Bianca’s veins turn to ice. She’s never had a problem with the project topics they do, Caspar High always make them vague and adaptable—a way of ‘thinking outside the box’. Instantly her mind is drawn to what subject she’ll do, maybe a good thing, but she can’t bring herself to even think about it.

”Our topic this semester will be about animals. Take this any way you wish. Pets, your favourite animals, our school mascot if you so wish. You can paint, sculpture, draw…anything.”

Pets. Bianca has a cat. Or had. She still remembers him well, for the fact he only died over the summer break.

She could take it out the easy way, avoid all the emotional stress of it and draw something simple, like a bird from her backyard or the likes. But deep down, she knows she can’t. Some stupid sense of betrayal if she doesn’t make this project about her cat—one final goodbye.

And whilst her mind is a flurry of thoughts, Danny Fenton bursts into the classroom, barely exerted, blue (green?) eyes blown wide with panic.

”Sorryimlateihadtobathroombreak.” He pants out in one stumbled breath, heaving himself up on the stool next to her.

”Well…” Ms. Harper blinks, taken aback, “I appreciate your presence nonetheless, Mr Fenton.”

”Thank god, not another detention.” Bianca barely registers Danny mumbling under his breath. Ms Harper is a pretty lenient teacher when it comes to attendance, as long as you hang work in on the deadlines.

”We’re doing a project about animals.” Bianca murmurs without thinking, as Danny glances at her.

”Thanks.” He blinks, seemingly taken aback, “At least I won’t be clueless now.”

With Danny now in the know about the project, Bianca turns her thoughts back to what she’ll do. It has to be Obi, no matter what.

Perhaps a watercolour? She’s always wanted to do more practice with them. Or stick to what she knows and go with the basic pencils and paper?

Hands over her face, Bianca wracks her brains for ideas. She can still remember the scheming little imp of a cat, with his incessant meowing and clinginess—yet she loved him all the same. Affectionate, playful.

She fails to notice Danny narrowing his eyes in concern beside her.

—

The lessons go on, and Bianca finds herself spiralling into a plethora of burnout and exhaustion. These lessons are supposed to be a reprieve, but how can they be when nearly all of her work ends up crumpled on the floor? She winces, ashamed as paper crinkles under the table.

“Brilliant progress from everyone!” Ms. Harper announces at the front of the class, clapping her hands together as she continues to weave through the tables. Tables of students all doing work except for hers, all focused diligently on their work at hand.

Except for her. Maybe Ms. Harper thinks she’s responsible enough to be left alone and trusted to do work–probably why Bianca was seated next to Danny Fenton in the first place. He’s not here either, but she’s frankly glad of his absence. At least it means she can stew in isolation without judgemental eyes.

Come on, Bianca. It’s just a stupid pencil sketch. She looks at the paper on the table, the black pencil lying askew. She’d thought by using her favourite pencils and paper it would make the experience of committing to the project more bearable. The two sheets of crumpled paper say otherwise.

Just a stupid sketch. She starts with the ears, the fur on the edge of the face. A triangular nose, the small curve of a mouth, the muzzle.

And then the eyes. The drawing looks like something–a decent formation of a cat.

But its the eyes. She can never get them right.

Start again. Bianca scrunches the paper in her palm, dropping it on the floor and kicking it under the table in one quick motion.

“Sorry!” the blurted apology she’s become used to echoes the room, with the patter of strangely light footsteps as Danny Fenton plonks his bag on the table with a metallic clank.

“Bianca, your poor artwork!” Ms. Harper is suddenly by her side (probably to antagonise Danny), picking up the crumpled illustration of her cat, flattening it on the table, “Why was it on the floor?”

Because I didn't like it? Because I can’t bear to draw my cat? She hesitates. Ms. Harper is one of those art teachers that if a student says their art is bad, will go on a tangent about different skill levels and to have more self belief. And whilst Bianca doesn’t mind these tangents, it’s not something she’s willing to deal with.

“Uh–” She tugs at her sleeves, trying to find an excuse.

“Ms. Harper, I need help catching up!” As if the timing wasn’t any better, Danny slams his hands on the table, sparing a glance at her crumpled artwork before sheepishly grinning at the teacher. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

“And you would do if you attended our lessons.” Bianca feels the tension ease off her chest as Ms. Harper goes to Danny’s side of the table, lecturing him about attendance. But there’s still the risk of her coming back to interrogate her.

A final stare at the incomplete cat, Bianca kicks her small collection of other discarded works out from under the table. Discreetly, she hugs the crumpled papers to her chest, swiftly walking down the side of the classroom as to keep out of everyone’s way, towards the bin. Without a second thought she tosses them in and migrates to the sink where all the paints are stored.

Time to start again.

She "starts again" but never completes.

Each time desperately trying a new method, hoping something will eventually allow her to look upon a picture with satisfaction.

Watercolour. Acrylics, Oils.

Stippling. Scribbling. Cross-hatching.

She even tries printing off photos of Obi and gluing them in some sort of scrapbook style-but that ends up failed.

Thirteen illustrations of eyeless cats. All of them failures to capture any resemblance to the cat she knew.

Bianca tosses another drawing in the bin--it's routine at this point, when something makes her shudder down to her bones.

"This will be your last lesson to work on this." Ms. Harper announces, dousing her in horror. And then Bianca sees what she hasn't noticed in weeks, too focused on her own disaster.

Artwork, everywhere. Big canvases splashed with colour, some multiple small ones, black and white sketches. drawings filling up each table.

And her table is empty of anything. So is Danny's side. She's not sure what he's doing, but he seems to habit the bench next to the sink a lot, mixing trays of paints. So she assumes he must have a project. Perhaps next door-it'd explain why she never sees the trays of paint, or why he never brings them over to their table. If it's not that, he's absent, getting told off, or sitting with a weirdly concerned and reflective look on his face.

"Great." To her surprise, Danny approaches the table, his tray of paint balanced in one hand.

"Aren't you going to work on your project? Next door?" She asks before she can help herself.

"My project?" Danny blurts, confusion glowing in his eyes before he shakes his head. "Oh right, yeah. My...project...next door." He gestures generally, "I'm going to work on it at home tonight. Don't think I can focus on it at this place."

"I don't think Fentonworks would exactly be much easier." She raises a brow.

"Yeah." Danny huffs a laugh, "But it's nearly done. and, well, I hope she likes it."

"Ms. Harper will love anything you hand in at this point, even a plain sheet of paper."

"Ms. Harper...yeah..." He nods, his voice trailing off in silence as he grabs the paint tray. A paint tray which until now, Bianca didn't realise are all the same shades of neon green. it kind of looks like normal acrylic paint mixed with gelatine. Why does he need just one colour?

And when Bianca looks up, she swears she can the same colour glimmering in Danny's eyes.

All of last years rumours come flooding back to her mind. but she pushes them aside, more focused on the very impending deadline of the project. Submission by Monday morning. So she's got two days.

As the rest of the class departs, some reluctant to and wanting to work on their piece, Bianca sidles back to the bin to pick out her most recent thrown away creation. She clings to the edge of the bin, rummaging around the tissues and paper scraps. It's not there. A twinge of confusion enters her, and Bianca turns her head to scan over Ms. Harper's desk at a distance.

There's no crumple of paper. So where is it? She double, triple checks the bin again. But it's not there.

"Have you lost something?" A student she doesn't know of approaches her, some scraps in his hands. He looks concerned.

"Uh, no. Sorry." Bianca recoils back, pulling her sleeves around her hands.

"It's alright. " The student gives her a reassuring smile, depositing the scraps in the bin.

But she's far from reassured. Ms. Harper doesn't have her scrapped pieces. She definitely put them in the bin. They're not on the table.

The only conclusion is that another student has taken them out of the bin.

—

She can feel her nerves simmering away as she sits in her chair, glancing around the room at students with things in their hands. Their projects, presumably.

And her? She’s got nothing but herself and a backpack so flat that it’s clear there’s nothing in it.

Ms. Harper makes her way around the room, talking and inspecting each students work with either affirmation or encouragement. One thing is clear though, is that everyone has handed in something.

Danny Fenton still isn’t here, Bianca briefly observed, but she doesn’t care. She’s too worried.

Her heart plummets and her heart feels clammy as Ms. Harper comes over to her desk, paper and pen in hand.

”Thank you for handing your project in before the lesson started, Bianca. I can understand such a personal project you would want discussed infront of classmates. We can talk about it later, if you would like.”

What? Bianca feels her mouth go dry. She blinks.

What project? She hasn’t submitted anything. And certainly not before the lesson either.

”Are you alright?” Ms. Harper preens, her brow narrowing in worry.

”Oh—yes. Yes I’m fine.” She covers her confusion with an awkward cough. The art teacher gives her a small nod.

”Danny Fenton. I don’t suppose you have a project to hand in?” Ms. Harper questions as Danny trails in the room, a sheepish expression already upon his face.

“I—uh.” Danny stumbles, in what clearly is a lie.

Bianca saw him. Saw him mixing the paints by the sink, the weird green gelantin substance. He’d been doing something.

”I was helping someone else…” Danny trails off, his face flushing in what Bianca swears is a light shade of green, not pink, “I didn’t get the time to do mine.”

”Very honourable of you, Mr Fenton.” Ms. Harper drawls, her usual dissatisfaction at not being handed a project arising. “I’ll give you a week long extension for the sake of it, alright?”

”Yes Ms. Harper.” Danny nods, shuffling up to the table.

The lesson scatters on with Bianca’s nerves fizzling by the second, her confusion growing. It doesn’t make sense. She hasn’t submitted anything.

The bin was empty. She recalls. Someone has to have taken it. Someone…took her project and made one in her name? Why? Who?

From the sideways glances she’s getting from Danny Fenton, her confusion must be visible on her face, so she tries to push it aside until the lesson ends.

Students flood out the room, eager to leave, but Bianca remains put. Fingers clenched to the side of the table. Feet tapping the tiles.

”Well, it’s certainly not the first time someone has submitted their project before the lesson starts.” Ms. Harper begins as she steps from the room next door the room Danny had been working in , a large sheet of cardboard in her arms. Carefully, the art teacher flips it over and places it on the table infront of her.

Obi’s fluorescent eyes stare back. All her drawings, watercolours, pastels, sketches of her cat smoothed out onto the cardboard, no longer absent of life. The likeness of his expression is astounding—the same mischievous glimmer that she’d failed to capture.

So who had? And how?

Bianca’s breath catches in her throat.

“Are you alright?” Ms. Harper begins, “You look like you’ve never seen it before.”

”I, this it…” Bianca stutters, but she can’t form the words.

”I understand.” Ms. Harper gives her a reassuring smile, “You’re so caught up in completing the project that you never get to stop and really look and reflect on what you’ve created.”

”Yes.” Is all she can say, “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Which is true, in a way. She didn’t have the guts to complete the project.

”I can clearly tell this project is very personal to you, possibly a struggle.” Ms. Harper preens over the art. “You love your cat very dearly.”

Yes. Obi had been loved, and she missed him more than anything.

”Loved him. He—Obi. That’s what he was called.” Bianca says, and stares into the neon green eyes.

The neon green eyes.

The same shade of green Danny Fenton had used to complete her project.

—

A/N: And this is the one-shot that kicks off ectober! A bit more of a self-indulgent fic here, it was based off the emotions I felt when I gave away my cat Obi for adoption. He was a void cat (and very cheeky) so I thought, why not immortalise him in my writing for the Halloween season?

Here’s cat tax:

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt23 #ectober 2023 #black cat #day 3 #eh science #original characters

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hongism · 2 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 47

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 11.0k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns, blood ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act six ➻ part six

“What is the meaning of this exactly?” Your tone is sharp, eyes glancing over his that glow blue back at you. The gleam reminds you a bit of Nightingale, artificial and unnatural to an unnerving degree. It already puts you at a significant disadvantage to go up against someone who has a cybernetic enhancement. If it came down to it, could you trust yourself to use your Siren abilities? Air hisses through your teeth as you scoff quietly. The man ahead of you shifts his weight from one foot to the other. None of his movements can be trusted at this point, not with the hefty weight of his threat hanging over your head. You push back against the dirt and conceal Jisung’s body behind you as best you can.

“It means we’re going to take a walk, Ghost.” His chin drops as he speaks, and the glint in his eyes turns dangerous. He’s a Spectre surely; that would make the most sense for someone of his caliber, and he already disposed of a Berserker in the form of Atticus at some point with seemingly no trouble at all. Surely that means if there were to be a fight, Jisung would help you but the guarantee isn’t quite strong enough for you to put your faith in the man. “I suggest you cooperate.”

“I have no reason to go anywhere with you.”

“I’m sure Hyunwoo would not wish to see you dead. Or injured for that matter. But if you get in my way, the—”

“He put you up to this then?”

“Jisung will not be leaving this planet. You may leave without issue, but him and what’s left here of his rotten crew will remain.”

You inhale sharply at that. If Hongjoong manages to convince Minho to leave, then perhaps something else could be arranged. As for Jisung…

You glance back at the man over your shoulder. He hasn’t budged since Hyunjin revealed himself, still sitting on the dirt floor without much change to his demeanor. In fact, you can hardly tell if any of this deters him in the slightest. The terms seem clear enough in your eyes.

Hongjoong and his crew leave safely without issue, including you, at the cost of both Jisung and Minho’s lives. The reason for such a drastic turn of events eludes you for now — cooperation would surely pull some answers out of Hyunjin but it isn’t as simple as strolling out to fetch Hongjoong and coming back with no trouble. Hyunjin’s tone alone is enough to imply that you either leave now and choose to not look back, or you remain and cooperate like this.

