#but someone who knows more than me could really sink their teeth in and unpack everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

birdiefw · 3 years

Text

Love Me Like You Do | Sam Winchester [18 +]

Summary: You decide to make breakfast for you and Sam in the bunker a few weeks after you get married only to burn your hand. But, thankfully Sam was there to take care of you in more ways than one.

Warnings: Fluff, getting burnt while cooking, hurt/comfort, swearing, teasing, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, and protected sex.

A/N: I just like Sam a lot. What can I say? It’s been edited, but there could still be some errors here and there. Please feel free to send me some requests :)

It had been three days since you and the winchesters had found yourselves inside the Men of Letters Bunker that Henry Winchester had told you three about before he died. You hadn’t been entirely sure about staying there when you didn’t know what kinds of things could’ve been stored inside or if there were any traps set up in case someone decided to snoop around, but once you laid down on a bed in one of the bedrooms, you officially found yourself quickly liking the bunker. You had a feeling Sam and Dean weren’t so sure about settling in either, but you could certainly tell Dean enjoyed having a room all to himself instead of having to constantly share with you and Sam. You brought your bags in and placed them in the rooms, but you had decided against unpacking and storing your clothes in the dressers in the bedroom.

You knew better than to get your hopes up.

You tiredly rubbed at your eyes as you stood in the kitchen━the kitchen that wasn’t part of a living room or only had a 50 year old coffee pot and small refrigerator━while you cooked some breakfast. There had been a coffee pot there, but it was absolutely disgusting━along with a smelly toaster that had moldy bread still stuck inside it━and both of them had been thrown out; and knowing how much coffee the three of you consumed on a daily basis, you had decided to buy a nice coffee pot as well as a toaster━and if you ended up leaving the bunker, you could just take them both with with you.

You twisted your lips, shaking your head as you flipped some pieces of bacon, using a fork as you did so. There were some hash browns cooking in the pan beside the bacon, a toaster off to the side with a loaf of bread placed beside it for when you were ready to put some in. You shifted your weight to one foot, adjusting one of the sleeves of Sam’s flannel you wore, some sleep shorts hidden underneath them as your slippers kept your bare feet warm. Sam had surprisingly still been sleeping when you woke, and you’d decided to cook him some breakfast━with the “fake bacon” as Dean had called it since Dean had left the day before to check on Kevin and his mother and wouldn’t be there complain about it.

You stole a glance down at your hand, a grin starting to appear on your lips as you gazed down at your left hand where you wore your wedding ring. It was still so strange to see it, but it also felt so right. You weren't exactly sure how to describe it, but it sent a warmth through your entire body as you looked down at it. You looked away after a few moments and moved to the side, trying to find another plate to set the cooked bacon on as the pieces started to crispen up. You were still trying to figure your way through the kitchen, having taken a little longer to get the pans out when you couldn’t find them at first. But eventually, you found some more plates. However, a frown appeared on your face when seeing they were on the tallest shelf of the metal rack right in front of the fridge; your fingers were barely able to touch the plates.

“Need some help, Mrs. Winchester?”

Your head instantly turned towards the entryway, a playful grin appearing on your lips as you saw your husband smugly leaning against the doorway with an amused smirk evident on his lips.

You lowered your arm, tilting your head towards him. “How’d you guess, Mr. Winchester?” you asked, seeing him head towards you.

“How many you need?” he asked, stealing a glance down at you as he reached the top shelf with ease.

“Uh, one,” you answered, but then you quickly shook your head. “No, wait━just give me two. I might need them.”

“As you wish,” Sam said, grabbing two plates and handing them to you. You cheekily beamed as he did so, quickly returning to the stove after setting the plates on the counter in front of the oven. Sam’s smile still remained on his lips as his eyes followed you, moving to stand at the edge of the counter. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I could’ve helped.”

You took some bacon from the pan and set them on one of the plates, placing some more in the pan. “You looked too cute to disturb,” you answered with a giggle. “Besides, I’m perfectly capable of making breakfast by myself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Sam said, leaning against the counter as he sent you a warm smile. “We’re a team, remember?”

You suddenly frowned, turning to him as you adjusted the hash browns around the sizzling pan. “No,” you said, giving him a coy look. “When did we agree on that?”

Sam faked a laugh, playfully rolling his eyes as he started to move behind you and towards the toaster while you giggled. He briefly leaned down, pecking the top of your head as he brushed past, making your smile widen. His gaze fell on the bacon, doing a double take before his eyes flickered towards you. “Wait,” he said, causing your to look over in his direction, “Is this━I thought Dean didn’t buy any.”

“He didn’t,” you said, softly smiling towards Sam. “But I did.”

Sam’s face lit up, lovingly gazing down at you. “Have I told you how much I love you lately?”

You hummed in thought, furrowing your brows as you looked to the side as if in deep concentration. “Not since we went to bed like nine hours ago, so, not soon enough.”

“Well, I love you, Y/N,” Sam told you, leaning over.

You did so too, sweetly connecting your lips with Sam. You pulled away a few seconds later with a cheerful grin adorning your face. “I love you, too, Sammy.” Then you let out a content sigh as Sam put some toast in the toaster. “Can you get the avocado spread for me please?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, maneuvering past you once again.

You smiled to yourself, watching him head towards the fridge. You eyes watched him carefully, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared at his tall frame off to the side as he searched for the spread.

You shifted your feet, moving your hand to adjust the pan with the hash browns, but suddenly you gasped, quickly pulling your hand away as you accidentally touched the hot stove. “Oh, fuck!”

Sam’s head instantly snapped to the side, eyes widening as his attention fell on you. “Baby?” he asked, a frown appearing on his face when he saw you cradling your hand with a pained expression on your face. He quickly closed the fridge and hurried over to your side. “What happened?”

You merely groaned, gritting your teeth as you tried to breath through the pain. “Oh, nothing,” you said with a pant, starting to turn away. “I’m-I’m fine.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m really gonna believe that,” Sam said as he reached over, giving you a look as gently grabbed your wrist to pull your arm closer.

You deeply frowned, stealing a glance up at him as he examined your slightly reddened hand. “My first time cookin’ breakfast here and I burn my hand,” you grumbled.

Sam frowned as well, not liking the sight of you being in pain. “C’mere,” he said, nudging his head towards the sink.

“But the food━”

“You’re more important than the food, Y/N,” Sam said.

“Bu-we need to at least turn it off,” you stated.

Sam sighed but reached over as you headed towards the sink, making sure to turn off the burners before returning to your side. You turned on the sink, cool water running from the faucet. Sam stood beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “There’s gotta be some bandages around here somewhere,” he said, gazing down at you.

“Sam, it’s fine, really━”

“Baby, just let me take care of you,” Sam said. “It’s my job.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, turning off the sink. “I think I have some in my bag.”

“Alright, I’ll go━”

“Remember how long it took you to find my phone the last time I had you look in my bag?” you asked, giving Sam a pointed look. Sam sighed, faintly nodding his head. you smiled and held your good hand out to him. “C’mon, Sammy.”

Sam smiled and took your hand in his, letting you lead him down the hall towards the room they’d been staying in for the time being. you headed in first, careful not to use your hand as you picked up your bag and placed it on the bed. Sat on the edge of the bed, trying to unzip it with just one hand, but it was proving to be a bit of a struggle. You sourly twisted your lips, sheepishly looking towards Sam who was standing on the other side of the bed. “Need a hand?” he asked, a cheeky grin spread across his lips.

You huffed, shooting him a glare as you puyoud the bag towards him. “Shut up, Moose.”

Sam returned your glare for the nickname, but he didn’t say anything as he grabbed the bag and unzipped it for your, giving your a look when seeing what was all inside it. “What━are you trying to become a hoarder of Y/F/C?”

You scoffed, grabbing your bag and pulling it closer to your so it was out of his reach. “You have your hobbies and I have mine,” you meekly defended.

“But why do you have so many━”

“They’re good!” you said, nonchalantly shrugging as one of your hands rummaged through your bag, eyes pinned to Sam.

Sam watched your, furrowing his brows. “How’re you gonna find━” his lips suddenly smacked closed, a surprised expression appearing on his face when he saw you pull out a first aid kit.

“You were saying?” you hummed, smugly gazing up at Sam.

Sam playfully rolled his eyes and sat on the bed, holding his hand out for you. You shifted on the bed, crossing your legs as you sat in front of him, your hand resting on his leg as he pulled out some things from the first aid kit.

Sam smiled and gently picked up your hand to put some ointment on it. You suddenly hissed at the touch, making Sam frown. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered.

“Guess this place doesn’t like us,” you chuckled.

Sam chuckled, grabbing a bandage to wrap on your hand. “It’ll just take some time to get used to it.”

“Yeah?” you asked. “Does that mean you won’t mind staying here for a while?”

Sam let out a sigh, securing the bandage on the side of your hand. “I. . .I think it can work for a while.”

You smiled as Sam closed the kit, standing up to place it on top of one of the dressers. You glanced down at your hand, warmily smiling up at your husband. He sat back down on the bed, a soft grin tugging on his lips. “You know I love you, right?”

You playfully huffed, leaning back on the bed while your legs dangled over the edge. You just hummed, momentarily closing your eyes. You felt the bed move, hearing some rustling before Sam laid down beside you.

“Have you heard from Dean yet?” you asked, doing a double take when you opened your eyes and found Sam gazing down at your with a cheeky grin. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“What? I can’t just admire your beautiful face?” Sam innocently replied.

You suspiciously narrowed your eyes. “What do you want?”

Sam breathed out a laugh, looking rather offended as he continued to gaze down at you. “Why do you think I want something?”

You chuckled, faintly shrugging. “I don’t know, but I just have a feeling you do.”

Sam huffed, playfully rolling his eyes. “I don’t want anything,” he said, briefly glancing down at your lips before meeting your gaze again. “It’s just. . .this is our first time really having a place to ourselves. . .”

You immediately smiled, biting your lip. “Well, we’ve had motel rooms to ourselves. . .”

“But this one’s different,” Sam replied. You shifted, rolling onto your stomach and cheekily resting your head on one of your hands. “It. . .”

“It feels. . .not like home, but━”

“But something that works for now,” Sam said.

The corner of your lips tweaked upwards, noticing Sam’s eyes had darkened a few shades while his eyes remained locked on your features. “Do you have something in mind that we can do while Dean’s gone?”

One of Sam’s hands moved, reaching up to gingerly touch your jaw. “I can think of a few things,” he softly replied.

You grinned, eyes lighting up with excitement. “Care to enlighten me?”

Sam smirked and leaned towards you, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. you were slightly surprised with how gentle it was, having been expecting Sam to be more needier with the lack of intimacy you’ve had lately. But, his lips were so soft against yours, gliding across your own with ease. You felt Sam shift beside you, moving closer as his other hand carefully nudged you to lay on your back. You easily did so, pulling away as Sam moved so he was on top of you, one of his legs settled between your own.

You let out a ragged breath, your lust-blown eyes lovingly gazing up at Sam. “Was this your plan all along?” you wondered.

“What? Getting you to burn your hand so I’d have to patch you up and then seduce you?” Sam laughed.

“Maybe,” you giggled along, nodding your head as you reached your hand up to gently touch his face. Sam leaned into your touch, an adoring smile on his lips as he gazed down at you.

Rather than responding, Sam simply leaned down again to reconnect your lips. Your hand traveled to his hair, pulling his face even closer while your other hand carefully trailed down his back. Sam’s breath fanned your face as he broke away from the kiss, looking at you. “Careful with your hand,” he told you, sincere concern etched in his voice.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him, moving one of your legs to wrap around his waist and tug his body closer. You smirked up at Sam, running your fingers through his soft hair, hearing him sigh with content. “And if something happens, I have you to take care of me.”