“Then let’s take a walk,” you say under your breath so as not to startle either man in your presence into doing something rash.

“Y/n…” Jisung’s voice draws your focus, and you tilt your chin in his direction. You can’t bring yourself to pull your gaze off of Hyunjin, however, when the underlying threat to your own life remains present.

“Ladies first.” The gun aimed at your skull doesn’t fall away, even when you take hesitant steps in Hyunjin’s direction.

“You don’t have to do this,” comes your reasoning once you’re within arm’s reach of the man. He scowls so deeply that it mars his almost statue-like features into something rather ugly. A hand bolts out to snag you by the wrist, and he twists your whole arm behind your back with such haste that you can only blink twice before he has you effectively pinned.

“It’s nothing personal, doll. See it as an unhappy circumstance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately for you, you make for an awfully effective bargaining chip.”

“Against who exactly? Because the only other man here could very well let you kill us both” Your head is forced forward again when the cool barrel of Hyunjin’s pistol pushes past your hair to rest at the base of your skull.

“Is that a game you’re willing to play? We could test that theory out with a gun and a single bullet between the two of you.” Your body jerks as you’re spun around to face the other direction, and now you lock gazes with a Han Jisung who is on his feet and looking a great deal more serious. “You are gonna lead the way out that back door, and we’re all gonna take a nice long walk to someplace more private.” Hyunjin twists your arm behind your back into an awkward position that puts strain on your still-recovering shoulder. Something cool brushes past your hip near your free arm. The reality of what it is only registers once you hear the click of the safety lock being triggered. “And if you try to get handsy, then I’ll put a bullet in both of you at once. Choose wisely.”

You know from experience that your wristband is meant to default to the crew’s main frequency, the most used channel that can alert any others connected to the frequency of distress if need be. The issue, however, lies in the fact that your fingers aren’t quite long enough to reach down to your wrist to tap out an SOS code, and Hyunjin has your hand firmly pinned right where he wants it. He surely knows morse code too, so knocking your wrist against the arm he has pinned between your hip and hand is out of the question. Disarming Hyunjin might be your best bet, but with his cybernetics at play? You’re fucked in hand-to-hand combat even without guns at play.

Jisung trudges forward, glancing back at you as Hyunjin follows. Your steps are jilted compared to the Spectre’s, especially with his boot kicking into the back of your ankle with each step you try to take.

If nothing else, you need your captain.

And you had almost forgotten about your key advantage against the man behind you, the one that comes in the form of Wooyoung. You may not be able to call him into your body at this very moment as he’s surely awake by now, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to reach out to him when you’re already in somewhat close proximity. That, and it is your safest option when you’ve got a gun pressed against your neck.

“We’re heading for the cliffs,” Hyunjin announces once the three of you push out the back entrance to the barn. It lies opposite the house, shrouded by the foliage around the sauna, and in turn entirely hidden from the windows of the cottage. One quick glance through the vines forming a wall around the bath tells you that Hongjoong has departed as well, likely something Hyunjin made note of before making his move on you and Jisung. “Take the path up. I advise you to watch your step though. Someone you knew quite well had a bad fall around here.”

Jisung hesitates at the foot of the winding path and jerks to look back at Hyunjin. His eyes are full of nothing short of rage and hatred, yet he doesn’t fight back with his tongue or fists. Simply shifts back forward and starts up the rocky steps leading up the cliffs. Part of you can’t fathom why the man won’t so much as say a word in his defense, and while you admire the physical restraint he’s showing (simply for the sake of your own life and well-being), you are equally surprised that he hasn’t even swung a punch in Hyunjin’s direction. The cool metal on your neck pinches your skin as the man behind you shoves it hard into you, and with the same movement, he releases his grip on your hip and arm. It sends you careening forward onto the rocks without warning; all you can do to stop the brunt of the impact is throw your shoulder down to protect your chest.

What starts as a sharp stab of pain morphs into a dragging burn through your torso and up your neck.

“Get up and get walking. You don’t wanna waste my time or piss me off.”

“Why are you doing this?” you ask through gritted teeth, pulling yourself up to your feet almost as quickly as you fell.

“I was given orders to.”

“You don’t have a brain that can think on its own or something?”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m driven by money, and I was given a nice chunk of credits that some could use for retirement to do this.” You’re still idly aware of the pistols in the man’s hands as you walk ahead of him. You are able to keep some distance between you and Jisung, but Hyunjin seems keen on not letting you get more than two feet ahead of his long legs and wide steps. “With any luck, this is the last job I’ll have to take from Hyunwoo. I thought that was the case six years ago before you came back around.”

“Against my will, mind you,” you murmur back, unsure whether either man in your presence catches onto the words.

“Regardless… I’m ready to put you people in the past too, and I was told this was all it would take.” You swallow roughly as his words process, but it’s moreso his tone that surges with finality and fills you with dread. Hungry dogs may never be loyal, but they do tend to take the easier route out of a bad situation, the quickest path to a pound of flesh, and you aren’t fool enough to delude yourself into thinking otherwise. Hyunjin opts not to push the conversation further than that, taking your silence as a response of its own and looming behind you with his guns.

With both arms free now, you can pull your hands in front of your stomach, enough to conceal them from the shadow lurking behind you. The next decision you make is a swift one: while calling on Wooyoung for help would be the safest option for you, it also puts him in an awkward situation with Hongjoong as the captain isn’t aware of Wooyoung’s identity as of yet. Even if it means more danger for you, you know that you cannot in good conscience put him at risk of losing that secret. All it takes for you to get the message back to your crew are three short taps, followed by three longer ones and a repetition of the first sequence on the slim screen on your wristband. It buzzes around your wrist to emphasize the sequence you’ve just tapped out, and that vibration acts as the confirmation you need to know that it’s gone through to the others.

“What part do I play in all this, Hyunjin?” you ask in the hopes that you’ll get a more clear answer from the man this time around. “There was no reason to drag me along, was there?”

“Unfortunate circumstance, truly. You were in the way, and I couldn’t trust that you would simply leave well enough alone. Certainly not after the conversation the two of you shared in that barn.” When his breath hitches on his next words, your interest is piqued, and all it takes is one glance back over your shoulder to see that he has bitten back some key piece of information. “You were in the way,” he reiterates, although you don’t believe for a second that that is what he originally intended to say.

Patience is far from your strong suit, but that’s the game you have to play right now which is a struggle of its own. That combined with balancing Hyunjin’s unpredictable nature could end in many colorful ways, but none are exactly as favorable or safe as you would like. Perhaps it’s wholly childish: the way your chest aches and burns the higher you climb toward the cliffs, and the juvenile sting in the corners of your eyes but amongst all this, you truly just wish to be back on the ship, surrounded by people you care about and who care about you in return. And as much as you hate to admit the defeat of your pride, Hongjoong was entirely correct about the stupidity of letting Jisung have his way for as long as you did. Had you stopped and thought through things even a little bit more, it’s entirely possible that none of this shit would have happened.

The question that remains now is a hefty one. Do you stay out of the way for the sake of your own life or do you risk saving Jisung’s against better judgment? What’s more, is it selfish to reason that you’ve acted as a martyr for his sake enough in this life?

“Where is Hyunwoo?” you inquire in a soft tone, almost bordering defeated.

“He ought to be on his way to his family by now since your captain said he’d be out of the way by now. I need to wrap up my end of the deal within a few hours, but you won’t see him again before you’re off this planet. He’s not returning until I give the word that it’s clear to.” You take the words at face value: anything Hyunjin says could be a lie spoken with utter confidence and you aren’t experienced enough with the man to discern the difference between his truths and lies.

“You intend to kill the doctor too?”

“He’ll kill himself once he learns of his leader’s fate, I’m sure.”

You press your lips into a thin line and stare over at the man walking several steps ahead of where you are with Hyunjin. He seems resolute in the way he moves, almost like he’s shut out your entire conversation, but the blank expression coating his features leaves another implication.

Surely you could turn the tide with ease, but Jisung seems to have accepted this fate without a fight. Even if you did try to combat Hyunjin and save your former friend, would he put in any effort to saving himself?

“Why aren’t you fighting this, Ji?” you ask quietly. There’s no semblance of privacy for the two of you to share now, not with the bounty hunter behind you breathing down your neck. For a moment, the only response you get out of the Spectre ahead of you is a deep sigh.

“I already told you, little lady.” His steps don’t halt or even slow down for a second, still continuing on their endless march up to the top of the cliffs, and it won’t be long now before you reach it. “Your captain has ensured that everything would be taken from me. There is truly nothing left for me. Not here, not anywhere. If this is the closure Hyunwoo wants for all the crimes and atrocities we committed together, then who am I to deny him that now? It’s as good a time as any for me to go.”

You falter on the rocks and come to a grinding halt where you are. Without hesitation, Hyunjin steps around you and continues after Jisung.

“This is an execution,” you argue with more force to your tone.

“Maybe he means to emulate the one we planted in your head all those years ago.”

“A fake one wasn’t enough for me to witness? Now I have to see it unfold before my eyes in reality this time?”

“I don’t want you here, Y/n, I don’t want you to see there if that’s what it comes to!”

“All this fight for you to give up now? Like this?”

“I got what I was after, what I wanted. Granted, I didn’t have it as long as I would have liked but I had it nonetheless. And you’ll move on just the same, won’t you?” Jisung finally pauses to look back at you, and Hyunjin is right there to mark him down with one of his pistols. You can see where his finger hesitates over the trigger. “Turn back now and go home, Y/n. Knowing what happens here won’t give you anything.”

“If you die here then you won’t get to be buried on Kebos.” Confidence ebbs out of your tone, and the words come out in something of a hushed whisper. You imagine that if you tried to speak any louder, it would result in a fragile shattering of your resolve. Jisung laughs, but the sound is hollow and void of any sort of positive emotion.

“This isn’t your fight, nor does it have to be. What happens between the two of us once we get to the top is between us, Y/n. Haven’t I put you through enough?”

You told this man not to seek redemption, to not beg or grovel for forgiveness that would never come, but there is still some insane tug in you that begs for a crude sense of justice. It isn’t yours to serve, you hold no power over life and death — Hongjoong said it simply. Your eternal issue, however, lies in not knowing when to leave well enough alone. So even as Hyunjin nudges his gun into Jisung’s back and urges him forward, you can’t throw in the towel and simply walk away despite being given the prime opportunity to do so.

You can’t ensure that Jisung will walk away from this unscathed, let alone alive. The one thing you can do is make certain that Hyunjin doesn’t win in this situation regardless of whether he finishes his duty or not.

“Let her leave,” Jisung insists as Hyunjin grips hard at one of his shoulders to keep him from straying too far.

“I said Hyunwoo did not wish to see her injured or dead. However—” Hyunjin shifts just enough to tilt his chin and look back in your direction. He smiles with no teeth, a sort of unsettling quirk to the corners of his mouth that leaves you battling that fight or flight instinct. “The doctor was offered a good chunk of money to carry out some other business that he was too cowardly to do. I don’t suffer the same shortcomings, and the more you open that mouth of yours, the more I want to kill two birds with one stone.”

The next second that follows seems to occur in slow motion as Jisung throws his head back against the man holding him hostage. Hyunjin reels with the attack, stumbling back over the dirt-covered rocks, and you take that minute opening as a golden opportunity. Three quick steps over the rocks later, you’re on even ground with both men. Whatever bliss you felt right then as you were fully prepared to launch yourself at Hyunjin fizzles out into nothingness as you stare down the barrel of a gun that’s pointed right at you.

“Anyone fucking moves and she dies,” he hisses, moreso regarding Jisung than you at this moment. “I’ll use every fucking bullet I have on her and throw you off this fucking cliff if I have to.”

Perhaps it is merely the threat of your life hanging in the balance, or the act of self-preservation that strives for safety and peace and security in life, but the dread that fills you leaves you absolutely chilled to the bone.

You aren’t prepared to die here. If nothing else, that much is certain. You have no intention of letting this be the end of the line for you, certainly not for the sake of Jisung’s life. That in and of itself is a cold dousing of reality to wash over you, along with something that fills you with unprovoked disgust at how swift your willingness to toss him aside came. The nature of survival begs for the protection of the self at any cost, but the laws of morals and humanity call for selflessness and sacrifice for the sake of others. Though your company has been with pirates and those below the law for some time now, you’ve never spared a thought as to how that has affected your own moral compass.

Whether it’s selfish or immoral, you will not allow yourself to die here today.

“Did Hyunwoo truly leave this place to go be with his family?”

“Do you doubt my words?”

“I doubt almost every bit of what you’ve said, Starscourge, aside from your greed for money.” The tension in your shoulders does not melt away entirely, but you do manage to stand up straighter even with the threat of a bullet on you. “I find something awfully interesting, something I didn’t realize until just recently. Atticus did not come here with a rifle capable of the shot that was fired on me. Nor was such a weapon stored in the truck that brought us here. Surely you recall that my position in the military was specifically geared towards long-range shooting, that I would know little details that others might ignore. Like how many soldiers were encouraged to seek cybernetics to enhance their abilities, and how many of the shooters I trained under had eyes not too different from your own. It was the military, yes, quite different from your circumstances, but I imagine the usage of those eyes is the same nonetheless.”

Hyunjin’s grip falters, and the gun in his hand lowers its barrel from your head down to your chest. You take it as an opportunity to step forward, hands coming up from your sides as you make a crude show of shrugging your shoulders.

“Perhaps Hyunwoo imagined me to be entirely disillusioned, but I think I finally understand his game here. He asked Jisung to bring me here so that he could pin the blame for what he took part in wholly on him. In order to paint the picture fully, he brought you to fire a bullet into me so that he could frame it on one of Jisung’s men, then you were sent to dispatch that man to diminish Jisung’s resolve as much as possible. Perhaps my captain and crewmates showing up wasn’t part of the plan, but it certainly worked in your favor, did it not? Served to harm Jisung further, to make him entirely complicit to whatever Hyunwoo wanted out of him. You say Hyunwoo wouldn’t want me dead but he has already had you put a bullet in me once. What’s stopping you from firing a better shot? Hyunwoo aimed to have all this mess cleaned up today, and the excuse given for his absence was that he went to retrieve his family. But how is it possible that he would simply leave you to kill Jisung and not bother to see it happen with his own two eyes?”

You draw your hands into fists as you move further up the cliffside, but your gaze doesn’t land on Hyunjin or where Jisung has set himself. You sidestep both men entirely, in fact, with a small huff of an indignant sigh as you take a few more steep steps to reach the flat of the cliffs. The suspicion that nagged at your insides during the climb up here shrivels under the raging heat of the sun above your heads. There’s a breeze that whips at your hair and makes goosebumps rise along your skin, but the sight that awaits you is something far more chilling.

“Of course it’s not possible,” you conclude, eyes coming to rest on the figure that stands so many feet off. “You cannot shoot me in front of him, Starscourge, because his guilt already runs deep enough. Ending my life in front of him on top of that would simply eat him alive.” The figure approaches on quick feet, coming more into view with each hurried step it takes in your direction. His chest heaves by the time he comes into better view, but you already knew who he was even at a distance. You exhale a laugh through your nose. “I swore to my captain that I would not end your life, Hyunwoo. Now I think I understand everything he was trying to show me because now I realize what he pieced together when he arrived here. Maybe he is far more intelligent than I am to have seen right through you, or perhaps he had the benefit of not seeing you through my eyes. Regardless, he pulled off those rose-colored glasses when I refused to do so myself. As a leader should. You’re not too familiar with that concept though, are you?”

“Y/n—”

“I will not end your life, despite it all, but by every god that rests in our universe, I swear to you that I will put a brand on your heart that cuts so deep you will never be able to rest peacefully again without thinking of this day and the misery you caused with your own decisions. You pushed the weight of guilt onto other shoulders, put blood on others’ hands — everything you did was to preserve the holy image of yourself that you knew had been tainted all along.”

His words falter as yours cut in, mouth hanging agape and struggling to find the words that could worm him out of this situation.

“If I’m being truthful, I thought it was all about me when I first began doubting your intentions, and when you wanted to put serum in me once again. That’s quite a bit selfish though, isn’t it? To think that all your actions were solely about me?”

“It was — perhaps not everything, but Y/n, every choice I made was for you. I wouldn’t intentionally put you through any agony, I didn’t want you to be here to witness this!”

“What am I supposed to think when I see how this all played out, Hyunwoo? Do you want to bury the past with Jisung? Because I’m afraid that you would have to hunt down each one of our former team members to fully bury what you’ve done.”

“I have no reason or need to explain my intentions to you now, Y/n.” He starts in your direction, but his gaze lands past your shoulder, to the men standing behind you, and you swivel to stare at the side of his face just before he passes you completely.

“Killing Jisung won’t cure whatever guilt you’re harboring and you know that.” Albeit under different circumstances, you find yourself thinking back to San, to his former Taskmaster, and to the guilt he still holds close to his heart surrounding how everything played out. Time has passed, that much is evident, but you still haven’t released the words he shared with you then. You wouldn’t dare compare the man before you now to the one you adore so dearly, but the parallels are glaring and acting as a mirror in your eyes. “He’s not the source, Hyun. You are.”

The man reels, arms swinging out in a wide sweeping motion so much so that he nearly hits you as he moves.

“Should I throw myself off this cliff for you then, Y/n? Would that make you feel satisfied?” His lips curl into a sneer that’s foreign for his soft features, a shockingly angry expression you aren’t familiar with from the man you thought you knew. “I’m not asking for permission in this matter. If not for that man right there, you would never have learned anything close to the truth and I wouldn’t have had to even consider planting more serum in your system. Blame him if you’re looking for someone to accuse so desperately.”

“I can’t win here, Hyun,” you say, and your voice falls as the admission slips out. “If it comes to a fight, I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I can beat Hyunjin and his cybernetics, let alone the two of you combined when my only ally here is a man who has already lost his will to live. I…” Your gaze moves to the side to where Jisung stands just past Hyunjin’s shoulder. The resolve you just held so strongly slips a little. “I only ask that you do not make me lift one finger to hurt him. Do not make me watch you kill him. Do not stop me from covering my ears or eyes. Let me walk away because I will not die today. If that selfishness comes at the cost of his life, then I have to accept that for what it is. I’ve come to terms with that surprisingly fast, but that doesn’t mean I’ll keep myself from telling you the truth. What’s certain is that you are choosing to take a coward’s way out, just as I am. You’re not some holy saint who is above all morality here. Far from it in my eyes. But at the very least—” you inhale sharply as the band around your wrist vibrates violently, trembling against your skin and pulling your thoughts out of focus for a moment. The sequence comes through slowly and deliberately, and once it reaches the end you can’t contain the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

T-minus two min.

“At the very least, Hyunwoo, I will get to leave this planet today knowing that you’re on the same level as I am. I can revel in that for the rest of my life if I wish to, but I wonder if you can do the same when you look your child and her mother in the eye with blood running down the cliffs you wake up to day in and day out?”

You’re not a ghost because you’re good at what you do but rather because you get up and run when you fail.

This time, you fully intend to get up and run as far and fast as you can. If it will count as a red ‘x’ of failure in your ledger, then you suppose you’ll just have to accept that.

“Throw him off, Hyunjin.” Hyunwoo faces you as he utters the order, eyes digging holes into your features, but your focus slips elsewhere as the redhead in question starts to move to follow the command. You jerk into motion yourself as well. Your attempt to sidestep Hyunwoo is met with force, and he grabs at your bicep to yank you back into place. Using the momentum of your body, you shoulder into Hyunwoo’s chest with as much strength as you can muster, only succeeding to knock him off-balance a little bit. That’s enough, however, to free your arm from his borderline painful grip and knock him further away from you. You send yourself in Hyunjin’s direction next, although you might have overestimated your ability to catch him off-guard based on the way his fist careens into your neck the moment you get within reach. The force hits hard enough to make you choke, complete with a stumble that sends you to your knees as you reach to protect your neck from further abuse, and Hyunjin shifts to look down at you.

One hand wrapped around the back of Jisung’s shirt and the other clenched by his side, Hyunjin stands over you with the advantage of both height and cybernetics. You’re too focused on watching Jisung’s face contort with horror to see the boot that is swung at your head.

Surprisingly, that impact hurts far less than the punch to your throat, even with the steel toe of his boot knocking hard against the side of your head. You fall all the way to the ground this time, unable to withstand a strike of that magnitude, and when you glance back up at the man above you, he has his foot lifted over your face to cause further damage.

“Hyunjin!”

The mere sound of Hyunwoo’s voice rising to your defense sends disgust through your system. Still, Hyunjin offers nothing more than a sneer as he pulls his foot back to the ground beside your head, and you’re grateful to keep your face intact for the time being. It comes as no surprise when strong hands wrap tight around your arms again with the intent to drag you back. The edge of the cliff can’t be more than twenty steps away, maybe half that much with Hyunjin’s haste and long legs, but that distance is increased for you as Hyunwoo yanks you against the firm wall of his body. His broadness is his advantage in that moment too, because you can’t stop him from pinning your shoulders back with just the strength of his arms, nor can you fight the hands that reach for your face. He covers your mouth first, stopping the yell in your throat before it can emerge. You aren’t sure what good shouting would do anyway — not when you’ve already been properly isolated like this and Hyunjin has murder on his mind. You don’t see them reach the edge of the cliff either; Hyunwoo slides his other hand over your eyes to act as a barrier as he keeps you confined in his overbearing grip on the pale dirt of the clifftop.

“Boss…”

“Do it now, fuckwad!” Hyunwoo’s breath is hot against your ear. If you could recoil away from it, you would, but he yanks you closer the moment you start thrashing. “I’m doing what you wanted. Covering your eyes, keeping you from seeing this, protecting you from the trauma. If you want, Y/n, I can take it all away after this. I can fix this.”

The grip against your cheekbones hurts desperately, but you fight through it just to clamp your teeth around Hyunwoo’s finger. You bite hard enough to break skin, enough to make blood touch your tongue and sour your taste, but it doesn’t do anything to free you from the prison that is Hyunwoo’s grip on you. He jerks his hand away just to bury it in your hair, blunt nails scraping hard over your scalp and leaving scratches in their wake, and a sharp cry of pain tumbles out of you when he yanks so hard that you feel hair rip right out of your head.

“You don’t want to fix this! You want me to forget this!” you shout, still writhing against his arms. It feels entirely helpless, a strength you simply don’t possess required of you to free you from this predicament.

“You don’t have to remember this!”

“Making me forget won’t change what you’ve done, Hyun! You aren’t some holy deity—” you slam your head back with all the force you can muster to no avail “—this isn’t your right. This — this isn’t…” Your voice dies in your throat. A gunshot resounds loud and clear. Hyunwoo drops the hand over your eyes. Across the rocks and dirt, Jisung stares right at you, Hyunjin’s hand still curled into the fabric of his shirt as he gets dragged closer to the cliff. His hands don’t fight against the tug of his neckline digging into his throat any longer, but rather reach down to clutch his knee. You can see the red from where you’re slouched on the rocks.

Both of Hyunjin’s pistols remain pressed into their holsters against his thighs, and Hyunwoo’s hands are fully occupied with keeping you in place. The bounty hunter pauses too, clearly just as confused as the rest of you about where that shot just came from. Movement flickers on your right over close to where you initially climbed up. You get an eyeful of brown flashing in front of you before your eyes finally bring the sight before you into full focus. Whatever relief you hoped to feel at seeing Hongjoong up here with you snuffs out like an extinguished flame because all though he looks right at you, the gun in his hand has its barrel set right on where Jisung is propped against Hyunjin’s body. The feeling is something close to a betrayal.

“Now that I have everyone’s attention, how about we have a fucking civilized discussion?” He lowers the gun to his side and extends his unoccupied hand in your direction. “Give me what’s mine first.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Hyunwoo hisses against your ear. You grimace as he tugs your head further to the side. “How the hell did you tell him where you were?”

“Let her go immediately, you dog, or I’ll put a bullet in your head too.”

Your scowl deepens and you fight to shake your head.

“You want her? You really want her that fucking bad?!” Hyunwoo laughs so hard he spits against the side of your face. It comes with some relief at least as he eases up on the iron-tight grip he has on your hair. “Let’s see how well you can fly, little birdy.”

“Shoot Hyunjin!”

Hongjoong’s aim flies up to land on Hyunwoo rather than the man you’ve just shouted for him to target, but you fall into the line of fire as Hyunwoo yanks you up like you’re nothing more than a meat shield.

“Take that risk, captain, see how it pans out for you.”

Scrambling for some sort of footing that will give you something less painful than a dragging burn across the backs of your legs, you kick at the ground with all your might. Hyunwoo’s strength advantage prevents you from defending yourself at all. The thought to kill him is very much alive and present, but you aren’t even positive that you could turn your body enough to get a good grip on his chest to begin with.

“We can see which deadweight hits the bottom first though if you’d rather.” Hyunwoo lets you push yourself up on trembling legs long enough to yank your head back with enough force to make your neck pop in ways it shouldn’t. You see it then, the burning rage flickering to life in Hongjoong’s eyes and the way it bleeds to all of his features until it seems to envelop him in a thick fog of absolutely murderous intent. His shoulders lose tension in the same moment and fall back into a straight line despite how he hones his gun onto a new target.

You feel the bullet before you hear the gun fire. The whizz in your ear, the lightning-quick speed of it as it travels past your face with so much speed that you don’t realize where it’s impacted until the grip on your body goes slack. It lingers just enough to hold onto you a moment longer, to pull you back and you’re in such a catatonic state of shock that you nearly don’t catch yourself from going down too. Reality catches up a split second later when your heel slips off the steep edge of the cliff, and you launch yourself forward.

Your left ear is ringing horribly.

There’s a shout, one full of pure venom, and your vision spins as you fight to find the source. Red blurs in your peripheral. You turn just in time to see Jisung teeter at the edge. Your body moves before your brain can process anything that is transpiring around you. All you know is that your next step has you jolting towards Jisung as he slides off the cliffside like it’s happening in slow motion. Your hands catch his before he goes over the edge fully, but there’s not enough strength to keep his body from fighting the weight of gravity. His weight forces you to slide across the slick dirt, closer to a doom that sends you to your death right there with him. You have no choice but to release one of his hands to keep you both afloat, and by the grace of whatever gods are out there, he has the mind to grab for the sharp edge of the cliff before he falls any further.

Something warm trickles down the left side of your face, following the line of your jaw to pool at your chin. When it falls, it falls in crimson and blooms on Jisung’s cheek.

“Jisung, Jisung, oh my god, Jisung.” The sound of your voice in your own perception can only be compared to a speaker trying to play music through water — distorted and muffled to near incoherence — and your ear is still ringing. There’s some sort of commotion going on behind you, one that you cannot see because you don’t dare to take your eyes off Jisung out of fear that he’ll slip through your fingers if you do.

“Let me go, Y/n.”

“Stop, stop, stop it!” Moisture is pooling in your eyes now too, threatening to drip down to join the blood that paints Jisung’s face. “Everything I just sacrificed for you, and you want to die? You aren’t allowed to die!”

“What happens if you don’t let me go, little lady?”