Sam’s smile widened. “Can’t argue with that.”

You pulled him closer again and reconnected your lips, this one more rough than the last. Sam’s hand cupped the side of your face, his other one keeping him propped up over your so he wasn’t completely laying on top of you. He tilted his head some more, smirking into the kiss when you parted your lips. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, hearing you suck in a sharp breath as you grabbed some of his hair.

He could tell you were becoming needier, moaning into your mouth when he felt you move your hips against him. He moved his lips, kissing his way down your neck. “Fuck. . .Sam,” you breathed out, arching your back slightly. You squeaked out another moan when Sam rutted his hips against yours, grunting against your hot skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sam murmured against your skin, feeling his sweatpants start to tighten as you continued to move your hips against his. “Shit. . .”

“Sam please,” you softly begged, tugging on Sam’s hair.

“Please what?” Sam huskily asked, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

You softly sighed, moving your hand from his hair and to his hand that was trailing circles along your exposed flesh just above the waistline of your pajama bottoms. You let out a breathy huff at the smugness that was evident on Sam’s face, but you also felt your body grow more excited from it. “Do something━fuck, anything!”

“Like what?” Sam teased, his fingers nail trailing along the skin right about your bottoms, his smirk widening when you fidgeted under his intoxicating touch.

You sucked in a sharp breath, sitting up on your elbows with your brows raised up at him. “Whatever you want,” you softly said, hungrily licking your lips. “You’re the one who said you had a few ideas in mind.”

“True, but I’m sure you have a few, too,” Sam replied. “You don’t need to be shy about it━I am your husband after all.”

You smiled, tracing your fingers along his hand that was just barely trailing along your lower stomach. You leaned forward, your lips meshing together with Sam’s. Your sore hand softly traveled down his toned back, your fingers slipping under the fabric to touch his hot skin. Your other hand grabbed his, guiding his fingers past the hem.

Sam smiled into the kiss, momentarily pulling away to brush some of your hair to the side. “See, was that so hard?” he taunted.

You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “Just take your shirt off and kiss me.”

“As you wish, baby,” Sam said. He leaned back on his knees, swiftly tugging his shirt off and tossing it on the floor. Then he crawled back on top of you, lips attacking your neck with sloppy kisses as his hand slipped into your pajama shorts.

You let out a content sigh, your hands tracing his back muscles as he nipped at your neck. “God,” you whispered, lips parting as his fingers slipped into your underwear and through your slick folds.

“Happy I’m awake now?” Sam grunted, kisses making their way towards your lips.

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, bucking your hips to match the increasing movement of his hand. Your hand slipped back into his hair, your nails scratching against the back of his head and making him moan in your ear. Your lips crashed together again, this one more sloppy as their teeths clayoud against one another, tongues battling for dominance. Your brows furrowed and you leaned your head back as a loud moan passed your lips, giving Sam more access to your neck.

He increased the movement of his slender fingers, grunting against your flesh as you continued to tug his hair and run your hand up and down his back.

“Sam!” you needily whimpered, body shuddering as you got closer and closer to release.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Sam murmured, lowering his body some as he adjusted himself above you, becoming more rough. “You want my mouth?”

Your response was a sweet little cry that was like music to Sam’s ears. He shifted his position and moved, his hand slipping from your pants as he eagerly tugged down your shorts and underwear while you lifted your body to make it easier. You watched with excitement as Sam hastily settled himself between your legs.

“Fuck, please b━” you sucked in a sharp breath as Sam flicked his tongue against you, his fingers returning and setting your entire body on fire. “God, Sam! Right there!”

Sam hummed against you, the vibrations adding to the pleasure you felt. You tossed your head back as one of your hands returned to his hair, the fingers starting to unbutton the flannel you wore that was starting to feel like it was too much as you tugged it up some. “Yes! S-SAM!” you desperately cried out, coming against Sam’s mouth moments later.

He continued to work you through your orgasm, your hips settling on the mattress as you felt your heart rate begin to relax, but you weren’t finished just yet.

“C’mere,” you panted as you sat up, eager to continue. You hand went to the back of Sam’s neck, tugging him closer. He climbed back on top of you with a smirk, a desperate sound suddenly escaping from the back of his throat as you palmed him through his pants.

“Fuck Y/N,” he panted, eyes flicking up to meet yours as he lifted his head. If you kept going at the rate that you were, he’d be coming undone in seconds. He pulled away slightly, his hand going on top of yours to make your pause. “Where’s━”

“The top drawer,” you hastily answered as you pointed to the nightstand on what seemed to be more “Sam’s side”.

Sam raised his brows at you, seeing your sheepishly shrug and smile. “Well, you never know what’ll happen and you gotta be prepared. . .and it’s kinda like we’re having a honeymoon since we━”

“The best honeymoon ever,” Sam smiled, giving you a quick kiss. You smiled, biting your lip as Sam climbed off the bed and grabbed a condom from the nightstand. He quickly got rid of his pants and underwear while you managed to slip the flannel off and toss it somewhere else as you weren’t exactly paying attention to anything besides Sam.

You wiggled your brows at him as he climbed back on the bed, making a chuckle escape his lips as he moved above your once more. you let out a breath, your eyes raking over him before your eyes locked with his. “I love you,” you softly said.

“I love you, too, baby,” Sam murmured, bending down to give you a sweet kiss. Yoi shifted slightly to get in a more comfortable position, moving your legs and wrapping both of your legs around Sam’s waist. “You ready?”

You nodded, giddily grinning. “Yeah.”

Sam passionately kissed your as he entered you, moaning into your mouth at the feeling. You gasped and your eyes fluttered closed, tightening your legs around your husband. “Shit, baby,” Sam whispered, nuzzling his nose against your as he waited a moment. You tilted your head, resting a hand on one of his broad shoulders, catching his gaze. “You okay?”

You nodded, your hand moving to his jaw, finger swiping over his bottom lip. “Always when I’m with you.”

Sam brightly smiled, his dimples poking out of his cheeks.

Then he started to move, starting out slow to make sure you got to enjoy it, too. Sam clenched his eyes shut as he moved his hips, bending down so your bodies were closer together while he held himself up with one of his arms, the other one traveling back down between your legs. You craned your neck, nails scratching against Sam’s back as your hands moved up and down his frame. Sam let out an unrestrained moan, starting to pick up the pace.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, lips moving against his neck, nipping and sucking wherever you could while Sam rubbed at your clit, slipping in and out of your with ease. You mewled with approval, smirking against Sam’s neck when he panted out your name over and over.

“Fuck me,” Sam whispered, moving at a faster, more rough pace.

You smirked, catching his eye. “I thought I already was.”

Sam breathed out a laugh, dipping his head down. Your head fell back on one of the pillows, gasping as Sam kissed along your jaw, going further down and towards your chest. “Holy shit, Sam,” you moaned, tugging on his hair and making him grunt. “Baby, I-I━”

“I know, I know. Me too,” Sam panted, his hand keeping him propped up moving to touch the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing and lips falling open to create one of the most attractive expression’s Sam had ever seen on your face. Sam panted, watching you as he felt your clench around him, coming again. “Fuck, Y/N!”

Sam came moments later, head dropping as he let out a loud groan. He continued to slowly move and work you both through their orgasms, stopping after a few seconds. He picked his head back up, offering you a dazed smile as you gazed up at him with a tired grin. “Bet none of those old Men of Letters had this kind of fun on one of these beds,” you cheekily said, giggling as Sam chuckled on top of you.

“I doubt it,” Sam said in agreement, sitting up on his knees and slipping out of you. You let out a content sigh as Sam then stood up, removing the condom to throw it away before slipping his underwear back on. You turned your head and looked over at the floor in search of Sam’s flannel you’d stolen that morning, but all you spotted was your underwear and the shirt Sam had been wearing. You sat up from the bed and picked them up, carefully slipping on the shirt and then your underwear.

You sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over your shoulder to find Sam softly smiling at you. “What?” you asked with a soft laugh.

“Nothin’,” Sam happily answered. “I just, uh. . .I love you.”

You beamed and moved, crawling over the bed towards him where he was standing. You sat up on your knees, wrapping both of your arms around his shoulders as you gazed at him. “I love you too,” you said, pecking his lips. “Now, what do you say we finish breakfast?”

“I already had my breakfast,” Sam cheekily replied.

You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes. “Very funny, Sam” you said, unraveling your arms from him to climb off the bed so you were standing in front of him. “I’m serious, though. I was kinda looking forward to some toast.”

Sam chuckled, faintly nodding his head. “All right, all right,” he said, starting to head for the dinner. “I still think my breakfast was better than toast.”

#Supernatural smut #supernatural #Sam Winchester #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #spn smut #spn imagine #SPN

294 notes · View notes

the-scandalorian · 3 years

Text

Tempered Glass: Chapter 5

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.4k Warnings: canon rewrite, slow burn, canon-typical violence, sexual harassment/unwanted sexual advances, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: When you’re caught in a firefight with a bounty hunter and the Crest is damaged, you and Mando stop on Tatooine to find a job. A shadow of your past catches up with you. Notes: Sorry not sorry for making Toro even worse than he already is. Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @theflightytemptressadventure @zoemariefit

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After leaving Sorgan, you and Mando chose a second “backwater skughole” several systems away as your next destination. Mando set the nav, and the automated voice of the computer informed you that the trip would take almost five days. The thought of spending five days confined to the Crest was not appealing, but you knew it was important to keep your stops as remote as possible.

Time was a functionally meaningless concept in space anyways, hours and days bleeding together. Without the usual environmental cues to govern your circadian rhythm, you had to rely on a schedule to maintain some semblance of normalcy, keeping alarms on your chrono to remind you when to sleep. Mando, on the other hand, seemed so completely accustomed to this slippery sense of time that he needed no reminders; this was natural for him.

If you hadn’t already seen some of his skin, you might actually think he was a droid. Aside from his hard metal exterior, the most compelling piece of evidence to support this theory was the fact that he didn’t seem to need much sleep. He disappeared into his bunk for maybe four or five hours a day, plus twenty minutes here or there to eat. You suspected he settled into a half-asleep, half-awake hibernation mode when he sat in the pilot’s seat for hours at a time without moving. Once, he jolted so violently when the child sneezed that he had to catch him by his collar before he slid off his knee.

His relationship with the kid, though, was achingly, heartwarmingly, vulnerably human.

You lived for the glimpses of their bond—the way Mando would remove a single pauldron so he could rest the child’s head on his shoulder to lull him to sleep, whispering to him as he swayed gently. When the kid was restless and energetic from being cooped up, Mando would roll the little silver sphere from a control in the cockpit along the floor of the hull for him to chase. For a generally impatient man, his patience for the child seemed almost inexhaustible; he would hold him and pat his back endlessly while he wailed his way through particularly bad tantrums.

You collected these precious moments and held them close to your heart, unwittingly creating a catalog of comfort that you’d return to later. They weren’t necessarily your moments to claim, as a visitor in their world, but you treasured them nonetheless.

***

You were out of colored contacts. You could only wear each pair continuously for a month, and your current pair was due to be switched out any day. The morning you threw them away, Mando stopped you as you passed him in the hull with a light hand on your shoulder. The kid was tucked in his other arm.

He stepped in front of you, just inches away from your chest, tilting his helmet down to look at you. You looked up to meet his gaze, puzzled. He cocked his head, a silent question.