“I save you! Just once, let me save you.”

“You said you didn’t want to. That I wasn’t worth it.”

“I can’t give you redemption, that’s what I meant! But I can save you.” Your voice shatters, and tears start to fall. In some way, it looks like rain on Jisung’s skin. Your arm aches and burns for relief so much so that you throw your legs out behind you and lie fully prone at the edge before bringing your other hand to clasp around the one you’re using to hold the man up. “Please, please, I can do this, just this.”

“You can’t.”

You don’t hear those words fall from his lips, just see the motions of his lips as he whispers them to you, but that ringing blocks out the sound.

“Let me go. Please.”

A cry tears from your lips.

“Y/n, can you hear me? Y/n!” The voice comes from your right, closer than you expect it to be, but Hongjoong further announces his presence by laying a hand over the small of your back.

“Please, p-please don’t let me drop him.” Hongjoong’s fingers curl into a fist against your back. You don’t know what look is exchanged between the two men; all you know is that something is shared between the two of them in that moment as you’re clutching desperately to keep Jisung with you.

“Y/n…” You can hear Hongjoong better on your right side, even through the faintness in his tone.

“Please,” you choke out as you dip your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut as hard as possible.

It comes in that moment, with Hongjoong’s hand sliding up to grip your left shoulder and as you clasp your hands tighter around Jisung’s like it will save him. A wave of emotion sweeps over you, along with a realization about what’s just transpired. Your eyes snap open, you jerk to look to the side, and what you find there is—

Nothing.

No one stands there, no remnants or proof of anyone aside from some scuffs in the dirt from where you scrambled to keep yourself alive. Hyunwoo certainly doesn’t stand there. The crack of the gun, the whizz of the bullet: they both catch up to you with a dawning horror that Hyunwoo has tipped over the edge of the cliff. It makes your brain short-circuit a little, fries your neurons, and makes your thoughts go haywire. And when that settles in, your body gives up on itself. Your fingers are cold and shaky as Jisung slips through them. Your vision, red.

Jisung slips through your fingers just like that, and no matter how hard you try to reach for him, it’s as though your fingers are made of air, incapable of grasping his as gravity takes over.

Hongjoong moves faster than you could ever hope to, using the grip he has on your shoulder to yank you back and away from the edge with breakneck haste. He’s only assisted by your body’s natural response to curl in on itself as you tumble across the rocks. You scramble to put more distance between yourself and the cliffside, sobs coming out in pants, and you finally come to a stop on your hands and knees a few feet from that edge.

There, in that spot along the cliffside with an endless stretch of empty air between you and the ground, you sit with knees pressed into the dirt so roughly that it burns a bit. And at your side — your captain, the Scourge of the Black Sea who just reared the cruelest weapon he has in his repertoire: his will to make a choice, be it good or evil, just or immoral. You can’t claim to know how the scales tip in matters like this.

What you do know is that there is a long trail of bodies following you on this planet, and with that comes the burden of those losses that now rests upon your shoulders.

Chest heaving, you lift your chin to glance over at where Hongjoong kneels on the ground. He isn’t in much better shape, if you’re speaking honestly, because he too is struggling to catch his breath and has sweat dripping from his hairline down to his brow as the exertion of what he just pulled off catches up to him.

Adrenaline is melting away with shocking haste. As it goes, so comes reality in its wake, but you aren’t certain you are ready to face all of it.

Hongjoong wets his lips before huffing out a deep exhale. His sharp gaze searches to make eye contact seconds later, and you’re caught staring.

“You have got to stop putting us through life or death situations like this. I’m not as young as I once was.”

In a strange twist of irony, it’s awfully difficult for you to voice your gratitude to the man. For someone who just held so much power over you in the palm of his hand, he’s acting rather nonchalant about the whole situation. For someone who claims not to care one bit about you beyond a key to his unknown treasure, he seems to be at odds with that in his own mind. That conflict is evident enough in his eyes, yet there’s something so slightly reserved in the way he glances over at you out the corner of his eye. Your chest aches for a different reason entirely, heart still thumping away at a pace that might send you to an early grave, but even if that pain wasn’t present you would still label the emotion he’s conveying the same way.

However odd it may be, Kim Hongjoong feels sorry for you in that moment.

He pushes up off the dirt, palms hitting the rough ground with enough force to make you think he’s hurt himself. You wince as you watch him but that concern turns to confusion in the blink of an eye. He moves closer to where you’re still knelt on the rocks then drops to his knees once more right in front of you with the same kind of self-inflicted brutality. When he brings his hands down on your shoulders, it’s nothing but a gentle sort of impact compared to what he’s just done to himself.

“Hear me when I say this, Y/n.” At the very least his grip on you is keeping you from doing something potentially detrimental, keeping you from looking down over the edge of the cliff and staring down at the barely visible ground below to see if there’s anything left there. And if there isn’t, then maybe you’d feel a need to send yourself down alongside him. Nothing about it seems fair to you — in all the ways you thought of this exact outcome, this situation was so incredibly out of your mind that you aren’t sure you would’ve been able to conjure it up even in your worst nightmares. “I will bury him.”

The thought of there even being a body that needs to be buried sinks the icy knife of reality through your chest. Your face contorts as you fight back the tears that keep springing into your eyes. Hongjoong’s grip turns desperate.

“I’ll bury him for you. You won’t have to do a thing. Leave it all to me, I will see it done. The way he wished, I will grant him that rest.” It remains unspoken, but another promise lingers between the two of you. Tears hit your cheeks, and you force yourself to look away from the captain.

In reality, there are no words for your gratitude. Just for once, there’s this split-second moment of recognition in each other that puts you on a level playing field. All this time, you imagined you had different goals and ambitions, a certain alignment of morals but nothing further than that and absolutely not a total overlap. You’ll be content even if this is the only offer of humanity he grants you to see.

There is no room for remorse in this line of work, nor is there time to debate what your morals look like when you’ve got the ledger you have. And yet —

And yet, your captain is granting you both of those things along with the not-quite verbal allowance to grieve.

I will grant you that rest as well.

…

Part of you expected the faces that would be waiting on the other side of the door when you got back, Wooyoung’s hand looped around your waist to keep you steady on your wobbly legs that have been used to their limit today, but the innate relief that flows through you at the sight of Jongho there makes your chest ache and burn. You push yourself towards him with so much force that it surprises even the Berserker, nearly making him tumble before he catches both you and himself. The hug is instinctual and reciprocated though, and you fold your arms about his neck and tug him as close as you can manage without crushing either one of you.

“San is in his ro—”

“I missed you too, Jongho,” you interject, voice soft and kept barely above a whisper as the comfort of his touch spreads further through your system. “I missed you desperately.”

You can feel the way he swallows against your shoulder, how his fingers seem to dig a little deeper into your clothes, and the shaky exhale he lets out betrays how he’s feeling as well. If you close your eyes, you still see the horrors of what all happened today on the backs of your eyelids. The blood has been cleaned away from your face thanks to Wooyoung’s gentle and caring hands that took both tears and blood off you while Minho doctored the worst of your wounds. There’s a hole in your ear now, on the outer part of the shell that isn’t anything close to a piercing hole. Rather it’s a half-circle chunk right out of the cartilage, bandaged awkwardly but just enough to contain the bleeding. It came with a round wad of gauze stuffed into your ear canal to keep the blood from dripping in deeper, but also to protect your now ruptured eardrum that accompanies the wound.

In hindsight, the whole scene was terribly… awkward, for lack of a better word, because no one dared to say a word between the three of you aside from Minho’s quiet instructions on how to tilt your head. No words were shared about what was happening just outside the cottage, nothing about what Hongjoong and Yeosang were doing, or how Nightingale and Seonghwa both arrived the moment Hongjoong brought you down from the cliffside because apparently, Hongjoong had called for backup the moment you sent the SOS signal. And, as it turns out, it isn’t hard to convince a man who just lost the last figure tethering him to his captivity that he’s free. It doesn’t mean that stepping onto the ship with Minho in tow felt any less unreal, however.

Bodies move around you, Hongjoong peels off in the direction of the bridge with Seonghwa and Nightingale in tow. Wooyoung appears on the other side of your peripherals.

“Come now,” Wooyoung murmurs, hand outstretched to Yeosang, but his gaze doesn’t pull up from the floor. Yeosang seems to calculate his options in real-time right then as his eyes flick from the offending hand to the man who won’t look him in the eye. His decision, however, comes quickly. Without a word, he slips a hand over Wooyoung’s palm and lets the man grasp him with a tight squeeze. You swallow the growing lump in your throat as you watch them walk away and down the hall, moving off to the living quarters without looking back once.

“Don’t think any of us realized how much we’ve grown to care about you until you disappeared.” Jongho hesitates to clear his throat as quietly as he can manage. “Also don’t think we can handle losing any crew members from this point onwards. Thank you for coming back.”

“Let’s shackle me to the bed this time around so there’s no chance of me leaving again, yeah?” The joke isn’t spoken with humor at all; your tone is far too hollow for that but Jongho does not offer a comment on that at least. He has to know something: he knew enough to be waiting here at the door.

Jongho’s laugh rumbles through your body, and it fills you with a much-needed warmth that you know can’t be replaced.

“I’ll even get better at cooking eggs just the way you like so you have more incentive to stay put.”

You don’t say anything in response, and yet Jongho doesn’t let you go even in spite of that. He doesn’t try to take anything from you either. You can’t know whether there is a particular reason for that, but it does feel like a silent show of respect, to let you feel your grief at its fullest as it’s meant to be felt.

“We’re here for you, Y/n.” For some reason, those words only make you want to cry.

“I know you are.” A bitter thought creeps up on you before you can stop it. Perhaps Soojin ought to get the hell off this ship before you get her killed too if that’s the trajectory you’re headed in with this recent track record of yours. You push your head further into Jongho’s shoulder to dispel the thought. “Please stay with me.”

“Of course.”

When you pull back, he doesn’t let you go for long, hand reaching out to wrap around one of your shaking ones and squeezing tight.

A million thoughts race through your brain, Jongho’s palm is warm against yours still but he’s patient with you as you fight to figure out something as simple as what to do. You don’t want to address the reason why right now but you don’t want to face San right this instant. It feels too close to home (too close to Echidna, that is) and maybe seeing a reflection of San manifested in Hyunwoo (who is now dead as well) is too much for you to bear today.

What you can muster the courage to do is well and truly express your gratitude to Hongjoong, despite the horror of one of the choices he made. Even with your inhibitions, you know he saved your life. You know he risked his to do that. And through the pain, you also know he did what he had to do to ensure your safety.

Slowly, you squeeze your fingers around Jongho’s hand.

“I’m gonna go up to the bridge,” you whisper, gaze flicking from his red ones to the walls several times before finally settling. Minho glances at you from near the airlock. His face is grossly solemn. You wonder if he too will mourn his losses.

“Go on ahead.” Jongho lets go of your hand, almost nudging you onwards as he does, then he shifts to face the doctor who is currently trying to make himself invisible against the wall. “I understand you’ll be joining us? My name is Jongho. I can show you around if you’d like, maybe get you somewhere more comfortable too?”

Minho clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. He offers nothing more than a nod and follows Jongho’s hand motions to be led the opposite way.

You try not to make much noise as you approach the bridge. Voices — well, Hongjoong‘s — can be heard from inside before you even get close, but you still try to make yourself as insignificant as possible as you prop yourself against the wall of the archway and peer inside to find a scene of Hongjoong standing in front of both Seonghwa and Nightingale.

“We collected the bodies… I put the Starscourge over the edge as well. Yeosang buried Hy—them… both… there, near the house, with my help. He took care of the other body too, wrapped it, and put it in the truck. I brought Y/n down from the cliffs after that was done. You know the rest. Jongho is bringing the body aboard; we’ll put him safely in cargo and make an immediate trip to Kebos.” You don’t question how Hongjoong knows of that to begin with: perhaps he was allowed that information when speaking with Jisung one of those days, but you don’t stop to think about it further because all it does is bring an image of face stained with your blood to mind.

“All these pit stops, huh? You sure she’s the one trying to save you here, Captain? Because it looks an awful lot like that’s what you’re trying to do to her instead.”

“Nightingale.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” The man relents, hands thrown up in the air by his head, and he slips away from Seonghwa’s side to leave the bridge entirely. If he’s shocked to see you lingering, he doesn’t make that known at all; in fact, he barely acknowledges you as he passes you, huffing out a laugh through his teeth when he goes.

“What of his family?” you ask, but you can’t bring yourself to say the name of the man on your mind. Seonghwa, as clueless as he no doubt is right now, has the decency to not ask questions. His gaze bores holes into you, however, and you don’t doubt that Hongjoong has already shared more of the gruesome details about what happened with him.

“It was you or him, Y/n, forgive me for the choice I made.”

“Who could have imagined? The Scourge of the Black Sea feeling guilty about the choices he made.”

You once again find yourself privy to a conversation hardly meant for your ears, though this time the tension hanging about feels so much more palpable. Lingering by the doorway, you silently wonder if you should excuse yourself early, spare yourself the trouble and the stress, and leave your gratitude as it is — an already difficult pill to swallow that won’t be made any easier by laying it at your captain’s feet.

“Did I leave you alone for that long, dear? Have you already grown bitter in my brief absence?” It’s a low blow, you can understand that much just from the scoff that falls from the other man’s lips seconds later, but Hongjoong’s tone is so sharply conniving on top of it that you’re certain anyone could gather that much.

“I hope it was well worth it this time, Hongjoong, because I fear even the Devil himself would see you as too evil to walk through his doors.”

“And I’m certain you would adore living to see that day, my dearest Lieutenant. You’d be sat right inside the foyer waiting to see it happen.”

They don’t face each other directly; if they did, you aren’t sure things would be as civil as they are now (a debatable concept, at that). You don’t have the foresight or understanding that both Yunho and Minho share as doctors, although you can only assume that the conversation would be a much more physical (whether with fists or a battle of stroking egos by taking a tumble in the sheets) if they were to be nose-to-nose with this tension surrounding them. Instead, they stand perfectly adjacent to each other, both facing opposite directions as Seonghwa is aimed to take steps in your direction and out the door while Hongjoong himself seeks to go further towards where his door resides. There’s but a fraction of air between their shoulders, Seonghwa’s standing a few inches taller than his captain’s with both of them in flat shoes for once, but that difference in height does nothing to deter the aura rolling off of Hongjoong in waves.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them at odds — you don’t dissuade yourself into believing it will be the last either — however it is by far the most impactful you’ve witnessed to date.

“I never claimed guilt. Not towards anything I’ve done. If I felt guilty, I would turn myself over to the men who lose sleep over my existence in this pitiful universe.” Hongjoong takes two steps forward, fully prepared to leave Seonghwa behind him entirely even with the older man’s head twisting to track the movements.

“Then what of me? What of my guilt?”

“Do you wish for me to bear it on my shoulders so you can sleep comfortably at the Devil’s side?”

Seonghwa responds with silence, an answer in and of itself.

“You get to carry that weight yourself, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong hisses through his teeth, scathing in both expression and tone as he hurls the words back at his second-in-command, “because you turn your back every single time there is an opportunity for you to do the proposed morally just thing to do. I will carry every burden you have every second of my life if you ask me to do so, but guilt?” The word sounds like an incredulous profanity on his tongue. “Push that onto me and you won’t get to see the downfall you long for so dearly.”

“As you wish, Captain.” Seonghwa’s voice comes out so faintly you can hardly hear it from where you lean against the archway across the bridge. It does not take much to realize there is more he wishes to say, more that remains unsaid, and words that probably will never reach Hongjoong’s ears in this lifetime or the next. Instead, the Siren inhales for four seconds then holds it there for almost double that, and when he exhales, he does so through parted lips for twice as long. Whatever he is feeling in this moment is withheld from you, no doubt intentionally. ”I’ll be relieving myself of my duties for the rest of the day.”

“See to it.”

Seonghwa’s exit is a hasty one, one that comes with a whoosh of air as he sweeps past you on his way out without so much as stopping to glance in your direction. You would almost feel invisible if not for the brief yet tender graze of his hand over your forearm; the soft fingers that brush over your wrist and linger for nothing longer than a second.

It takes every ounce of your willpower to not wince or double over once he crosses the threshold of the archway, what must serve as his metaphorical line to be crossed as he no longer holds back on letting you feel every bit of the emotions coursing through his system right now. You would almost rather have witnessed a fight breaking out, for Seonghwa to break skin and shed blood rather than have to walk away nursing a deep wound to both his pride and the love he feels so deeply for his captain.

When you pull your gaze up to stare across the room finally, it’s only to find Hongjoong staring directly back at you with an indiscernible expression tugging at his features. You clear your throat as a subconscious reaction to dispel the awkwardness that has been left in Seonghwa’s wake. Hongjoong opts not to speak either, however, and that serves to push things further into the realm of discomfort. Although it remains unspoken, a question hangs in the air of whether you intend to stay or leave in a similar fashion to the man who just took a hasty departure from the bridge.

It, in hindsight, is not at all a tough decision to make for you. Of the two choices laid out before you, one is decidedly better while the other is worse, and it would take an absolute fool who knows nothing about you to be confused about which is which in this situation. You think back, albeit briefly, to the words you shared with Hyunwoo on the cliffside, the ones about your fears and cowardice. Yet, what you see before you is a trap, one carefully set by a vulnerable yet volatile man who could easily turn the situation into one that is advantageous to him permanently and you briefly. You imagine he has been in this position before — one where he can take as he pleases without thinking of the consequences of his actions — and where you stand, in a vulnerable spot yourself, you feel that tug to be near someone on equal footing. Wonder persists in your mind as you question where that is how Yunho initially fell into bed with him some time ago, or even further back to the first time Seonghwa was with him.

You cannot pinpoint which choice lends you towards cowardice. Turning slowly at the mouth of the entry to the bridge, you drag your gaze off Hongjoong’s, and as you do the slight pleading in his gaze burns away into ash. If he has realized that you’ve caught onto his game, then you’re none the wiser.

It’s a grossly easy decision you make as you turn and follow after Seonghwa down the hall, leaving Hongjoong to stew alone on the bridge.

✧✧✧ a/n: can u believe this isn’t even the end of the act. LFKJSLK okay but real talk for all the girls thems and hims! hello. hi. im so sorry for the immense wait for this one. i was fighting for my life through the action scenes i WILL NOT LIE. i struggled HARD. i had all the puzzle pieces but was just smashing them together like PLEASE. DO SOMETHING. and then... something cliqued! there will be an interim posted soon! stay tuned for that! then we’ll get into the last chapter of the act!

as always, please share your thoughts! scream, yell, cry, say anything and everything however you like (don’t be mean to me tho LDKJFLS) i know this one is a heavy one in terms of content so there is MUCH TO DISCUSS. kisses for everyone i love u all thank u for the continued support and patience im. so dearly grateful.

Mists of Celeste is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#mists of celeste #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #ateez fanfic #caly.writes

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queenofalpaca · 1 month

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PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT MERMAID BODE 🖤🖤🖤

Yes! A second ask! Of course I’ll tell you about mermaid Bode 🩵 (I actually got curious about this one when I found it in my wips and went back to check it out so lucky you, this one’s fresh in my memory)

So this wip came from me wanting to participate in MerMay someday and deciding I needed an idea. Lo and behold, my brain promptly complied and came up with this. Sadly there’s no snippets to share (yet. Perhaps we’ll make this may my first MerMay) but I have some concepts/ideas.

First thing’s first:

Who’s who?

Well, Bode is a mermaid/merman. The sort that can shift into a human. And here comes the fun part: my half-asleep brain decided all good mer shifters need to be mute (Ariel style) so Bode’s got to be mute. Why is he mute? Because there’s a superstition about mermen being sirens and someone made sure to damage his vocal cords to take his voice. He’s got a nasty scar on his throat from it too. Additionally, this au was created around the time I was taking a sign language course at uni, so I feel I have at least the beginnings of an idea of how it works and what to watch out for when writing a mute character. I will have to do more research but at least I have a head start, right?

Now, of course this is SpyScrapper (I say, despite the fact that SpyScrapper always seems to come second to everything I write having to be about Bode first and foremost), so Cal’s here too. I’m not sure what his exact relationship to Jaro was in this verse but in any case, Jaro ended up dead because of mer-people and Cal got his famous cheek scar from that encounter. He’s then taken in and raised by Prauf because we love him. Cal’s obviously got big trauma about mer-people and the ocean in general.

All the other characters may feature as I need them, but they don’t have a concrete role to play as of rn.

The Plot

You can guess where this is going but I’ll spell it out anyway. Cal and Bode meet at a bar. Cal catches sight of the big cutie and goes to introduce himself. Bode is pleasantly surprised by Cal’s ease around the fact that he’s mute. They communicate by writing/drawing out letters in Cal’s palm before they get a pen, the scraps of sign language Cal picked up (spontaneous idea: could this be where he picks up the nickname?), and a lot of lovingly gazing at each other of course.

Something something, they go on a few dates, something something, they start falling in love (not yet sure what to do about this part). Cal being scared of the ocean comes up. Bode starts helping him work through it. Side note: Bode does have scales as a human, but they’re so light, they can be mistaken for strange scars. Thus, Cal doesn’t know he’s been falling in love with a mer. Big angst when he finds out. I’m thinking something with a big storm, choppy waves, potential almost drowning or something. Whatever it ends up as, I’m sure it’ll be fun, heh

That’s about as far as I’ve gotten. But man, now I really want to actually write this.

Hope that satiates your curiosity 🩵 I really wish I had a snippet to share, but rest assured, when I do, you’ll be the first to know about it

#bode akuna #cal kestis #jedi survivor #spyscrapper #mermay #mermaid!Bode

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 8

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

chapter summary: it continues to be a push and pull between her and Joel. Will they be able to overcome each other's steel?

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence and gore, references to smut, angst

a/n | happy TLOU night :) I consider this chapter to be sort of a set up for the next leg of plot to this story, but there's plenty of angst to sink your teeth into here

Spring has pulled her verdant arms over Jackson, and Summer is close on her heels. The days are getting longer and brighter. The greenhouses are dizzyingly full of fresh produce. Ellie brings home a bowl of strawberries one day, and the taste makes Joel’s eyes water. But it’s not just the landscape that’s been set in a full thaw. She has all but officially moved in with him, each week a few more of her belongings finding permanent residence in his space. There’s a stack of her books on his nightstand, a folded pile of her clothes in his closet, two toothbrushes sitting in his bathroom.

While they go their separate ways in the morning, she is always at his place for dinner, talking easily with Ellie, helping in the kitchen. The first couple of times, Joel had found the scene strange, almost absurd in its domesticity. But, perhaps dangerously, he had easily gotten used to it because he liked it so much. She always spends the night, and when they tangle together, it’s like the first time all over again. He’d devour her if he could, that’s how much he wants her. The way she sighs his name when pleasure strokes down her spine, her nails grazing the expanse of his back, the taste of her and the way she preens into his mouth. They fall asleep most nights bare and slick with the salt of pleasure.

It’s in this position, a tangle of limbs and sighs, that they find themselves in tonight. She rests her cheek on his chest as he grazes his fingers down the length of her arm. His eyes trace the swirls of ink and scar that laces down her back. She no longer hides from him, and he knows it’s no small gift that she has given him.

“Can I ask you something?” She hums at his question, craning her neck to peer at him. He clears his throat before continuing.

“Will you tell me about these? All this ink?” He’s still careful about how much he pries, though she’s certainly been more willing to talk, he never knows when he might have pushed a bit too far. For a moment, he worries that he just has, but she offers him a small smile and nod. She sits up, kneeling between his legs. He still has to catch his breath seeing her bare body before him.

“What do you want to know, Joel?” He tentatively reaches a hand out to brush along the birds that sit below her collarbone, tracing down the swirls of ink on her one arm.

“Do they all have meaning?” Her smile brightens and she nods again. She takes both his wrists to guide his palms to splay back over the birds.

“These I got for my mother. Magpies were her favorite birds. Have you seen magpies before?”

“They’re a kind of crow, right?” She snorts, squeezing his wrists.

“They’re way cooler than crows. Bigger, and smarter. And wickedly loud.” She draws his one palm to her shoulder, down along her bicep where a swirling branch is inked.

“Cherry. And plum on the outside of my arm. My grandparents owned an orchard in Bend. We spent most of our summers there.” She twists in his old, her back facing him as Joel sits up. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before, but it’s now clear how the branches on her arm twine across her shoulder blades, following into the twisted trunks of trees that span down her spine. For the first time, he wholly takes in the expanse of her back, the twisting, silvery scars that lay under swaths of ink. He traces his fingers down the branches and she shivers under his touch.

“Alex is one hell of an artist.” She huffs out a laugh.

“He’s been working on a new tattoo gun. Putting it together out of scrap parts. Figure I’ll get something over the fresh scar.” His eyes instinctually dart to the puckered skin on her forearm. It’s healed over, but she keeps it bandaged during the day to keep prying eyes out. He draws his attention to her back again, and his eyes catch on a small figure in the one tree.

“Is that a–”

“Squirrel? Yeah, that’s for Jack.” A heavy silence falls after her words. It’s the one thing Joel knows not to ask about, that she’ll tell him scraps in time, when she’s ready. He knows that Jack was her little brother, and he knows she lost him, and that it destroyed her. He doesn’t pry, instead laying his palm over the inked creature.

“What’re you gonna get, when Alex’s gun is ready?” She turns back in his arms, nudging into his lap and drawing her fingers through his hair with a hum.

“Not sure yet. If you have any ideas, let me know.” She presses a chaste kiss to his mouth to seal her words. She seems to be thinking something over, thoughtlessly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Squirrels were his favorite animal.” Joel’s hands still where he had been skating them up her sides, letting them rest at her hips. He tries to keep his expression steady as he searches her face. She won’t quite meet his eyes as she continues.

“I would take him to the park after school and he never wanted to play or run around, he’d just sit and watch the damn squirrels.” She lets out a breathy laugh.

“I was always trying to get a laugh out of him, or just some reaction. So one day, we went to the park and I brought a bag of trail mix and just started throwing nuts and raisins to the squirrels. By the time we left, we had them eating off the toes of our shoes. It was so fucking weird, but it was his favorite thing, I think. We did it all the time afterwards.” She takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping with the exhale.

“Anyways, um, yeah, the squirrel is Jack’s.” Joel knows there’s nothing he can say right now that’d be right. Even as she offers him a small smile, he can see the pain laced through her eyes. He dips his head and lays a kiss to her sternum before pulling her into his embrace. They don’t talk anymore that night.

…

The next morning, Joel is not pleased with what Ellie tells him over breakfast. Her old patrol partner is switching shifts and she’s now been paired up with Roger. He doesn’t miss the way she winces when she hears Ellie say his name.

“He’s not gonna be your partner for long, kid. That boy is an idiot. I’ll talk to Tommy today. Get the partners rearranged.” Ellie just shrugs at Joel, finishing her bowl of oatmeal before hurrying off out the door to get to her shift. Joel glances at her out of the corner of his eye, catching her smirk.