Not for the first time, you wondered about the color of his eyes.

You held your breath, unsure of what he was going to do.

He said nothing but brought his gloved hand up to your face, running this thumb along the crest of your cheek—so lightly, the leather was barely touching you. The tender gesture brought goose bumps to your arms, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

The kid reached up a tiny hand toward your other cheek, mirroring Mando’s movement. He babbled quietly, breaking the tense silence. You flicked your eyes down to watch him but remained still, not wanting to disrupt the spell of the moment. The baby wiggled his fingers and whined when he realized he couldn’t reach you. You smiled.

You looked back up into Mando’s visor. You wanted so badly to reach out and touch him back, to pull him closer, but you let fear keep you rooted to the spot.

To your astonishment, he dipped his helmet, as if he was going to lean his forehead against yours. He was inches from your face—you could see your surprise reflected in his visor and hear his steady breathing through the modulator. But Mando seemed to change his mind mid-gesture, and the moment was over before you knew it. He straightened, dropped his hand, nodded stiffly, and stepped past you. The child let out a frustrated cry in protest.

Without the kid’s lingering whines, you might have thought you imagined the whole thing.

Little by little, you were revealing your real self to the Mandalorian, placing your safety in his hands. This would have been harder to stomach if you weren’t getting pieces of him in return. Spending this much time in such close quarters with someone—even someone as closed off as Mando—was enough to get to know them fairly well.

For instance, you weren’t quite fluent, but you were getting really good at reading his body language. He relied on his armor to mask his intentions with strangers, and he wasn’t accustomed to people spending extended amounts of time with him—time to learn his patterns and tells. Over time, it became apparent just how many minute things there were to unpack: subtle tensions in his back and shoulders, clenching of his fists, tapping of his fingers, the lean in his hips, audible inhales or exhales, the tilt of his helmet. Plus, there were nuanced flavors of each movement: a sassy head tilt, an angry head tilt, a confused head tilt. Soon enough, you’d be able to create a dictionary of the Mandalorian’s body language.

It was strange to think that you’d only been with him for a few weeks, and you might be the only person in the galaxy who could read him so well.

Something else you’d come to learn about Mando was that he was very particular about where his things were kept. This made sense—he’d clearly been living alone for years, if not decades. Of course someone with such a nomadic, unsettled lifestyle would want to carefully control what little in his environment that he could, but his compulsive organization was next level.

You came to this conclusion after you scooted his toothbrush and toothpaste over just slightly in the med cabinet to make a space for yours. The next morning, you opened the cabinet to find his things exactly where they had been before you’d moved them. You looked down to see that yours were sitting precariously on the edge of the sink, waiting to fall to the floor at the first sign of turbulence. Seriously?

That inspired you to devise a fun game—well, it was fun for you. You were pretty sure Mando hated it, though to his credit, he didn’t say anything about it for several days. Every day, you’d move one of his items just slightly to see if he’d notice and move it back. So far, he’d caught every tiny adjustment. He even reoriented his bar of soap when you moved it so it sat slightly off-kilter in its dish in the shower. He hadn’t even showered yet that day.

After three days, he finally cracked.

He was digging through a storage compartment, huffing dramatically though his modulator as he searched for something.

“I can’t imagine you’ve lost something,” you said, from where you were sitting on a crate sharing a ration pack with the kid, who was perched on your lap. “Not with how terrifyingly organized you are.”

“Yeah, well, that was only true before you started moving my stuff around.”

You grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to say something.”

“I was wondering when you were going to stop,” he huffed, but you detected the lightest trace of amusement in his tone.

“I haven’t actually moved anything,” you laughed. “Just... adjusted.”

He harrumphed, still digging around in the box.

The kid chittered and reached toward your hand for more food. You gave him another piece.

“If you let me leave my toothbrush and toothpaste in the med cabinet, I’ll stop.”

He looked up. “That’s it?”

“I’m a reasonable woman.”

“Deal.”

When you went to brush your teeth that night, one of the three shelves in the med cabinet had been completely cleared for you.

As you slowly began to insinuate yourself into Mando and the kid’s life, the guilt of not telling him about the bounty on your head started to weigh heavier on your mind. He deserved to know, but you couldn’t imagine him letting you stay if he found out. Why would he assume any extra risk? I’ll tell him soon. We probably won’t be together much longer anyways.

***

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

The unfamiliar voice of the bounty hunter echoed over the com in the cockpit. A ship was hot on your tail, landing several shots that rattled the Crest violently. The child, who was strapped into the seat beside you, seemed to enjoy the excitement of the chase, arms raised and giggling. Mando maneuvered the Crest quickly and deftly, so the pursuer was suddenly directly in front of the viewport.

“That’s my line,” he said dramatically, as he pulled the trigger and obliterated the ship in his sights.

Despite the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest, you couldn’t help but let out an exasperated laugh at that.

The chase had been short-lived, but the hunter had managed to inflict some serious damage. Alarms beeped and warning lights flashed along the console.

“Losing fuel,” said Mando. He was working hastily, his hands flying from one control to the next. He was trying to address several warning alarms at once.

“You work on that. I got this,” you said, unbuckling.

You stood next to him, attending to the controls in front of you.

“What are—Don’t do that,” he said, “Stop. I need to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence when he realized you were doing exactly what needed to be done to stabilize the ship.

“I thought you said you worked in programming.”

“I did. Mostly avionics.”

The second thruster sputtered and died. The cockpit went dark. All of the usual mechanical sounds that the ship made whirred to a halt. Mando turned in surprise, looking around. He clicked a few buttons. Nothing happened.

The child giggled from his seat.

“I’ll get it.” You walked to the back of the cockpit and wrenched open a panel to do a manual reset of the controls. Some of the lights came back on. Mando flicked several switches, and the displays came alive.

Together, you got the ship in good enough shape to limp to a nearby planet. Luckily, you were already close to Tatooine. The Razor Crest rattled alarmingly as it cleared the atmosphere, and Mando landed the ship with an unceremonious clunk in a bay in Mos Eisley.

Mando left the now sleeping baby in his bunk, despite your objections. That never works. He walked down the ramp to haggle with the mechanic.

Peli was a gruff woman, sassy and straightforward. You liked her right away. Mando deserved the sass Peli dished out, considering he had begun their interaction by shooting at her pit droids when they tried to approach the Crest.

He really hates droids.

You and Mando headed to the cantina to inquire about work. As soon as the ship went dead, you’d both known you’d need to pull a job to pay to fix the damage because there was no way the Crest was making it to your destination in its current state.

You trailed a few steps behind him, watching the intimidating way he stalked down the sandy street, his cape billowing behind him. He seemed less scary now that you knew he secretly had a sense of humor and an occasional flair for the dramatic. And that he once let you sleep on his shoulder. And tied your shoe for you.

When you entered the cantina, you shivered from the abrupt change in temperature. Outside the twin suns beat down; inside the dark cantina, it was cool.

Mando strode up to the bar. You followed him, taking in your surroundings.

“Hey, droid. I’m a hunter. I’m looking for some work.”

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” replied the droid in a stilted voice.

“It doesn’t have to be Guild work,” you clarified.

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation,” said the droid, continuing to wipe down the surface of the bar with a rag.

“Think again, tin can,” interrupted a smug voice behind you. You and Mando turned.

A young man, his legs propped brazenly on the table in front of him, continued, “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friends.” He gestured to the seats across from him.

“Name’s Toro, Toro Calican. Come on, relax.” He beckoned for you to join him again.

You and Mando exchanged a look and walked over to where he was seated.

Toro swung his legs off the table and slapped a bounty puck down in front of him as you slid into the booth and Mando followed.

“Picked up this bounty punk before I left the Mid Rim,” Toro explained. The hazy image of a woman with dark hair hovered over the puck. “Fennec Shand, an Assassin. Heard she’s been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

Toro had thick brown hair and dark eyes, a boyish face despite the scruff of five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He couldn’t be older than 25.

“I’ve heard the name,” said Mando.

You nodded beside him. Fennec Shand was a legend. Having been chased by enough hunters, you were familiar with the big players.

“Yeah, well, I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she’s headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” He shrugged.

This kid clearly has no idea what he’s doing.

“Well, good luck with that,” said Mando, standing up. You stayed where you were, relaxed against the back of the booth.

“Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” Toro looked from Mando to you, confused.

“How long you been with the Guild?” asked Mando.

“Long enough,” Toro spat unconvincingly.

“Clearly not. Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won’t make it past sunrise.”

Mando looked at you and jerked his head to signal that it was time to go. He started to walk away. You stayed seated, saying nothing.

Toro looked at you, pleading. You nodded toward Mando: “You’ll have to convince him.”

Toro scrambled after him. Mando turned to face him, and Toro had to look up to meet his visor.

“This is my first job,” he admitted in a strained voice. “You guys can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild. I can’t do it alone.”

Mando looked to you. You smiled knowingly, and he let out a sigh and nodded.

The man cannot say no to someone who needs help.

Toro was visibly relieved.

“Meet us at hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring three speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob,” instructed Mando, holding out a hand.

Toro’s shoulders pulled together. Someone doesn’t want to let go of the fob.

Without any warning, he smashed the fob on the wall. It sparked.

Mando gave Toro his angry head tilt.

“Don’t worry, got it all memorized,” assured Toro, tapping a finger on his temple.

“Half an hour,” growled Mando.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, guys,” Toro said triumphantly, turning to look at you.

Mando pushed past Toro and walked back to the booth, leaning down toward you. “I am not that predictable,” he muttered in a low, irritated voice.

“You really are,” you smiled up at him. “I’ll meet you at the hangar in 20. I want real food.”

He nodded and left.

Toro looked very pleased with himself, grinning at you.

“You better go track down those bikes,” you reminded him, gesturing for a droid to come take your order.

Toro ignored your advice. Instead, he looked you up and down in a way that made your skin crawl and slid back into the booth across from you.

“You know what? I have an even better idea. Me and you can take Fennec ourselves. You look like a girl who can handle herself. Let’s ditch that rusty bucket right now and do this together. Fewer people to split the reward.” His eyes sparkled.

Is he fucking serious?

You already weren’t a huge fan of Toro and his cocky attitude, but the minute he called you “girl” like that, your regard for him plummeted. What little patience you had for this kid was wearing thin.

“Not interested.”

The droid came over, and you placed your order.

Toro, still looking at you expectantly, scooted around the table to sit next to you, and you moved in the opposite direction to maintain the distance between you.

“Mando is old, you know? I don’t know if you can tell, but I can. That’s an old man under that shiny armor. You look like you need someone younger to keep up with you.” He winked conspiratorially, as if the two of you were sharing a mutual joke.

You watched him through narrowed eyes, a sour feeling settling in your stomach.

He was clearly terrible at reading people because he responded to your disgusted look by reaching over to run a heavy hand along the inside of your thigh. He barely made it an inch past your knee when you ripped his hand off your leg, tightening your fingers around his wrist until your nails dug into his skin.

“Touch me again and lose a hand,” you spat at him, releasing him and pushing up from the table. You wrapped your fingers around the hilt of the blade at your hip.

“Whoa, whoa! I was just being friendly, sweetheart,” he said loudly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He looked around at the other patrons as if seeking outside confirmation that you were the one who was being unreasonable in this situation.

“You should leave.”

“I was obviously kidding about ditching Mando,” said Toro, shaking his head. “You really need to lighten up.” He didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

You spared him a biting response, fixing him with a glare instead.

“I’ll go find those bikes.” He stood to leave, purposefully brushing past your shoulder as he went.