“Roger may be an idiot. But I’ve heard he’s good on patrol. You don’t have to worry about her, Joel.” He huffs, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m still gonna talk to Tommy, find her a better partner. Would you wanna take shifts with her?” She looks taken aback by his question.

“I mean, do you think that’s a good idea? To have us put together?” Ellie still doesn’t know that she’s immune like her, nor does she know that it had been her immunity that had put her in so much danger previously. Joel hadn’t really even been thinking about that when he posed the idea, but now, remembering that day that Alex rode back by himself, without her, his stomach starts to churn. He shakes his head to clear the thought away.

“No, you’re right. I don’t like that idea at all. What about Alex?” She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You trying to steal my patrol partner, Miller?” A smug grin settles on his face.

“Well, I may know someone else who’d be happy to fill the position.” That earns him a laugh, a sound that sends a giddy sweep up his spine.

“We did make a pretty good team, huh? Alright, I’ll talk to him about it. Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind.” She slips her palm into his. That’s new, the simple touches that they’re starting to share. Joel thinks it might be better than the sex, or at least a close second.

“I gotta go. I’m helping Maria with some new security plans. See you tonight?” He nods, watching her stand and clear her plate away. She sweeps back and presses a quick kiss to his lips, rubbing her palm on his chest.

“Be safe, darlin.”

“Bye, Joel.”

…

The sun is starting to set, and Ellie hasn’t come home from her shift yet. Joel is beginning to panic. He’s getting ready to set out looking for her himself when the front door opens, though it’s not Ellie. She looks just as worried as he feels.

“Have you seen Ellie?” “No, I heard that she hasn’t come back though. Joel, it’s getting dark, I think we need to go look for her.” He just nods, grabbing his gun and following her out into the quick darkening evening.

They don’t make it far on horseback before they see a figure cresting over the hill that lays before them. She keeps her gun cocked, but sure enough, it’s Ellie. There’s no sign of Roger. They set off at a gallop towards her, quickly dismounting when they come upon her. Joel’s on her in an instant, cupping her face in his hands and looking her over for injury. She doesn't appear to be hurt, just shaken.

“There was a cluster of them up near the dam. Jesus– they came out of nowhere. Roger’s dead.” Joel thinks to himself that he doesn’t give a fuck about Roger.

“Are you ok?” She just nods, but her eyes flicker down to her leg and Joel sees blood pooling in the ankle of her sock. He knows right away that she must have gotten bit again, trying to hide it in the presence of someone else.

“Ellie, it’s alright, she knows. About you.” Ellie’s eyes go wide and she shoves Joel away, her gaze darting between him and her.

“What the fuck, Joel? You’re the one who told me not to tell anyone. But apparently that doesn’t apply to your lady friend.”

“Ellie!” She steps forward then, placing a hand on his shoulder before he can bark out anything else, stepping between him and Ellie.

“It’s fine, Joel. Ellie, your secret is safe with me.” The girl scoffs.

“Oh yeah? Why should I believe you?” With that, she’s rolling up her shirt sleeve and unwinding the bandage on her forearm, bearing the still healing bite that wraps around her skin. Ellie is stunned speechless.

“Because I’m like you, kid.”

…

Ellie is silent the whole ride back. Joel goes to tell Tommy what happened while she hustles the girl home. She grabs their makeshift first aid kit and shuffles her into the bathroom, ordering Ellie to hop onto the counter while she sits on the ground to get a better look at her ankle. She pulls off her boot and sock, rolling up her pant leg, and sure enough, a fresh bite smeared across her calf. She lets out a low whistle.

“Got you good, kid. Let’s clean this up, alright?” She glances up at the girl, still nothing. She sighs and gets to work cleaning the wound. As she’s getting ready to wrap a dressing on the bite, Ellie finally speaks up.

“How did you find out?” She pauses.

“About you?” Ellie shakes her head.

“About yourself, how did you find out you were immune?” She sighs, standing up and pulling the collar of her shirt down to expose the top of her shoulder.

“If you squint you can see it under all that ink.” Ellie’s face draws closer to her shoulder, peering at the skin. She can see it in her face when she finally makes out the scarring, letting out a “woah” under her breath before backing off.

“Is that why you have all those tattoos?” She just nods, sinking back down to the floor to finish wrapping her calf. She considers not saying what she’s about to, but goes ahead anyway.

“You remember a couple months ago when I went missing?” Ellie nods.

“Well, it was because some people found out what I am, what we are. I think you know just as well that we have to be careful about this thing. Ellie, I want you to know that I would never, will never tell anyone, ok?” She smooths out the gauze on Ellie’s leg before standing, patting her knee.

“Now, you keep that clean and covered, and when it’s healed maybe we can see about getting you some ink, if you want.” Ellie grins, and it’s a relief to her.

“Oh, I want. You’re like the coolest person in this town and like forty percent of that is just ‘cause of your tattoos, so, hell yeah. Sign me up.” She snorts at that, squeezing the girl's arm before stepping aside and letting her hop down.

“Are you feeling ok?” Ellie shrugs, eyes settling on her feet.

“I mean, s’never a good day when someone dies on your watch, but I’ll be alright.”

“Hey. It wasn’t on your watch. Your da– Joel was right. Roger was a cocky idiot. He was gonna get himself hurt eventually. I’m just sorry it happened when you were around, kid.” Ellie just huffs, but still offers her a small “thank you” before walking off, headed towards her room in the garage. She feels her shoulders slacken from where they had been pinned up to her ears.

…

When he finally gets home, he finds her sitting at the dining table reading. She cranes her neck around to look at him as he enters.

“Told Tommy. Said he wasn’t surprised that Roger got picked off.” She huffs at that as Joel sits down beside her.

“Well I concur with Tommy. You hungry? I made dinner for Ellie and there’s leftovers.” He just shakes his head, letting out a long exhale.

“Joel? Did something else happen?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache rushing in.

“He, uh, wants you and Ellie to work patrol together. Sees you both being immune as a strength. I told him to forget it–” he cuts himself off when he looks at her and sees that she doesn’t seem as repulsed by the idea as he is. She shrugs.

“I don’t know, Joel. After today, maybe Tommy’s right?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She holds his gaze, steadfast.

“I’m serious. I mean, face it, as long as that kid is going out with people that aren’t like her, the chance that she comes back and they don’t is always going to be huge.”

“And just why is that a problem, so long as she’s coming back?” He can feel the frustration rising up in his throat at this conversation, the exhaustion and stress of the day pushing his limit.

“She may have come back this time, but I’m telling you Joel. Everytime she watches someone else die while she gets to live just because of the dumb luck of her immunity, another part of her is gonna get chipped away until she doesn’t come back at all.” He runs a ragged hand across his face, tugging at the roots of his hair. He can’t believe they’re actually having this conversation.

“You speaking from experience?” Her face twists up at that.

“Lose a lot of partners, huh? Had to come back alone?” He knows he’s being taunting, cruel even, but he can’t help it anymore, too lost in his anger.

“I can protect her, Joel. In a way that other people can’t. She doesn’t have to come back alone ever again.”

“So what, you’re gonna be some power team, huh? You may be immune, darlin, but you’re sure as shit not invincible. Already learned that the hard way.” It’s harsher than he wanted it to be and he can see the slight fall in her expression, but she steels back up.

“Now you’re just being a dick for the hell of it. I’m going to run patrol with her, Joel. Whether you like it or not.”

“No you’re not! Goddamnit! This isn’t some fucking game, don’t you see that? Quit trying to play the hero, trying to make up for the past. You can’t bring any of them back. You can’t bring him back.” It’s a shot in the dark really, an assumption he makes but it seems to hit the target as her face immediately goes slack.

“You can’t bring Ja–” She’s on him before he can even get the whole name out, her sheer strength taking him by surprise as she hauls him by his shirt collar and shoves him against the wall.

“You don’t fucking say his name. I’m taking patrol with Ellie. But you and I? Whatever this was? It’s over. Go find someone else to boss around.” She shoves him, hard, into the wall before turning heel and stomping out the front door before he can even get a word out.

Joel keels over for a moment, hands on his knees as he lets out a string of sharp curses and he can’t help thinking that he’s been somewhere very similar in the recent past. He slowly rights himself, dragging both his hands down his face. Before he can think better of it, he’s whipping around and punching his fist straight through the wall she had just slammed him against.

Everything goes silent for a moment as he studies his bloodied knuckles.

“What the fuck?” He swears he jumps a few feet in the air, finding Ellie staring at him like he’s crazy. He feels like he’s going crazy.

“Don’t ask, kid.”

…

Joel’s done caring. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. He doesn’t look for her outside the childcare center, doesn’t ask Maria how she’s doing. If he sees Steve or Alex in the bar he heads home, not wanting to risk seeing her there. One day, he went out on patrol in the morning, and when he came home that night, all her books, her clothes, even her toothbrush was gone. He had broken two of his knuckles that night when he stupidly punched clean through the wall, and the pain is a constant reminder to keep his head down and mind his own business.

For once, Ellie doesn’t bug him about it, seeming to sense how torn up he really is. She does start taking patrol shifts with her, but she won’t tell Joel anything about it. He lets it be, so long as she keeps coming home safe.

A few weeks pass in this fugue state. His hand finally heals. Ellie keeps coming home in one piece. He’s slowly realized that it’s going to take practice, forgetting about her, and so his days are spent trying to forget. He takes on as many shifts as he can, working from sunup to sun down most days. They even elect him onto the town council with how much he’s been working with Tommy on shoring up security.

Spring has fully rolled over to summer, and Joel is starting to accept this life of forgetting until he’s forced to remember. Once again, Ellie doesn’t come home from her shift on time. He doesn’t wait around this time, immediately going to Tommy who agrees to go with him up into the mountains to look for her. The long summer days are to their advantage, keeping it light out still into the evening as they set out on horseback. Joel’s trying to swallow down the frantic panic in his chest. Tommy breaks the silence.

“You gonna tell me what happened between you and her?”

“Shut up, Tommy.”

“Easy, brother. I’m just trying to understand is all. It seemed like you two had a good thing going, then all of a sudden you’re avoiding each other like the damn plague. I don’t get it.” “Yeah, well neither do I. So just shut up and ride.” For once, his brother complies.

They’ve just made it up past the foothills of the mountain when they come across a horse. Joel immediately recognizes it as Shimmer, the horse Ellie likes to take out. He feels sick to his stomach. They dismount and start looking around, but there’s no one in sight. Just as Tommy goes to say something, the sound of a gunshot rings out through the trees. Joel doesn’t even think, already slinging his gun off his shoulder and getting it loaded as he starts to jog towards the sound, Tommy close on his heels. Another shot rings out, and Joel can just start to hear the sounds of shouting up ahead.

Before they get any further, something, or someone, is running smack into Joel, knocking them both onto the ground. He quickly rolls them over, pinning the person down, but his grip slackens when he sees that it’s Ellie. There’s blood splattered across her face and she’s gasping for breath.

“Ellie? Are you hurt?” She shakes her head hard.

“S-she told me to run. It’s a bunch of raiders. They would’ve already killed us, but– they s-saw the bite on her arm, w-wanted answers, how the f-fuck she was still alive.” Joel’s head is spinning as Ellie speaks, but just then another round of gunshots resounds through the trees. He quickly hauls Ellie up, barking at Tommy to get her back to town before turning back towards the sound of gunfire.

There’s a break in the trees, and sure enough, he sees her holding her own against a pair of men, two bodies already dispatched on the forest floor. He puts a bullet through the one man’s head, turning his attention back to her where she’s struggling with the other raider. Joel’s trying to aim for him, but they’re too close together in their fighting and he can’t risk it. She finally gets the upper hand, sending her knife up and into the fleshy softness beneath the man’s ribs, letting him fall to the ground with a gurgling moan. When she finally looks at Joel, it’s as if she’s in a daze. Meanwhile, Joel keeps opening his mouth to say something, anything, but promptly coming up with nothing. The relief he feels seeing her alive scares him into a stunned silence.

But then he sees that she’s bleeding. There are slicing gashes across her forearm where her fresh scar had been. The cuts look deep and he thinks to himself that it looks purposeful and it makes his stomach twist. She follows his gaze down to her arm, lifting it up to look at it in the quick fading light. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but still steely cool.

“Guess they wanted to do a little science experiment.” He could drop to his knees, her words make him feel so sick. She glances at him again.

“Is Ellie–”

“Tommy took her back to town. She’s fine, because of you.” She huffs, not acknowledging his last words as she starts gathering knives and guns off the dead bodies. She keeps her gaze down as she moves. Joel swallows hard around the thick pain in his throat.

“Are you ok?” She freezes where she stands. Joel can see the shake in her hands, the weapons she had been collecting clattering to the ground.

When she looks up at him, there’s tears collecting in her eyes. All she manages is a broken whimper of his name before she’s collapsing to her knees in a sob. Joel is on the ground with her in an instant, wrapping her in his arms as she wails into the evening air. Her words crack, punctuated by gasps and shuddering cries.

“I’m so sorry, Joel– I’m so sorry– I–” She can’t even get the rest of what she wants to say out, heaving breaths wracking her body. He pulls back to hold her by her shoulders, dipping his head to catch her watery gaze.

“No sorrys. It’s ok, you’re ok.” She just shakes her head, pressing her clenched fists into her thighs. He pulls her back into a crushing embrace, trying to press stillness into the way her body shakes with each sob until her shudders start to slow. She murmurs into his shoulder that they need to get back to town. He sighs, loosening his grip but keeping his hands wrapped around her arms as he pulls back to look at her.

“I’m so tired, Joel. I’m so tired.” Something in him shatters at her words, and he takes a sharp inhale to try to keep it together. It has become painfully clear that he was never done caring for her, that he probably would never be done caring for her.

“I know you are, darlin. I’m gonna get you home.”

…

Once again, Joel finds himself in his bathroom taking care of her wounds. She was quiet the whole way back, the occasional shaky exhale all he heard to let him know she was still with him. She won’t meet his gaze, not even when she winces as he cleans the gashes. It’s coming out of his mouth before he can even think better.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, darlin.” There’s a beat of silence, and then she’s letting out an incredulous laugh, finally looking up at him. For a moment, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face.

“We really do.” Her smile quickly fades, a crease settling between her brows as she looks at him.

“Joel, I’m so sorry. For everything. I just– I’m no good. I’ve tried so hard to just keep moving– to not think about– to not think at all. A-and because of it I hurt you and put Ellie in danger and– I’m just so sorry.” She’s clutching his wrist as she speaks, and Joel slides his hand to twine with hers, squeezing hard.

“Stop apologizing. Because of you, Ellie’s asleep in her own bed right now.” There’s a whole lot more he wants to say, but for now he settles with bandaging her forearm. She lets out another sigh before speaking.

“Been trying so hard to leave you be. You don’t deserve to get stuck with all my shit, not when I’ve been so awful to you.” His hands stop.

“You haven’t been awful to me–” “Joel.” “No, I was out of line that night. What I said– I just– the thought of you and Ellie heading out together– everything I– I lost my head. It was wrong, what I said, and I’m sorry. Hell, if someone talked to me like that about Sarah, I’d probably– I’d–”

“Punch a hole through a wall?” There’s a slight smirk tugging on the corner of her mouth, Joel huffs.

“She told you about that, huh?” Her smile cracks a little wider as she shrugs. He squeezes her hand again, letting out a laugh.

“That little shit.” They’re both laughing now and it feels impossibly good. Joel lets out a sigh, finally letting go of her hand to finish wrapping her arm. His voice is a low murmur as he speaks.

“I don’t mind. Being stuck with you. Long as you’re ok being stuck with me. Don’t think I can really help it, to be honest.” He presses his palm into the bandage for good measure before looking at her again. She slides her hand along the scruff of his jaw and feeling her touch like this again is like finally coming up for air after all these weeks.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to be fucked up together, huh?” He smiles, tilting his head to lay a kiss to her palm.

“I guess so, darlin.”

They strip down to nothing before getting into bed, pressing as close as they can and letting their steady heartbeats slow the ebb and flow of their breathing.

“Joel? Wanna introduce you to someone tomorrow, can I?” She peers up at him from her place on his chest and he nods.

“Who am I meeting?” Her fingers brush down his arm before taking his hand.

“His name is Will. He lives at the childcare center.”

#joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x oc #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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farfromstrange · 11 months

Text

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 8: Let Us Hold Each Other

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You and Michael share a tender morning together before working on his application form, which turns out a little harder than expected.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst, allusions to smut, heavy make-out session, this is so heartbreaking but also so sweet??

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: The morning scene, in the beginning, made even ME blush a little...

The morning sun tickles your cheek through the soft fabric of the curtains that cover your bedroom window, forcing you awake. You sigh, snuggling closer into your pillow.

Your sudden movements don’t go unnoticed by the man next to you. His arms tighten their hold around your waist and pull you back into his chest. His face is buried in your neck, and his slow and steady breathing tells you he’s still asleep.

A smile finds its way onto your lips. You feel careless and safe like nothing could possibly hurt you. Reaching back, you tangle your fingers in his unruly hair. He whimpers. Lazy kisses to your shoulder send shivers down your spine, telling you he is slowly stirring back to life.

One of his hands splays across your stomach, rubbing the skin under his shirt you’re wearing, and it’s so gentle, you can’t help but close your eyes again.

“Mornin’,” Michael hums against your shoulder blade.

“Morning,” you reply, your eyes still closed.

His fingertips circle your navel. “How’d ya sleep?”

You lean into his touch, and he wraps his other arm around your neck.

“Good,” you exhale.

His lips move to your temple. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah. You?”

“Always better with ya.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah.”

You sigh contently when his hand splays across your stomach again. His fingers ghost over your side, moving on to knead at your flesh and loosening the muscles underneath. Your body slacks and you melt into the mattress.

His touch is both gentle and possessive, and he digs into every remnant of tension with precision to exorcize it from your body. It’s not just the soreness of the previous day, it’s the numb thudding between your legs and the ache in your head that keeps your body wound up.

“You have magic hands,” you murmur.

Michael chuckles softly, the vibrations resonating against your skin. “Just trying to make ya feel good,” he says.

“Well, you're succeeding.” You nuzzle closer to him, turning in his grip until your face is pressed to his bare chest instead, and he wraps his arms around your body like that.

His hands continue their soothing motions on your waist and the knots in your back. As the morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, you get lost in the feeling of his warmth against your cold limbs, the serenity seeping in and giving your mind time to rest along with your body, too.

You like hugs, you like cuddles, but it has been a while since you had someone next to you who wanted to do the same.

Michael is an extremely cuddly person, you have noticed. He doesn’t like to admit it, but getting to be close to you is his favorite part of the day. He can rest peacefully with you in his arms; he uses you as a means to calm the storm, and in return, he offers you his warmth and the comfort you usually provide everyone else except yourself.

You snuggle closer, your hot breath hitting his chest as you let out a contented sigh. With every path he draws from your neck down your spine, over your shoulder blades, and your lower back, he takes away another piece of your pain and places it aside until you’re hulled into a state of blissful tranquility, and you have never been so calm.

Michael takes a deep breath, tipping his head to place it in the crook of your neck. The position must be uncomfortable for him, but his lips soon come to rest against your pulse point and you realize he needs to feel you in all the ways that he can, perhaps even make sure that you’re more than alright in his arms. That you’re safe. Taken care of. Alive. Real.

You lift your head to look at him. His eyes are closed as his hands move almost naturally over your skin; he looks so content like this. A soft smile plays on your lips and you press a kiss to his sternum, cradling his jaw in your hand. He gasps, leaning further back to give you more access.

Your lips trail a path of gentle kisses along his collarbone, savoring the taste of his skin against your mouth. Once again, your fingers tangle in his chest hair. You glide them over his abs, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. His skin tastes clean after your shower the night before, yet still a little salty. Your touch is gentle as you explore his chest and waist, making sure to give him what he is still giving you with every stroke of his large hands along your back.

Making your way back up, you stop just above his lips, waiting for him to open his eyes and look at you.

Michael glances at you. He runs a hand through your hair and rests it against your cheek. “Yer incredible,” he whispers, not wanting to disturb the peace that has settled in between you.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you whisper back.

He smirks before closing the gap between you and kissing you oh-so-gently. You sigh happily, leaning into him. Your leg slings over his hip, searching for something to hold onto, and one of his hands moves to your upper thigh. He squeezes the tender flesh, stroking his thumb over one of the stretch marks you have there. You shiver; it’s different to be seen as something more than just an object of lust. He explores your body with the intent to memorize every last inch of your skin, not just because your body is a fever dream that easily gets his cock hard and throbbing for you.

Michael gets to know you like that; his hands roam your skin and all your imperfections, every last scar and crevice, and he does it with such gentleness, you don’t mind that he sees you in your most vulnerable state. You don’t mind that he points out what you hate about yourself because he seems to love every inch of you equally. You’re human, and your skin is, too, and there should be nothing wrong with that.

You deepen the kiss just a little, running your hands through his hair again. He’s soft and fluffy and he reminds you of the comfort teddy bear you had as a kid before he was taken away from you. You hope that at least Michael will persist; you lost too much and you don't want to go through the same pain again. Your relationships from before have never made you feel like he does. You have gotten used to feeling special with him, and you want nothing more than for you to stay like this with him forever, side by side in each other’s arms.

He grips your thigh a little tighter and you whimper. “So beautiful,” he breathes into the kiss. “And all mine.”

“All yours,” you say.

“Just perfect fer me.”

As he rolls you onto your back, he attacks your mouth with loving little pecks, licking your bottom lip and shoving his tongue into your mouth. Electricity runs through your veins and you turn into a magnet that attracts him; he’s forever stuck to you now.

Michael breaks the kiss to breathe, his lips grazing along your jawline, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses in their wake. His breath fans over your cold skin. “I could kiss ya forever,” he says. “Your skin is so soft.”

You smile. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He tugs at your arm and brings it over your head, stroking your forearm before intertwining his fingers with yours. The other holds your face tightly, his palm being almost as broad as the entire half of your head, and he guides you against his lips. The kiss is feverish, and heated, but it’s also gentle and soft and all the attributes he doesn’t even know he possesses yet makes your head spin with the feeling of being so utterly appreciated.

“Let’s stay here,” his whisper reaches your ear.

You sigh, back arching slightly to feel more of his body against yours. He is close, but not close enough. You want to become one. You want to breathe him in, melt into him and walk around settled into your little nest in his heart forever. You want to be his and his alone.

“Let’s not leave the bed today,” he purrs, “and just stay here. Together.”

You push his shoulder. His hands find your hips as you crawl on top of him, your lips hovering above his. “As much as I’d love that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “We need to fill out your application and then I have to go to work.”

He pulls you down. He makes a good argument, and you’re close to caving in.

“Mikey,” you urge.

His hands travel down your back, reaching your ass. He doesn’t seem to listen to you, and neither does he seem to pay attention. His hands are determined to touch you wherever, and his lips are happy where they rest on your lips.

You break the kiss, whispering in between labored breaths, “This is important. Tomorrow’s Wednesday and my boss meant it when she said you had to impress her…”

Michael stops for a second, lips falling from your jaw, and his eyes meet yours. “I know,” he says. The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes causes your features to soften. He’s trying hard not to think too much about it or the fear of being rejected will eat him alive.

“Hey,” you touch his cheek, tracing your thumb over his jawline through his soft beard, “you’re gonna be fine.”

Michael huffs, his hand wrapping around your ass cheek and squeezing tightly. You squeal. To make it worse, he smacks it once, twice, before pulling you down for a searing kiss again that leaves your head spinning out of control. You moan into his mouth. His hand remains on your backside, squeezing the flesh tight enough to leave marks.

The grin on his face tells you that he thinks he’s got you right where he wants you. And he almost does. But you force yourself not to get lost in the feeling of his wandering hands or his lips, or the hint of an erection that is poking against your clothed core.

Playfully, you swat his chest. “Behave, Michael,” you say, and his disappointment is palpable in the pout he gives you when you pull away.

His hands still firmly grip your hips. “Who said I wanted to behave?” he retorts.

You lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his cheek before pulling back again. “Oh, I see how it is. Trying to distract me with your charm, huh?”

“Can ya blame me?” Michael chases your lips. “Yer irresistible.” He finally manages to pull you back down almost roughly, this time with his fist balled in your messy bed hair. He forces you onto him, and your strength comes nowhere near close to his.

His kisses become deeper, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth with an unrestrained hunger. He makes you melt into a puddle like ice cream on a hot summer afternoon. Your hips move subconsciously against his, riling him up further and adding gasoline to the fire in your core.

You try to focus on anything other than his lips or his hands that look so rough but touch you so gently.

“Later,” you breathe.

“But–”

“Later, I promise.”

He reaches for you when you pull away, but you elude him. He pouts. “Fuckin’ tease!”

And he has every right to say so because the swirling of your hips made his cock incredibly hard in his short boxers, and he is just aching to be inside of you.

You can't help but giggle at the sight before you. “Oh, come on now. You love to be teased,” you say. “There’s no shame in admitting it.”

Michael's pout turns into a smirk. “Maybe I enjoy it a little too much,” he says.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his earlobe. He shivers, his grabby hand holding onto your waist again. “Well, you know what they say. Good things come to those who wait,” you say.

He groans. “Yer goin' t'be the death o' me.”

With a playful twinkle in your eyes, you give him a quick peck on the lips before stepping away. His hands lose their grip on you once again and he almost whimpers.

You poke his tongue out at him. “Application form,” you remind him, “now.”

He pulls the blanket over his lower half. “Give me five minutes t’ get the blood back in my head.”

You try not to laugh or to blush, but you fail miserably. “Are five minutes gonna be enough? I mean, I’m basically half-naked and–”

Michael takes the pillow behind his head and tosses it in your direction. It hits you in the face.

“I deserved that,” you say.

“Out!” he demands, but his tone is playful and there is a flustered grin on his lips.

It’s unfair to him, you think, you being able to get turned on and move on with your day, and he’s stuck in bed until his obviously very hard cock has softened. You feel a little victorious though, seeing the effect you have on him, and you float into the kitchen with a smile on your face.

You’re not sure who will be the death of whom first, but it’s a really close call.

Michael savors every drop of your coffee like it’s a magic potion. It tastes like liquid gold on his tongue. Every sip explodes on his tastebuds and tickles his senses. He feels warm and fuzzy inside, the scent alone wrapping its arms around him in a gentle hug. Now every time he drinks coffee, all he can think about is you.

You move effortlessly as you clean the dishes of your quick breakfast together. He watches you, the gentle sway of your hips along with the music playing in the background, and the sun hits your hair just right to make it glow. Your eyes glisten, the color something he wants to be imprinted in his brain. They are endless pits of beauty, the most beautiful gem to be found, the most cherished and most expensive, and he can’t believe he gets to look into them every day now.

Today, you’re wearing a pair of comfortable pants and sneakers, and the shirt you’re wearing hugs your curves just perfectly. Both hickeys he left last night are on full display; you have an amazing sense of style, but the remainder of his lips is the best accessory you could possibly wear.

“You’re not sly, you know that?” you pipe up with a smile.