***

After finishing your meal, you stalked out of the cantina and back to the terminal to find Mando.

He was sitting at the top of the ramp of the Crest fiddling with an open control panel in the wall. He looked up to nod at you when he heard you approach.

“I don’t like that kid, Mando. I don’t trust him. I don’t think we should do this.” You stopped in front of him and put your hands on your hips.

“I know. He’s inexperienced, but he’s harmless.”

“No, that’s what I’m saying—he’s not harmless.”

“What did he say to you?” Mando continued working on the open control panel, only vaguely listening to you.

“He tried to talk me into ditching you and teaming up with him, so we didn’t have to split the reward three ways... He also hit on me.” You added the last part as an afterthought and grimaced at the memory of his gross hand on your thigh.

His head snapped up to look at you. “He—what?”

You looked at him, waiting for him to verbalize a more coherent question. You weren’t sure which part of what you’d shared horrified him the most.

“I—what—uh, yeah, I know... I don’t trust him either,” he continued, “but there are two of us and only one of him. We need the credits—and we’ll get the full reward, like he agreed, whether he likes it or not. We’re not going to find many other jobs here, and I don’t think he’s smart enough to pull anything.”

“I guess,” you shrugged. Toro doesn’t seem capable of critical thinking, let alone concocting and carrying out an elaborate scheme. The bounty was too high and other jobs too scarce to resist.

“We’ll keep a close eye on him. Let’s just finish this job quickly, and then you, me, and the kid can move on.”

“Okay,” you agreed, reluctantly. The way he emphasized the fact that you and him and the kid were a team was an obvious attempt to quell your worries. And it did. Mostly. It was a little startling how well he knew you already.

“Where’s the baby?” you asked, suddenly realizing the door to his bunk was open, and it was empty.

“He left the ship, and Peli found him. She agreed to take care of him while we do this job.”

Again, here he is, trusting a complete stranger.

“I told you he never stays put,” you scowled.

“Don’t worry, Peli already gave me an earful about how much I don’t know about kids.” He sounded defeated, so you decided not to pile on.

“You’re doing a good job, you know. The kid really loves you.”

He seemed surprised by your sincerity, his shoulders pulling back slightly. “I’m not, but thanks.”

It hurt your heart a little to hear him say that.

***

When you left the terminal fifteen minutes later, Toro was outside, leaning against one of two speeder bikes with a cocky smile on his face.

Peli, who was holding the kid and arguing with Mando about payment, stood in the doorway to see you off. You caught the curious look that Toro gave the baby in Peli’s arms.

“Hey, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh? I could only track down two. You guys will have to share,” Toro said.

You and Mando looked at each other. Mando started to inspect the bike closest to you. Before he could beat you to it, you threw a leg over the speeder bike and sat down at the front of the seat.

“What are you doing?” Mando asked you.

“Driving,” you said, shrugging and reaching into your bag. You pulled on a pair of googles and wrapped a scarf around your nose and mouth. You secured your bag on the back of the bike.

When you noticed that Mando had made no move to join you, you looked at him and tipped your head back toward the seat behind you. “Let’s go.”

You could tell by the resigned drop in his shoulders that he knew it would be more work to try to convince you to scoot back than was worth it. He climbed on the speeder behind you, crowding you forward and reaching his long arms around you to grab the controls.

“Nope. Nice try,” you said, slapping his gloved hands away and grasping the controls yourself.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your middle. You hoped he didn’t notice the goose bumps that appeared on your neck when he touched you. It was way too warm out under the two blazing suns to explain them away.

You jerked your wrists down and leaned forward to take off across the open sand, not waiting for Toro to mount his speeder.

“What the hell??” he yelled after you.

He caught up after a few moments.

After awhile, you let yourself relax back against Mando’s chest, and you smiled to yourself when he tightened his arms around you.

The suns slipped lower in the sky as you coasted over the shifting surface of the Dune Sea.

***

You and Toro slowed your bikes to a halt when Mando released your waist to hold up a fist.

“What’s going on?” asked Toro.

“Look. Up ahead,” The rasp of Mando’s modulator in your ear and the concurrent rumble in his chest made you shiver, so you hastily hopped off the bike.

Mando stayed seated while you and Toro each pulled out a set of binocs to scan the landscape. Neither of you had the heightened vision that Mando’s helmet afforded him.

Through your binocs, you spotted two Tusken raiders standing beside two very hairy Banthas a short distance ahead. You lowered your binocs and scanned the immediate area.

“Tusken raiders. I heard the locals talking about this filth,” spat Toro, who was still watching them through his binocs.

You stepped back toward the bike as two Tuskens crested the hill you were on. Mando reached out a hand to grab your wrist, squeezing gently. You looked at him, and he nodded reassuringly.

“Tuskens think they’re the locals,” Mando said coolly, turning back to Toro. “Everyone else is just trespassing.”

“Well, whatever they call themselves, they best keep their distance,” Toro remarked.

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell them yourself?” asked Mando.

You grinned. There’s that flair for the dramatic.

Toro turned, and the two Tuskens screeched at him. You laughed at the way Toro positively jumped. Mando stood, raising a calming hand toward Toro, and told him to relax. You followed him as he approached the Tuskens and started gesturing to them, clearly proficient in their sign-based language.

Mando’s hands moved smoothly though deft, controlled movements. You looked down and bit your lip, trying to focus on twisting the toe of your boot back and forth in the sand to prevent your mind from wandering somewhere less appropriate.

“What are you doing?” Toro asked Mando.

“Negotiating.”

The Tuskens signed back to Mando.

“What’s going on?” asked Toro.

“We need passage across their land.”

“What did you think he meant by “negotiating”?” you said, raising your eyebrows at Toro.

“Let me see your binocs,” said Mando, holding out a hand to Toro.

“Why?”

Mando said nothing but kept his hand out, waiting. The two suns, now low in the sky, reflected brightly off his helmet. Toro handed them over begrudgingly, and Mando tossed them to the Tuskens. The Tuskens looked satisfied with their payment.

“He—hey! What? Those were brand new!” stuttered Toro in surprise.

“Yeah? They were.” Mando stalked away and remounted the speeder bike. You followed him.

And there’s that sense of humor. It’s sassy.

“You couldn’t have taken hers instead?” Toro asked, nodding at you.

“Nope,” said Mando.

You smiled sweetly at Toro as Mando scooted back in the seat and let you climb on in front of him.

***

The next time you stopped more abruptly. Mando raised his fist and barked, “Get down!”

You and Mando sprang off your bike in unison and crouched down. Toro, struggling to keep up with what was happening, fumbled with his goggles before following suit.

The three of you made your way to the edge of the dune in front of you, staying low. You set yourselves up on your stomachs at the top of the rise. Not far below, a dewback trudged forward slowly with what looked like a dead rider trailing after it, a rein wrapped around the figure’s limp ankle.

“Is that her? Is that the target?” asked Toro.

“I don’t know... I’ll go.” He looked at you to say, “You two cover me.”

You nodded.

He looked at Toro to emphasize, “Stay down.”

You and Toro pulled out your blasters. Mando ran hurriedly down the dune, his own blaster drawn. He approached the dewback slowly with a reassuring, “Whoa, whoa.”

Mando flipped over the prone body.

“So, is it her? Is she dead?” yelled Toro.

Mando turned, “It’s another bounty hunter.”

Toro turned to look at you. “He’s not planning to keep all that stuff for himself, right? I at least want that blaster.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Can you shut up for one second?”

He gave you a disbelieving look. You ignored him and focused your attention back on Mando.

Mando started to rise, turning suddenly to yell, “GET DOWN!” as blaster fire hit his pauldron, knocking him to the ground.

“Mando!” you yelled.

He scrambled back to his feet and broke into a run. He crested the hill as a second shot screamed after him. Again, it hit him in the beskar, sound reverberating off the metal. He threw himself down with a grunt, rolling towards you in a shower of sand.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get hit, right?” You reached out towards him.

“Yeah, it hit me in the beskar. And at that range, the beskar held up.” He sounded winded.

“What happened?” asked Toro, as Mando set himself back up on the crest of the hill, lying between you and Toro.

“Sniper bolt. Only an MK-modified rifle could make that shot.”

“Fennec,” you said. Mando nodded.

“Did you see where the shot came from?” he asked you.

“Yeah, from that ridge.” You pointed.

“Okay, we’re gonna wait until dark.”

“Well, what if she escapes?” asked Toro from where he was resting on his elbows on the other side of Mando.

“She’s got a good position,” you said. “She’s not moving.”

“Exactly,” agreed Mando. “She’ll wait for us to make the first move.”

Mando rolled over and stood only part of the way up, offering a hand down to you. You grasped it and got to your feet. You both hunched low to keep yourselves behind the protective swell of the dune.

“We’re gonna rest. You take the first watch. Stay low,” Mando said to Toro.

You followed Mando back to the bikes.

“Be extra careful. I don’t like you being out here with no beskar,” he said to you, more quietly.

“I will.”

Your stomach clenched at the way Mando’s voice warmed when he was talking only to you. He spoke to Toro in a clipped tone, like he was scolding an unruly kid. He spoke to you like an equal, a partner. You couldn’t pinpoint when he’d started talking to you this way, but it had shifted recently. It was a tone you’d heard him use with the kid and with Omera. Something that felt a lot like hope sparked in your chest at this realization.

He slumped down against your speeder bike and reached up to pull you down next to him. You leaned back against the bike next to him, your body flush with his, and let your cheek fall against his shoulder.

After a few moments, you could hear a light snore rasping through his modulator. Apparently this man can fall asleep anywhere.

Eventually, you fell into a light sleep, not trusting Toro enough to sleep deeply.

***

You woke to Toro saying, “Time to ride, guys.”

“Come on, wake up!”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head. It was dark out; the last lavender traces of the sunset were disappearing along the horizon. Mando was still beside you, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“Look at him, asleep on the job. I told you he was an old man,” leered Toro.

You felt the cadence of Mando’s breathing shift beside you.

“You’re right. He’s ancient—basically dead already,” you quipped, patting Mando on the knee to signal that you knew he was awake.

Toro couldn’t tell if you were mocking him or joking with him, so he just looked at you, slack-jawed, trying to parse it out.

“Not quite,” Mando said, jabbing you in the ribs lightly with his elbow. Toro started at Mando’s words.

You stood, this time extending a hand down to help Mando up. It was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else—he weighed way more with that armor on than you could ever lift. Nonetheless, he took your hand as he hauled himself to his feet.

“We’re going to ride as fast as we can towards those rocks,” explained Mando, pointing to where Fennec was presumably perched.

“That’s your plan?” scoffed Toro. “She’ll snipe us right off the bikes.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem remember the amazing plan that you came up with?” you sniped, raising your hands in disbelief.

Mando snickered, a short rasp through the modulator, and in answer to Toro’s question, he tossed a small item his way then handed something to you.

“They’re flash charges. You two will alternate shots. It’ll blind any scope temporarily. Combine that with our speed, and we got a chance.”

You looked down at the charge in your hand, noting the button that would set it off.

“A chance?!” blurted Toro.

You bit back a scathing retort, turning back to your bike.

“Hey, you wanted this. Get ready,” replied Mando, tipping his helmet at Toro.

Mando stepped close to you, lowering his voice. “Let me sit in front this time. In case she manages to make any shots.”

You nodded in agreement, appreciating his protective nature.

You mounted the bike behind him and wrapped your arms around his middle, the charge grasped tightly in your right hand. Mando wrenched his wrists down, and your speeder bike took off, with Toro in your wake.

Mando pushed the bike as fast as it could possibly go, launching it over the swells of sand. You gripped him tighter, and the wind whipped the edges of his cape against your legs.

Apparently Fennec spotted you easily from her vantage point on the cliff because she started her assault immediately, firing at Toro’s speeder first.

Mando reached one hand down for a moment to squeeze your arm, and you understood. Holding his waist tightly with your left arm, you reached your right one up into the air to set off the charge. It went off with a screech. Even through your closed eyelids, you registered the blinding flash of light.

Fennec recovered fairly quickly. She resumed firing only moments after the light dissipated. Mando weaved the bike in a serpentine pattern to avoid the shots.

He turned to Toro and yelled, “NOW!”

Toro let off a charge. Another searing light rippled across the landscape.

After a moment, Fennec fired again, her aim becoming more precise as you drew closer to the cliff. This time, she didn’t miss. A direct shot screamed across the sand and hit the front of your speeder bike. You let go of Mando in the jolt of the impact, and you both flew over the top of the bike and landed in the sand.

Ouch.

Toro zoomed past, looking back for only a second. You didn’t like how easily he left you both behind, but logically, you knew that someone needed to get to Fennec as soon as possible.

You stayed prone on the sand, lifting just your head to see where Mando had fallen a few feet ahead of you. You were relieved when he sprang to his feet and ran back towards you. Without any warning, he lowered himself down over you to protect you from any more incoming fire. He braced himself on his elbows and knees so his body was pressed against yours, but he wasn’t crushing you with the combined weight of his body and armor.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice right behind your ear.

“Yeah.” Your face was pressed against the warm sand. “You?”

“Good. You got the charge?”

You handed it up to him. Luckily, you’d managed to hold onto it during the impact. Mando fumbled for a moment, then lifted an arm to set it off.

After the searing light faded and the dark blanket of night returned, another blaster shot landed in the sand a few feet from your head. Mando edged forward and rested his helmet on the sand above your head. You were completely shielded.

“Thanks,” you muttered up to him, slightly self-conscious that this purely protective position was affecting you so much, a slow heat coiling tight in your stomach. His whole body was flush with yours, his breath heavy and fast in your ear, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his armored chest against your back. The places where he wasn’t covered by beskar pressed warmly against you. Think about anything else.

A shot pinged off his back. Mando tensed and grunted at the impact. You gritted your teeth and focused on burying your fingers in the sand, definitely not thinking about what other things might draw similar sounds from him.

“Alright, I think Toro got to her. Let’s go, but stay behind me,” Mando rasped in your ear, squeezing your shoulder with a gloved hand.

You nodded beneath him, stifling the shiver that was threatening to run up your spine. Think about anything else.

He rolled off you, and you both got to your feet. You breathed a sigh of relief and positioned yourself at his back, both of you drawing your blasters. In the dark, you could see red streaks of blaster fire on the cliff where Fennec had been perched.

“We gotta run,” you yelled, pushing him forward. “Toro wont be able to take her alone, Mando!”

You stayed close behind him, a hand on his lower back, so he knew you were with him.

When you reached the foot of the cliff, you could hear Toro’s groans and Fennec’s grunts, but you couldn’t see them. You and Mando scrambled up the sandy incline that was littered with boulders and crested the cliff right as Fennec wrestled Toro to the ground.

“Nice distraction,” said Mando, training his blaster on Fennec. She reluctantly released Toro from her hold and put her hands up in defeat. You waited, partially concealed behind Mando until you knew she was restrained.

Toro grunted in pain as he stood up slowly.

“Cuff yourself,” Mando ordered Fennec, tossing the cuffs in front of her.

“A Mandalorian. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind.” She stood. “Ever been to Nevarro? I hear things didn’t go so well there, but it looks like you got off easy.”

Fuck, just how much has she heard about what went down on Nevarro?

Fennec smiled even wider when you stepped out from behind Mando. There was no avoiding her now. Sure enough, recognition flickered in her eyes.

Uh oh.

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t my favorite bounty,” she drawled, and before you could react, your name—your real name—fell from her lips. “You lead me all over the damn galaxy, sweetheart.”

***

Chapter 6

#my writing #tempered glass #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #reader insert #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

210 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Part 10 of Irritated. Y'all thank Jo for this being updated lol.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ This is an 18+ Pro Hero AU, mentions of violence and death. Enjoy

The pungent smell of wet Earth and nose burning chemicals did not pair well with the harsh scent of rotting fruit. Sickeningly sweet as it rouses you, mind hazed as your eyelids refuse to open or even flutter. Weighted by lead and an endless sleep that tries to pull you under again. For once you submit.

More time passes, although you aren’t even sure you understand the concept any longer as that same smell stirs you again, a bang from an adjacent room pushes your eyes to flutter. Flashes of light against the start darkness before your eyes adjust to the low light of the room that seeps in from a few small rectangular windows. The panes are caked with dust while bricks are pressed into the seedy Earth, giving the room a natural coolness, there is only one set of stairs that lead up towards a door outlined in light. The sound of running water makes your throat constrict and your mouth dry, as if you swallowed cotton whole. Making you wonder just how long you had been pulled undertow. It takes your throbbing head a moment to catch up with your senses as a chill settles over your bare skin in goose flesh.

And then it all comes flooding back, the awful taste of his salty skin in your mouth, the fear gripping at your muscles as you finally realize that you are not in the safety of your apartment but somewhere forgein. Thrashing to get to your feet only to hit hard onto the icy concrete, wrists and ankles bound by white cuffs, a small whine escapes your raw throat. Your heart hammers in your chest before you feel a sharp prick in both of your wrists. A warm substance floods your system as your eyelids become heavy, mind trudging through abduction procedures before settling on blissful numb. A blurry figure comes from the only other door in the room that isn’t atop the staircase. You don’t need to fully focus on his face to know exactly what color his eyes are as they burn into your retinas before sleep hushes your frayed nerves. You dream of all consuming green that slowly fades to black.

Bakugou finds himself standing in the kitchen of his apartment, your spare key stares up at him from your paperwork. A sweating glass with melting ice and the reminisce of an amber liquid is his only company. He leers down at the address, wondering why the hell you were on such a seedy side of town, then he thinks of you shaking on the couch back at the hotel during the convention. His stomach churns, your final words and blow cause him to suck his teeth.

“Not my fucking problem.” He huffs to himself, refilling the glass before killing the light in the kitchen to settle on the couch. His grip is too tight on the crystal glass in his explosive palm, the glass threatens to shatter while an infomercial plays in the background. His mind is anywhere but the TV while indestructible pans are advertised across the large screen. Aggressively swirling the amber liquid as his thoughts become more and more loud. He swallows the whisky whole and with it the thought of you. Letting it all burn as it runs down his throat and heats his chest, a warm feeling flooding his veins as he sinks lower into the couch. Flipping channels as he forgets you.

Your key taped to your personal records, that Bakugou stole, do not sit on his fine counter much longer, soon it is swiped and shoved into a pocket. He slams the crystal glass on the counter as he reaches for his own apartment keys and his cellphone. Bakgou slams his apartment door, locking the deadbolt before he rushes down the stairs to catch the last train to you hellish part of the city.

The hour train ride sobers Bakugou and only sets him into further agitation. Glaring at anyone who thinks to look at him more than once, even going as far as baring his teeth. Before glaring at his own reflection, who sneers right back. His black tee is tight and a bit damp despite the cool air, the brim of his backwards cap pulls the hair away from his forehead as his faded sides breathe in the chill of the train. The hat, an excuse to hold in his hair, his hero gloves heating his hands as his fingers twitch, he hopes your apartment is hardwood throughout since he didn't have plastic bags to put his feet in while he looked for something. Anything. He was doing the best with what he had.

But the more he looks at himself the more he realizes he never really was doing his best. At least not when it came to you.

The address to your apartment complex is a few blocks away from the train station, his jaw clenched as he reaches the low lit building. Screaming comes from somewhere far off, his ears perk out of habit, but he was supposed to be off duty right now. Plus that wasn’t his current focus, not to mention should he help it would be suspicious as fuck as to why he was so far way from home tonight. He bounds up the stairs in the dank stairwell two at a time, huffing through his nose as he reaches the top floor. The carpet is worn threadbare and reeks of vomit and water damage. Silence envelopes the top floor compared to the yelling and crashing items on his way up. Slowly it dawns on him that you’re most likely renting out the entire fucking floor. He sucks his teeth, leaning in close to the door of the first apartment on the floor. Nothing comes from the other side of the thin cheap door, musty air flows from between the cracks as if the room had been closed for quite some time. It confirms what he’s been thinking. He finds your apartment door with ease, several bolts and locks lined up perfectly straight. He looks down at the one key and thinks about what happened in the short few years you started at the agency that you would need five, no six additional deadbolts on your door. He half wishes you hadn't made it so obvious as to which door was yours, thoughts creep into the forefront of his mind as he imagines someone else standing in his spot now. He thinks he will need a locksmith, but that would call attention to himself, he could attempt to pick them but he never really had time to practice the shady skill. Just as he is about to turn to brute force as the answer he notices that your door doesn't seem fully shut. He thinks of all the times that you bitched while on patrol about your damn door and how you had to literally slam it shut for it to actually lock. Gritting his teeth he gently pushes the door open with his gloved hand letting it swing open with an eerie creak.

Already things are out of place. Your suitcase stands alone, untouched and obviously unpacked from the clothes peeking out from beneath the zipper, by the front door. Your lanyard for your keys is on the floor instead of the table that is in the foyer and the converse you were wearing the day that you quit are missing. Faintly something gleems in the grainy light from the hallway from beneath the table in the foyer. Bakugou reaches for it tentatively, teeth gritting as he realizes what the glass rectangle is.

Your phone.

Specifically, your dead phone.

His hand hover over the unresponsive screen before deciding to leave it, this would be evidence they would need later but for now he knew he had to do something. Kamisama takes pity on the poor bastard and throws him a bone in the shape of a scrunchie. Your black scrunchie that seems to have been ripped from your arm. As he reaches for it he notices the faint residue smeared on the hardwood. His mind dredges up weeks ago of the guy trying to hide his quirk. Of the carpet by the hotel door in the hall just a touch darker.

He should have fucking killed him, he should not have listened to you. He snatches the scrunchie, heading towards your kitchen to look for a bag, tupperware, anything to trap the smell of you and possibly your assailant. He finds a plastic sandwich bag, shoving the broken hair tie into the baggie before sealing it shut. He heads for your door thinking better of slamming it shut in case he needs to return without the calvary. Pulling his phone from his pocket he dials an old number from memory, the other line picks up.

"Oi, it's time I cashed in on that favor you owe me."

After the short conversation and the long hour and a half in the cold a four door sudan pulls up to the train station by your house. Bakugou eagerly yanks open passenger side door, slamming it shut as he cranks of the heat in the car, giving the driver no room for questions let alone a greeting.

"Oi, I need you to find the owner of this." He flashes the scrunchie as the driver gives him a look, "Inu, you're hound's son aren't you? It's not impossible."

"It might as well be dude. What is this?" Inu snatches the bag from hot fingers, "Do you even know when the last time the owner wore this. And what exactly are we doing? Is this even fucking official?"

Bakugou narrows his eyes, mouth set in a harsh snarl as he leans in close to the driver's seat while Inu leans back.

"I dunno was your shit I helped you with official? Was it ethical for us to take out a mob boss for your now ex wife?"

Inu looks away into the rear view mirror, eyes boring holes into the glass and the blankets in the back seat. Bakugou doesn't notice, he takes it as admission before leaning away into the passenger seat.