Leaning against the counter, you look at him now, and he blushes in the act of getting caught. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, “I quite like your attention.” Your cheeks flush a bright pink and his heart melts.

You’re adorable, almost too pure to be true. He wants to smother you with kisses and never let you go again. Every time he is with you, he finds himself on a sugar high.

You approach the table again, sliding the folder with his documents between you as you sit down. He takes a deep breath.

“May I?” you ask softly.

There is nothing in there you couldn’t have researched yourself, except for more information about Anna, but he is still opening a part of himself up to you and you tread carefully.

Michael nods. You open the folder, quickly setting aside the prison records and whatever else you believe Ava might want to see. He watches your every move, his fist tightening around the handle of the mug. He can’t read your expression. Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you go through the paperwork he provided, cherry-picking his CV and previous application forms. It’s a lot, some of it not important to you, but you still skim over it because he trusts you with this, and you want to know more about him.

It’s nothing you haven’t figured out yet, but there are pieces about his life in prison like solitary confinement followed by his turning into a model prisoner and being praised for his work together with therapy records (the details have been blacked out, of course), all things you haven’t seen before.

Your finger falls upon a picture. You halt, eyes trailing over the girl’s features. “Is that…”

“Anna,” he finishes for you. “Yeah.”

His heart weighs heavy when he looks at the picture of his daughter. It’s a few years old now; Birdy managed to sneak it to him in prison, and she has changed a little since then, but it’s still Anna. She’s smiling in the picture. He has looked at her so many times and it still overwhelms him every time he does because she is so far away. Tears start welling up in his eyes and he quickly occupies himself with sipping the last few drops of his coffee.

You smile softly. “She’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “She looks like you.”

“Don’t lie,” Michael says.

“It’s true–” your eyes switch from the picture to his face. “She has your nose,” you point out, “and your smile.”

“She has her mother’s eyes.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He’s trying so hard not to cry as he looks at the picture in your hand. You hand it to him, wrapping your hand around his as he clasps the piece of paper.

Michael has never been more grateful for your unwavering support or he would have started sobbing.

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand, “you will get her back, okay?”

He meets the determined look in your eyes. You’re honest, he can tell. You’re not just saying it to make him feel better, you truly believe it, and you want him to believe it, too.

He shrugs. “Chances are she doesn’t want me back,” he says. “So what am I even fightin’ for?”

“Michael.”

“What?”

“There is a difference between making a mistake and regretting the shit that followed, and deliberately hurting your child and doing something horrible just because you’re a vile human being,” you tell him. “Children aren’t idiots. Anna isn’t an idiot. Once she learns the truth, she won’t push you away.”

“How can ya be so sure?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. “Let’s just say I know what it feels like to be disappointed, and from what I can tell, you love her more than anything. That’s the kind of father a child needs. You just have to show her.”

Slowly, Michael nods. He rubs his sore eyes, the unshed tears dissipating. You’re still holding onto his hand, and he holds yours back as tightly as he can. The turmoil in your eyes confuses him; you know what it feels like to be disappointed. He’s not sure what to make of it, but it doesn’t sound like something good.

You look down at the table while he calms down, placing Anna’s picture back in the folder. You smile, putting it aside to make sure nothing happens to it.

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s work through your application form ‘cause that’s the real piece of work.”

He sniffles, focusing his attention back on you.

“I figured you wouldn’t have much experience on your CV, considering the kind of family you grew up in. But I’m glad your education is on it.”

Michael scoffs. It’s not just a lack of experience; he has never worked a proper job in his life. “Can’t exactly write tha’ I’m good with a gun, aye?” he says.

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, so you’ve got jokes now?”

“Sorry, that was a bad one.”

“No, no, humor is good,” you assure him. “Maybe not that kind of humor–” because quite frankly, you do find it a bit disturbing, but also not as disturbing as the fact he doesn’t like sushi, which is a bit concerning, in your eyes. “But it’s humor,” you say, “and humor is good. Ava, my boss, likes humor.”

“So what, ya want me ta write I’m funny and that will get me a job?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah.”

“But we can put that in the personal attributes section. You’re funny.” You scribble the adjective down.

He sighs. “And that’s all there is.”

You look up at him with a gentle glare. Michael meets your eyes, his expression remaining stern. He looks almost defeated, and you hate to see his mind turning into his worst enemy again. The voices in his head are telling him that he’s not good enough and that he won’t make it. You know the crippling fear of failure, and it must be even worse for him with everything that’s at stake.

Your eyes switch to the picture of Anna next to you. His do, too. His chest heaves with another sad sigh. He misses her deeply. It’s a painful feeling.

“I don’t think that’s true,” you murmur.

He shrugs. He wants to tell you that it is useless, that he appreciates your attempts but that he would rather crawl under a rock and die, or disappear until the world sorts itself out, but your grip on his hand remains steadfast.

You sit up straighter, turning his hand so you can intertwine your fingers with his. “Tell me,” you say, “what are you good at?”

“I dunno,” he answers.

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“It’s true. I’m not really good at anythin’.”

As you continue to hold Michael's hand, you gaze into his hazel eyes. You can sense his self-doubt and frustration, but you refuse to let him give up on himself.

“Everyone is good at something,” you say. “Sometimes it just takes a bit of reflection to discover them. What about your attention to detail and ability to work with your hands? You're good at that. Remember when you came into the café and helped me fix that sign before it could take me out?”

A small smile forms on his face. “I did save your ass, didn’t I?” he says.

You nod. “Yeah, you did. And you barely needed anything for it. Or let’s talk about how attentive you are. You are an exceptional listener. You pay attention. You know people.”

“Well, that’s kind of what you learn when ya grow up the way I did. You learn how ta read people. It’s no big deal.”

“Jesus Christ!” It’s more gentle frustration than anger he sees in your eyes, but your tone of voice still makes him flinch. “Stop selling yourself short, okay?” you say. “All of the things I just mentioned are skills that you possess, and they’re skills that work wonders in customer service.”

You take your pen and start writing down the things you mentioned and he watches you again, his hand still clinging to yours. He doesn’t want you to let go or he is sure he will slip away. You don’t even think about it, you only squeeze his fingers tighter.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

You glare back at him. “You are a bloody idiot sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing and let me help you.”

He nods without another word of protest.

“Good boy,” you say. His eyes widen slightly and he winces. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he answers quickly, but the blush on his cheeks tells a different story.

“Okay, well, let’s see… you’re good with your hands, good with people, you’re calm and compassionate and you can solve problems really well. Oh, and when you are dedicated to a cause, you fight for it. Just like you fight for the people you care about. That’s a good list.”

“Is tha’ really who I am?”

You reach out to cup his cheek. “You’re all of that and more,” you reply.

“I just… I struggle. That’s… I dunno how else t’ describe it.”

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry–” Michael lowers his head, attempting to put it out of your view. His face contorts as he tries to breathe through the tears, but he can’t help it anymore. He wipes his face with a grunt.

His sobs tug at the strings of your heart. “Baby,” you whisper.

You get up, wrap your arms around him, and pull his head against your chest. His arms snake around your waist. You hold him tight as he cries, gently stroking his back. "Shh, it's okay..."

His tears stain your shirt, but you keep holding him there. He doesn't sob; the tears spilling out of his eyes and cascading down his cheeks are silent. He used to hold them back, too afraid of seeming weak in the eyes of others, but with you, he knows he's not weak. With you, he can be vulnerable and you'd still see him as the strongest human on earth, and it somehow makes his tears even worse because you cradle his heart, you catch the blood he's losing, and you make sure he doesn't fall apart into pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Michael repeats, rubbing his cheek along your skin. “I have a hard time believin’... all of that.”

“All of what?” you ask.

“The things ya told me ‘m capable of, I… I can’t see ‘em.”

“Oh.”

“And I struggle… acceptin’ it. That yer willin’ to do this fer me, that you believe in me and believe all of the things ya said. I–”

“It’s true though.”

“Ya keep sayin’ tha’, but I– I’ve never been all of these things before. Good with my hands, compassionate, loyal, a good person… So I struggle… hearin’ it, believin’... believing I can be more.”

He struggles hard to find the right words, his thoughts merely a scrambled mess, but you hold him as you listen and you understand. The gentle motion of your fingers rubbing along his scalp shows him that you understand, and you want to be there for him. He deserves it. No matter how many times you keep saying it, he has a hard time believing you every time anew.

“You deserve it,” you tell him again.

“It–” he chokes up, closing his eyes. “It means so much t’me.”

You have no idea just how much it means to him.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You continue holding him in silence, carding your fingers through his hair. He listens to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. Your chest rises and falls, lifting his head every once in a while, and your gentle touch slowly brings him down from the edge.

“You mean the world to me,” you confess. “And I mean that very sincerely.”

He looks up at you and you lean down to capture his lips. He sighs into the kiss.

As you deepen the kiss, you pour your soul into it. His sigh melds with yours. The touch of your lips against his communicates a promise, a vow to stand by him no matter what. It's a beautiful testament that speaks volumes beyond words.

When you eventually pull away, a soft smile graces your lips.

“I'm here for you, Michael,” you whisper. “Always.”

Just yesterday, you weren't sure what you felt for him. You wouldn't have called it love then, but as your eyes fall upon the man before you, you realize that you're not just in the process of falling for him; you already have. And it's a feeling that scares the life out of you.

After regaining his composure and pulling away, he wipes his cheeks and asks you, “Ya think it’s gonna be enough?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“She’s gonna take me?”

“I can’t promise you anything because Ava tends to be a mystery, but I think once she hears your story… she’s gonna love you.”

He nods.

“You’re easy to like,” you add, seeing that he still isn’t quite sure if or how to believe you. “You’re a good person, Michael, and I will be right here to catch you if you fall, okay?”

You were going to say ‘easy to love’ but the realization is one you still haven’t processed yet and you’re not even sure how to process your feelings; you have never been in this position before, but he knows what you mean. You can tell from the blush on his cheeks and the warmth that radiates off of him after he’s taken your words into consideration.

Love is a strong word and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it. How is it to be in love? What are you supposed to do when you’ve fallen for another person, but that person doesn’t know who you really are? You have been living in your fairytale of denial for so long, you forgot that real life and the emotions that come with it are not easy, and your past won’t magically disappear just because you stop thinking about it and pretend everything is fine.

Now you’re stranded and you really don’t know what to do, which is scary and you hate it.

Michael meets your eyes, the tears still glistening in them, but at least he’s smiling again. “Thanks,” he says.

You press a kiss on his forehead. “Of course.”

“No, really, I don’t even know how to thank ya.”

“You don’t have to. It’s okay. I’m doing this because I care.”

“But why?”

“Because…” you take a deep breath. “Just because I care about you,” you say. “That’s all there is to it. You’re worth taking a chance on.”

Another tear slides down his cheek and you catch it with your finger.

“Thank you then,” he whispers, “fer takin’ a chance on me. I’ll try ta repay you.”

“You don’t have to, Michael, I told you–“

“Ya deserve the same kind of devotion back, always, every second of every day.” Michael rises from his chair and towers over you now. His hands find your face. “And I vow t’ prove it to ya.”

You smile. “I have no doubts about that.”

“Good.”

Finally, he closes the gap and captures your lips with his. The fireworks in your stomach go wild and you push further into him. His hands move from your face to your waist and he pulls you against him, following your command and the obvious tells of your body. You’re not in control, your body is.

“What time is it?” you ask into the kiss, your voice barely a breath on your lips.

Michael’s tongue slips from your mouth and he peeks down at the oven clock. “Seven–“ he breaks off to kiss your jaw. “Seven-fifteen,” he says.

You whimper. “I have to go.”

He continues the assault on your neck, sucking promptly another hickey over the one you already have. “Can’t you just stay five more minutes?”

“No, I have work–“

“But–“

“I’m sorry.”

He follows after you like a puppy, his lips staying on your skin until the very last second, and then, after opening the door, you pull away too far and he can’t reach you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning in for another kiss, bag in hand, and he dives in eagerly. “We can do this later, or tomorrow, or whenever there’s time, okay? I promise.”

He kisses you again. “Don’t be gone too long,” he says. No, it sounds more like he’s begging.

Your bottom lip pushes forward at a point, and you find yourself smothering his face with kisses again to the point you know you have to turn around now or you will tear his clothes off in the doorway.

“See you later,” you whisper.

Michael leans his forehead against yours, placing a gentle hand on your head before kissing you right there. It’s gentle, no longer filled with need. “Have a good day at work,” he says. “Don’t let anyone drag ya down.”

Maybe that has become your thing now.

“I’ll try,” you say, smiling at the gentleness of his touch before separating yourself from him. “Bye.”

He returns your smile. “Bye.”

He waits in the doorway until you’ve disappeared down the stairs and he hears the door close, and even then, he walks to the window and watches you walk to your car down the street before he can take a breath, knowing you’ve made it there safely.

But he will still wait for your text once you’ve reached the café, telling him that you’re fine and alive and that he has nothing to worry about except himself.

That’s just what you do for the people you love, right?

He knows he is a little too overprotective and that you can probably stand your ground better than he thinks, but he would rather be safe than lose you. He can’t go through the same hell again, and you’re the first good thing that has come to him in a while – keeping you safe is the most important thing in his life next to getting his daughter back, and maybe then he can have a family again. One that doesn’t manipulate him, one that cares, and one he can love unconditionally without being afraid of losing for good.

With you, Anna, and himself. That’s what he wants. A family. And he would do anything to get it back.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @mattmurdocksscars @roseallisonparker @1988-fiend @norestfortheshelbywicked @loveroftoomanyfandoms

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #michael kinsella smut #kin amc #chaos theory #charlie cox #reader insert

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