"Now get to sniffing." Inu grits his teeth at the hot head's comments before sighing out. Opening the bag just a little to take a whiff. The smell was faint, indicating a large gap from the time it was last worn to now. Not to mention there was an odd smell, so unbelievably faint in the fabric that had Inu not already known what you smelt like he would have missed it. Just barely he could make out past the notes of your shampoo a salty harsh smell, almost like a preservative. Had it been any stronger it would have burned his nostrils. Sweat and...was that formaldehyde?

His stomach churns, slowly closing the baggie before cracking his window, catching the wind just right. He follows his nose, head halfway out the window as the car carries the men late into the night, all the way to the fringes of a suburb that was partly in the country. Inu parks the car on the wide street of the little neighborhood built to mimic an American suburb in the nineties. Homes of various sizes spread out and yet not too far from one another.

"This is it." Inu announces, throwing the car in park as it sits nestled between a beat to hell pick up truck and a dented sudan.

"You're sure?" Bakugou asks as he takes in the old home, it's upkeep is minimal at best, landscaping border line over grown as he can barely make out the small rectangular windows at the base of the house beneath the old dim street lamp.

"This is where both smells get stronger."

"Both?" A tic wounds tighter in Bakugou's jaw while a tremor runs through his arms. Inu nods as Bakugou reaches for the knob.

"Woah, woah!" Inu's large hand clamps down onto a broad shoulder, "Hold up man, if she really is involved then this is nothing like the sting we did bro. We need to call someone."

"Like fucking who?"

"I dunno Director Yami?"

"Yea so he can dismiss this again? Fuck that and fuck you. I'm going." He shoves Inu away reaching for the door again before the blankets in the back seat come to life. A mop of emerald curls with concern plastered across the giant's face appears to Bakugou's horror.

"Kaachan...you can't. We need to do this right, for her." And with that Bakugou snaps, lunging for his old friend, enemy. Climbing past the center console with his hands outstretched before they wrap around a thick column squeezing with all of his might. Deku doesn't do much to stop him, somehow knowing deep down that it isn't really him that the red eyed man wants to kill. He wraps broad hands around thick forearms giving them a gentle squeeze, he could snap them with One for All if he wanted. Instead Inu barks out a breathy "What the fuck?" as he wraps his arms around Bakugou's torso pulling him back into the passenger's seat. In the tussle either Bakugou or Inu hit the horn, causing Inu to panic as a light comes to life in the once darkened house. He forcefully shoves Bakugou into the front seat as he peels into the street, thankfully without burning rubber.

"Are you trying to blow our fucking cover?!" Inu shouts, "Like fuck! And what's killing Izuku-kun going to do?"

Bakugou turns to glare at the behemoth of a man in the back seat, he rubs his throat as red eyes watch bruises form.

"I'm not sorry Deku, fuck you." But Izuku can read between the lines, Bakugou saying he is sorry but still fuck you for trying to stop me while our friend is most likely on borrowed time.

"'S kay. We can help her."

A honk, rouses you before footsteps can be heard overhead rushing through the house before blinding light floods down into the basement.

"Finally you're awake." He flicks on all the lights, scrambling to put your feet under you so you can at least sit. Eyes flickering over the room as you try to give your throbbing, unresponsive mind to collect something, anything you can store away for later to aid your escape. Meanwhile the green eyed fucker monologues.

"It took some time for me to adjust your dose, I need you to be just under enough that you won't fight back, your heart rate spikes easily you know…." His words are lost to you as you glance over your shoulder only to wish you never did as your stomach churns in horror. Lined up against the wall behind you are women, women you had posed with.

But what haunts you is how it starts with your missing friend. Her eyes hollowed out, pitch black holes stare back at you as her skin looks paper thin, like a botched mummification or that whoever was trying to preserve her got lucky. She is still in her last scene clothes that are bloodied and torn. Your eyes struggling to follow the line as they progressively become more and more preserved, until your eyes finally land on your last instagram picture, you and that young girl. With the peace signs beneath your eyes.

She looks to still be alive, until you realize she is unblinking with glass eyes and a permanent smile with the help of a stich or two.

He notices your rigidness and frowns.

"Are you not happy? It's hard to save the eyes." He forces your face to meet him with his fingers on your skin, "I made them for you. They're your friends right? I wouldn't want my doll to be lonely."

Your breath comes in ragged huffs as rage consumes you, you were going to kill him. With whatever little power you had left, you were going to end him and savor it.

All these lives, twenty, that you could see, lost, because of you and you negligence. Your eyes glow before a prick comes at your wrist, the power dying in your fingers.

"No." You rasp out as your vision begins to fade.

"Ah come on, I just want you to be a wake for just a bit doll. Just a while longer before I make you mine."

Your world plunges into the depths of darkness.

Your dream of the girls behind you, of their scream as their preserved bodies animate, their glass eyes fixated on you as they crawl across the concrete. Their mouths smelling of formatihide and rot as they lean close to you, voices beneath water or worn by gravel.

"You did this. You killed us."

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha au #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bnha imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou angst #bnha horror #tw death #tw trauma

225 notes · View notes

dapandapod · 3 years

Text

Lucky

A piece of Lambden for the Bog Fluff Battle! On Ao3 Here! Just a little bit of Aiden with a hurt leg and Lambert bringing him to Kaer Morhen over the winter to keep him close protect him. :) 8. Falling asleep mid conversation 27. First time meeting parent(s)/family

It has been a long week. Lambert has been pushing them to get to Kaer Morhen before the pass closes. They started too late, weather now unpredictable and full of dangers.

Aiden has had a hard time keeping up, still recovering from a nasty cut in his thigh and it’s taking more out of him to ride than usual. Lambert feels a little bad about it, but if they don’t want to get caught in yet another snowstorm and then have to turn back, they have to keep their pace.

Lucky that they actually got horses this time around. Last time Lambert made the trek someone decided to steal his horse as he was taking a contract.

Fucking bastards.

Lambert made sure no one even got close to the horses this time around. Not making that mistake again. This is taking enough time as it is.

Bringing Aiden to the keep is, well. Not risky, but not his best idea either, probably. For some reason, Vesemir has a thing against the cat witchers. The combination of finding a Cat friend (that he probably likes a little too much) and the promise of pissing Vesemir the fuck off is too good to resist. And taking into consideration that Aiden actually is hurt and could use a safe place to recover, there is simply no discussing it.

It is cold as shit, and when they camp for the night in an abandoned shepherd's hut they have to cuddle close together. Lambert will never admit how much he enjoys being close to Aiden. Not to anyone, least of all Aiden. He falls asleep while watching Aiden, hair falling into his face, mouth hanging slightly open as he snores.

In the morning Aiden's leg is stiff.

“Shut up, cat, and let me do it,” Lambert says, taking out a jar of ointment from his bag that he definitely didn’t pick up especially for Aiden. “We'll lose precious time if you're too sore to ride.”

Yeah, Lambert. Good cover. But Aiden doesn’t argue, he just pulls down his pants and presents his thigh. There might be a twinkle in his eye that makes Lambert's stomach flip, and Lambert ignores it with an angry huff. Like one does while hiding a crush.

He massages the ointment to the wound, carefully, and does not react when Aiden does breathy little sounds, thank you very much. Not until he’s done anyway.

“Felt good, kitty?” He smirks when Aiden is fastening his belt again. Aiden doesn’t miss a beat however, and winks back at him.

“Your hands always feel good on me, Lamb.”

Yep, that is all it takes for Lambert to turn his back and flee into all the things that have to be done. He is not blushing, it’s the cold. Leave off.

They are closing in on Kaer Morhen. Only another day or so, and they will be there. Lambert recognizes hunting trails and running tracks as they pass. But it’s getting late and Aiden is swaying in the saddle. So Lambert leads them towards a small cave that he found once and padded with moss. Hopefully there won’t be other inhabitants, but one never knows.

Lambert swiftly slides off his horse, but Aiden is still sitting in his saddle.

“You ok there, kitty cat?” Lambert asks, walking over and placing a hand on Aidens thigh. Aiden blinks blearily down at him and then looks around.

“Oh. We stopped.”

“Yeah. Come on down from there. I’ll catch you.”

It says a lot on how tired Aiden is when he just nods without further comment, lifting his leg over the saddle and sliding down into Lambert's open arms. He grunts when his feet catch the ground, despite Lambert bracing him.

“Stay here for a second?” Lambert says. “I’ll just tend to the horses and then we’ll get you inside and see to that leg.”

“Always took you for a caveman,” Aiden teases, and yawns before he can stop it. They are still standing close, so Lambert gets a face full of bad breath. He flicks his forehead in revenge, and then manhandles Aiden out of the way so he can remove bags and gear. It’s not completely safe, not even this close to the keep, so he will have to keep an eye out for the horses during the night.

As soon as the horses are settled, they make their way inside the cave.

“We really should put some more ointment on that.” Lambert comments when he sees how badly Aiden is limping.

“If you want to put your hands on me, Lamb, you only need to ask.” Aiden says, but it's sleepy and mumbled and utterly adorable.

“Alright. Aiden, let me put my hands on you.” Lambert snarks back, and Aiden blinks slowly at him in surprise.

“Drop your pants, kitty.” Oh yeah, that’s a blush. He seems to be unable to find words, opening and closing his mouth again, but he is doing as he’s told.

Something warm flutters inside Lambert, and he flicks Aiden's forehead again.

“Idiot,” he says and makes Aiden sit down so he can apply the ointment.

It’s a silent affair. Lambert massages and pats it in around the injury, mindful of the raw scar that is still there. As soon as he is done, he wipes his hands and settles so he can see out of the cave, having a look out for dangers. Aiden is tucked in next to him, wrapped in their blankets and furs. Lambert snags just the one, Aiden's body next to his helping plenty to keep his temperature up.

“I never said thank you.” Aiden says suddenly.

“For what?”

“If you hadn’t been there, I probably would have stayed the winter in some cave in the south.”

“Ah yes, which is very different from the cave we are in now in the north.”

“Yes, very different. You’re here.” Aiden mumbles, words a little slurred. Aiden allowing himself to be this vulnerable with Lambert around is… it makes Lambert want to hold him close, protect him from the world. He is not very used to that feeling.

“You’re welcome, kitty. You are lucky I'm the best friend there is,” Lambert says, trying to sound cocky. But it’s hard.

Aiden yawns again and suddenly there is an arm thrown over his legs and a forehead pressed into his hip.

“You really are,” Aiden says and then he is gone. Fast asleep, mouth hanging open like usual and hair all over his face.

Lambert looks down on him, and allows himself a moment of weakness. He pulls the hair out from Aidens face and tucks it behind his ear.

Something he’s been wanting to do since the first night he saw the other witcher asleep in all his messy glory.

Aiden's arm tightens around him and he cuddles a little closer. Lambert smiles and looks out into the darkness, preparing to meditate during the night. It’s peaceful, Aiden's snoring and the sound of the horses. Calm settles in him, and he feels himself sinking into it.

Kaer Morhen is every bit the ruin he remembers it to be. An echo of its grand self, walls long since broken and crumbled. Rats scurry here and there, making excellent target practice for the little princess that recently has taken up residence in their keep, along with her caretakers.

“Princess!” Lambert yells when she sees him, jumping from a high wall and into his arms without a trace of fear.

“Manchild!” she squeaks back when he hugs her close and spins her. That is a new insult.

“OI ESKEL! WHAT ARE YOU TEACHING THE CHILD!” he yells up the wall, and indeed, Eskel's head poke out with that hideous grin of his.

“Prefer manbaby? We can do that!” He yells back down and Lambert flips him off.

“Ooh, look what the cat dragged in!” Another voice pipes up and Jaskier's head appears next to Eskel.

“Bard!” Aiden exclaims, and Jaskier does the same fearless jump into his arms as Ciri did. The fuck?!

Geralt darts out when Jaskier jumps, for an entire second scared that his bard has fallen to his death, but no.

“Oh. It’s you,” He says and returns to whatever he was doing up there.

“You know each other?” Lambert asks, feeling like he is missing something important here.

“Who doesn’t know Aiden?" Eskel says back, and alright, Lambert did not expect that. Aiden winks at him and puts the stupid bard down.

That night, Vesemir insists that he and Aiden share a room. He knows this Cat, he says, and he doesn't trust him further than he can toss. Which in itself is an insult, because apparently Lambert is how far Vesemir can toss. Meaning very much out of sight on the other end of the keep.

They at least get a big bed, even if it is only one. Jaskier smirks big time when he learns what room and where and does waggly eyebrows at him every chance he gets.

Fucking bard.

As soon as they are alone, Lambert shoves the little jar of ointment in Aidens hands.

“Massage your wound,” He says, words short and clipped. He can’t put the finger on why he is angry, but he is seething. He bustles about, unpacking his bags and claiming whatever space he can before Aiden can put his paws on it, as he usually does whenever they have shared a room.

“Not helping me today?” Aiden asks, a curiously blank expression on his face.

“No?” Lambert replies, sorting his clean socks from the dirty ones. Coming home from travels always means laundry. “You seemed to be walking just fine today. And awake enough to do it yourself.”

Aiden is silent until Lambert turns to look at him.

“What?” He mutters, debating whether or not he should toss the dirty sock in Aiden's face. The face that everyone in this fucking keep seems to know somehow.

“Why are you angry?” Aiden asks, fiddling with the jar in his hands.

“I'm not.” Lambert lies, turning back to his laundry.

“Is.. is this because of what I said the other night?”

“No.”

“No? Then is it because I hugged the bard?”

“No,” Lambert says through clenched teeth, and alright, maybe he is. Aiden seems to notice, and there is a shuffling behind him, and then Aiden is slumping against Lambert, back to back.

“I have a confession,” Aiden mumbles, leaning his head back against Lambert's shoulder. It’s warm, comfortable, and it pisses Lambert off all the more that he feels that way.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck the bard.”

“What? No! Geralt would have killed me if I even looked that way!” Aiden huffs, and well, fair. But is that the only protest he has about it? A fear for his life?

“Listen. I… I might have been nervous.”

“About what?”

“About meeting your family. It’s a big deal.”

“What do you mean?” Why does that sound, well. Like they are together? It puts a little spark in Lambert's stomach, chasing away that ugly anger.

“Of course I didn’t know when you would invite me. But I knew you would eventually. And I, uhm- I wanted them to like me.”

Aiden turns his head so his forehead rests against the back of Lambert's head. Lambert lets the socks drop to the floor, putting his hands on his thighs.

“Aiden.”

“I know.”

But does he? Does he really? Lambert wants to turn around and look at him, wants to figure out those cryptic words.

“I really am lucky.” Aiden says after a moment. “To have you in my life, I mean.” “Why are you sweet talking me, kittycat?”

“Maybe I want you to turn around and kiss me? And stop throwing a fit because you are jealous?”

“I’m not jealous.” Lambert protests, but he turns around and just does that.

Aiden isn’t smiling when Lambert turns. Just looking at him, that stupid wild hair of his all over his face. Lambert tucks a lock behind his ear, just like before, and kisses him.

A soft drag of lips, lazy nips and licks like they have done nothing else in all their years together.

When they part, Lambert strokes a thumb over Aiden's cheek, still looking at those lips. Maybe he should lean in, kiss him more.

“Tell me again how lucky you are to have me in your life.” Lambert smirks, noticing the blush on Aiden's cheeks. Witchers can’t blush, bullshit. “And this time, no falling asleep on me.”

“Aww, I was planning to use you as a pillow!”

“Brat.”

Some hours before daybreak, Lambert wakes up with a start. Across his chest lays Aiden, startled awake by Lambert.

“Wait. Kittycat. Are you the reason Vesemir dislikes cat witchers?!”

“Uhm… Look. There was this incident with an egg…..”

#lambden #lambert x aiden #the witcher #bog fluff battle #kaer morhen #hurt aiden #caring lambert #snarky boys #fluff #kaer morons #because they are #i dont make the rules #geraskier #eskel #ciri #vesemir #egg incident #dapanda writes

76 notes · View notes

wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Undercover I Do - Chapter 9

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: We have a smut sighting, sir!

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, shower smex, hand job, Javi still tryna’ have a conscience.

Word Count: 2561

Notes: Only have a few more chapters to go before I wrap this up. Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated. Be well!

Read on Ao3

(I couldn’t find the original owner of this gif, but credit goes to them; please let me know if it’s yours so I can properly give credit)

***

You immediately missed Javier’s presence the moment you became aware of your surroundings the following morning. The heaviness of his arms around you and his solid form next to you was replaced by the heaviness you felt in your gut.

Something was wrong.

Something wasn’t adding up.

What the hell was going on?

You had been so certain last night in the living room, when you had looked up into his eyes...when he had spoken about never entertaining the possibility of having kids until he had met you...you had been so certain that what you had seen reflected back at you in his soulful eyes was love...adoration...want. You had felt a hot slice of molten heat cut through your chest when you had kissed him. That heat had flared even brighter when he had kissed you back and the warmth had settled heavily into a dark pool of desire between your legs when you had heard that primal sound; that noise of devastating desire rising from deep within him and exiting his throat as your kiss had deepened. His forehead against yours and his suggestion...the insinuation?...about trying to sleep had seemed like all the two of you needed to move things forward.

You wanted him so badly. Wanted to feel his skin against yours everywhere, his hands, his lips. But then, when he’d crawled into bed with you, it had been like running headlong into a wall. The heat in your belly had turned icy and had settled like a block of ice in the pit of your stomach. He had been so gentle and chaste kissing your face, but it hadn’t possessed the heat from earlier. You had felt like crying and had turned away from him for fear of doing just that. But then you’d felt his arms snake around you and you had taken some solace. You still didn’t understand...but he had still wanted to hold you and fall asleep curled next to you.

What the hell was going on?

Now, after waking up with him next to you for almost a week, this morning he was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of him in the apartment at all, save for a damp towel and wet toothbrush in the bathroom and the missing files from the coffee table from the night before.

You tried to keep busy throughout the day, tried not to think too much about the cold pit of rejection that gnawed at you. You went to your standing daily check-up at the hospital and spent an hour or so speaking with the psychologist that had been assigned to your case. You had been speaking with the older woman almost every day, trying various exercises and activities to help you potentially tap into your missing memories. A few things had come to light during your sessions, but very little that seemed of any importance; nothing at all related to the current status of your marriage. On the way home, you stopped to do some shopping and replenish what little groceries to be found in your apartment. You were shocked at how little food was actually in your cupboards but then, as Javi had pointed out, the two of you usually spent so much time at the office or out tracking down various leads that it wasn’t all that common for you to eat at home.

Before you can start to unpack the groceries, you’re startled to hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Your heartbeat quickens and you feel that familiar molten feeling begin to spread in your lower body. What was it your doctor had said? You had told both him and your psychologist about the memories that had been triggered by the smell of the flowers at the market, the music playing, the benign activity of cooking a meal with your husband. “Often, our most visceral memories are deeply connected with our senses. The more you experiment with how things feel, the more luck you may have with regaining some of those memories you’re looking for.”

The unpacked groceries forgotten, you kick off your shoes and head down the hallway.

********

Javi had scrubbed his hands across his tired face and checked his watch. He’d been unable to sleep much the previous night, spending most of it lying awake listening to her shallow breathing in the darkness and gently stroking the strands of hair that fell over her shoulders. Finally, he’d pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, silently climbed out of bed, dressing in the previous days rumpled clothes in the dark and hitting the bathroom quietly before slipping out of the darkened apartment before the sun had even thought about rising. He had felt a familiar sickening shame deep in his gut as the door had softly clicked shut behind him: like he was sneaking away from a tawdry one night stand or a cheap fuck that he was never particularly proud of.

And he’d hated that feeling. That anything having to do with her could be equated to how he had so often felt during those moments when he was a grade A piece of shit. He’d never, ever wanted to think of her as a part of those moments. But here they were...

Nothing about her had ever made him feel that way, even when she’d give him a hard time or tease him about his grumpiness, his choice in clothing, his amorous antics, she had always done it with a caring kindness underneath, always accepting him for who and what he was.

But now? Now she thought he was someone else entirely.

He knew she’d be gone for several hours to the hospital and then her psych session, she usually left late in the morning and returned early afternoon. If he timed it right he could make a quick run home and take a quick shower and grab a change of clothes without having to confront any of her awkward questions. He owed her a talk...and he really did have every intention of having it with her. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it going on no sleep and the sludge they called coffee at the office. He made a decision and grabbed his jacket, arriving at their building in no time.

He had a meeting with Dixon tomorrow morning; their boss was currently in Cartagena and would return that evening. He hoped he could avoid any more seriously...heightened interactions with his “spouse” for the next 24 hours until he could brief his supervisor. If he could just keep things together until then, he planned to explain to Dixon what exactly was going on. He knew that coming clean to your boss about the interactions that were happening would motivate the older woman to change the game plan. Dixon notoriously disliked Javi’s playboy reputation and still resented him for his early-on advancements of her protegé; their boss would put a stop to this assignment that had, in Javi’s opinion, already gone too far once she fully understood what was happening.

The hot water in her shower did good for his tense and aching muscles and he simply stood beneath the excellent water pressure for several minutes, luxuriating in the way it pounded down on his tired body. Was it just his imagination or did his partner have a much better apartment than he did? Better shower, better mattress, bigger closet. He could probably have the same if he spent more than an hour or two a day in his apartment...and not that he needed a bigger closet, but he definitely might look into a new mattress after this was all over. What was it Helena had told him so long ago? “What you’re missing in this apartment is a woman.” That comment had made his stomach churn then and he had brushed it off. But now, having shared a home with his partner for several weeks, perhaps Helena had been on to something...

Lost in his thoughts and the glorious feeling of the water, he failed to hear the bathroom door open and it wasn’t until a soft brush of cooler air dusted against his back as the shower curtain opened that he took notice of another presence in the small bathroom. He started and his eyes flew open just as the small hands of his partner slipped around his waist and palmed their way up his chest. He bit back a gasp as he felt her press her entire body...her entire naked body… against the back of his. He felt her lips press into his shoulder blade.

“Mind if I join you?”

Javier almost collapsed onto the tiles beneath him at the husky sound, her beautiful voice dripping with lust, the feel of her breath against his back. Goosebumps appeared along his spine as her hands started a new journey back down his chest the way they’d come and continued on further south still, slipping down his hips, around to slowly knead his ass, then back up his back and along the planes of his shoulders. He couldn’t contain a soft sigh of pleasure as her hands worked his sore muscles and he felt her lips lift into a smile against the skin of his back. He swallowed heavily and, despite the fact that liters of water pounded down on him, his throat and mouth had turned to sand paper and he nearly choked on his words.

“I, uh...I was jus-”

The rest of his words left him as he let out a sharp, short hiss; her adventurous hands, so bold and brazen, slid from his shoulders down around his waist once more, one soft hand reaching around and gripping him firmly. He felt her gently sink her teeth into the soft skin of his shoulder and he almost lost his mind.

“Fuck.” The curse was barely audible, no more than a puff of air leaving him as he stretched a hand out to support himself against the tiled wall, trying not to notice how hard he had gotten and how fast and how utterly delicious it felt to have her fingers wrapped around him. The motion forward was a mistake, he realized too late: leaning his body forward only caused certain warm, very soft parts of her body to press harder into him. With some difficulty, he straightened and turned around, trying to take a step back and away from her in the small space of the shower. She followed his movement, though, removing her hand from him, wrapping both arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

He wanted to pull away. He really did. In his mind he imagined himself doing it. But he just. Could. Not. His lips, his tongue, his hands...all the parts of his body that he usually seemed to have such control over were suddenly moving of their own volition. He met the fervor of her hot mouth with his own, sending his tongue into her and dancing with hers. It was sloppy and messy, it was desperate and devastating, it was delicious. His hands slid down her back and gripped the flesh of her bottom, pulling her closer into him, feeling the softness of her belly against the straining hardness of his cock. She moaned at the sensation and the sound reverberated down and into his very soul.

Her hands tangled into his wet hair and she hitched a leg up and over his hip. He could feel the warmth and wetness of her core pressed against his leg...and she tilted her head away from his mouth as she began to rub herself along the taut muscles of his thigh. She let out a pleasured gasp at the sensation and dropped her head back next to his, drawing an earlobe into her mouth and sucking earnestly, nipping gently before releasing it and trailing messy, open-mouthed kisses along his neck.

“Javi…” She gasped as his lips found purchase on her clavicle. “Javi…” It sounded like a lament, a prayer, a plea...and in fact it was. “Please…” She whispered against his cheek. “Please, Javi....I want to remember you. I want to remember this. Help me remember.” She slipped a hand from his hair back down between them and began to stroke the hard steel of his cock, guiding it slowly towards her center, practically whimpering at the prospect of having the pleasure they both so clearly and desperately wanted.

Her words jolted him out of his fog of desire. He straightened, gripping her shoulders and moving her off and away from him. His words were curt and hurt him as they ripped from his mouth, finishing what he had been trying to say earlier.

“Sorry....I’m sorry...I was just finishing up. I can’t. I have to get back to work.” He stood there for a moment, the water spilling over their naked bodies, her lips swollen from his kisses, his cock at full attention between them, marks from his teeth along the sensitive skin of her collar bone. “I’m...I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I am.” He released her and grabbed for a towel, carefully stepping out of the stall. He almost fell to his knees when he heard her voice behind him.

“Javi…?”

Her voice sounded so small, so uncertain; it reminded him of a frightened child and was filled with frustration, perhaps tinged with anger, but mostly thick with confusion.

What the fuck was he doing to her? She thought she was his fucking wife! And here she was, now having tried three times to sleep with the man she thought was her husband and he had rebuffed her advances each and every time. What was this doing to her? It made him sick to think about.

This had to stop.

He so desperately wanted to give in; wanted to drop the towel from around his waist, step back into that shower, bend her over and fuck her senseless, until she was unable to form words, until she could only babble nonsensically. Then he would carry her to her bedroom, put his head between her legs and devour her with his mouth and his hands for hours, he’d make her come over and over and over. Then he would rail her again and make her scream his name.

He couldn't wipe those images from his mind and he couldn’t turn back to face her...he knew if he did, those images would become reality.

So instead, he broke her heart.

He grabbed the change of clothes he’d laid out earlier, left the bathroom, and fled the apartment, racing up the stairs to his own apartment. Once safely inside, he flung his clothes to the floor and whirled around, pounding his fist against the weak drywall next to the doorframe. It made a satisfying crunch as it buckled beneath the force of his hand. He drew his arm back and slammed it forward again.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Each punch of his fist was partnered with an angry, sobbing curse.

He smashed his fist into the wall until his knuckles were bloody, until his wrist was sore, until he forgot the way her hands had felt on him, until he couldn’t feel the tears stinging his eyes anymore.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #fake marriage #undercover married trope

57 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 3 years

Note

7 for the intimacy prompt with Mick x Mary Pat?

Anon!!! You are my absolute favourite for requesting my favourite crack ship baby, haha.

This is set in the same ‘verse as Navigate a Broken Path, but you don’t have to have read that to read this. I hope you like it.

7. Kissing Scars.

Thing is, he’s waiting for her to ask.

Figures he and her have been doing this long enough now – whatever this is – for her to get her foothold in familiarity. Hell, she’s halfway there already, with the way she keeps apricot jelly (he just likes it is all) in the fridge door and the polish for his boots in the laundry.

Shit.

The way, every night, she keeps him a plate.

Figures they might not ever sit down and tell each other their life stories, but they’ve told each other enough – offered snapshots of memories like flipping through an album – stories of dead parents, exes, old grudges and new ones and Mick had answered and asked in equal measure.

Liked that nothing seemed to phase her.

He thinks she likes that nothing seems to phase him either.

(“You know what it smells like, don’t you?” she’d asked him one night, after a few too many beers. “The dead body of someone you love?”

Yeah, he’d thought. He knew what that smelt like.

Still.

He’d just held her hand.)

It’s why it surprises him, that’s all, that he can catch her gaze in the mirror when he gets ready to go out, see her tracing his scars – the ones across his arms, stomach, burrowed deep in his shoulder – can see her inhale, swallow, wet her lips, and still never hear the question.

Can hear the how? even as she says: “Pot roast for dinner?”

Mick inhales sharply as he pulls his shirt away from the wound, gritting his teeth when the fabric – damp with blood – sticks to the skin already starting to scab.

Across from him, Rio’s gaze flicks up, eyebrow raised – a silent a’ight? – and Mick just nods, getting his shirt the rest of the way off as Rio finishes soaking the small, folded towel in alcohol and passes it over for Mick to press to it.

Stings like all fuck, but Mick grunts through it, throat constricting, as he rests his ass back against one of the crates of liquor in the backroom of the bar. The air is stagnant here, damp almost to the touch, and cold from the Detroit winter outside holding to the stone walls and concrete floors inside. He shivers, and looks back at Rio, who’s still crouched on the floor, knuckles bruised and lip split. He fared okay. Better than Mick anyway, who didn’t even see the flash of silver before the knife was stuck into his gut.

Still, Mick’s had worse.

“You called your girl?” Rio asks, and Mick blinks, gaze re-focusing as the other man starts to unpack the kit they keep stashed back here to stitch him up. Mick swallows, looks down at his belly and pulls the towel away just enough to see it soaked red with blood.

“You called yours?”

Rio just snorts at that, grabbing one of the sealed packets of needles and tearing it open with his teeth.

“Nah, I ain’t the one who got stabbed, man.”

“You really saying that like you would if you were?”

He doesn’t reply to that.

He leaves it a few days before he goes back to her place, but he makes sure to text her so she knows. Tells her he’s on a job, and she texts him okay, she texts him good luck, she texts him Billy really wants you at his sixth grade concert next week, and then, later, I want you there too.

He wants to tell her he wouldn’t miss it, but he doesn’t know how, so instead he just shows up for dinner, and it means something – the way her face lights up, the way the boys yell, the way she had a plate waiting for him in the oven, even though she didn’t – couldn’t have known he was going to show up, but still.

It’s nice.

To feel wanted.

So they watch Monsters, Inc with the kids and he feeds the baby while she gets the boys to bed, and he nurses his movements in a way she doesn’t notice until they go to bed and he figures she’ll just look at it when he takes his shirt off to reveal the puckered stitches (Rio’s never been good at fiddly work like that) and the orchid-blue petals of bruises across his stomach, stark even against his tattoos.

And she does just stare, sitting on the bed in a loose tank and her underwear, her face open, her blue eyes so wide they look like marbles, and Mick should say something, should tell her it’s nothing, that this is what he does, and she knows that, only suddenly she opens her mouth and what comes out is:

“Sharks are mean this time of year.”

Mick blinks.

“What?”

Mary Pat just nods, pushing the blankets down to wriggle underneath them, her hands shaking just a little (just enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t getting familiar with her too).

“They’re just all - - all fangs,” she continues, voice pitching high, and she laughs, shakes her head more to herself than to him, and Mick slips his belt out of his pants, dropping it onto the dresser as he considers her.

“In Detroit?”

Mary Pat hums in affirmation.

“They’re taking over the River.”

“Ain’t it frozen over right now?”

“It’s a new species. They’re called - - Ice Sharks. Or so I’ve heard.”

“From who?”

“I don’t - - shouldn’t you be telling me?” she gestures at his belly, and Mick raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who got in a fight with one.”

She offers it so matter of fact that it takes Mick a moment to catch up. To turn his look from her, half undressed, in her bed, tan sheets beneath her and patchwork quilt being tugged up her soft, bare legs, face set in certainty, and himself, still in his jeans, but otherwise naked, with no idea what the fuck is going on.

So.

He just asks it.

“What are we doing here?”

Through the walls, he can hear a pipe gargle. Can hear Benji snoring (kid’s got the lungs of a guy twice his size), and mattress springs whine as one of the kids rolls over, but in here, Mary Pat just looks back at him, shifts her weight a little, before she jerks her chin down at the barely-healed wound at his gut.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Which - -

Fuck.

“No.” He pauses, then adds stiffly: “It’s just work.”

Because it was. Because it was just another deal with just another guy who thought he could take more than he was owed, and it’s happened before and it’ll happen again, and Mick put a bullet in the guy’s head and it was over.

It is over.

He sighs, rubs a little at his chest, and suddenly, Mary Pat gets back up onto her knees, lifts her shirt up and pushes the top of her faded panties down. Mick blinks, gaze fixing, as she brushes down some of her wiry pubic hair to show a thin, puckered line.

“I had a C-Section with Andy,” she tells him. “You know you’re not supposed to lift your baby for six weeks after a C-Section otherwise you’ll scar? You know how many women aren’t going to pick up their babies for six weeks? I figure it’s a - - a work wound, right? That’s all it is. A part of the job.”

She inhales a little, cheeks flushed, but she still covers it with her hand, lets her shirt fall back down to cover her soft, pale belly, tries to make it look casual and Mick watches her fingers grope at herself, self-conscious, and before he can think anything of it, he says:

“You sure? It kinda looks like you were in a knife fight.”

The laugh is instant, and curls warm in Mick’s head, and she folds back down into the bed as she says:

“I’m guessing you’d know.”

He inhales sharply at that, looking at her, and he can’t figure out if she realizes it’s this one, if it’s what happened this time, or if she’s just figured that it’d be one of them. One of his scars. Wonders if she knows it’s the nick at his ear, or the one at his Achilles heel. Shit. Has she even seen that one? He wets his lips, and from the bed, Mary Pat just grins at him, her eyes a little dark, like she feels this too, but then she hums. The sound low.

“Actually it’s funny you should say that, I was in a knife fight once myself.”

Mick blinks, lip curled.

“Yeah?”

She nods, rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, wrinkles her nose.

“Lilli - - Lisa Bosw - - Bottom. Little Lisa Boss-Bottom. Yep. That was her name. We were at a carnival, and I had just gotten off a ferris wheel with this boy she kinda liked, and she just leapt right out at me. Unhinged. With a knife! There were rumours she was actually a werewolf.”

There’s something to the way she says it – like the lie’s sorta tumble rolling out of her, head over ass over feet, a way to it that makes his lips twitch, and Mick reaches for the buckle on his pants. Slips them off until he’s just in his underwear, before padding slowly towards the bed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mary Pat says, and she scoots across the bed to make room for him, lowering her voice when she adds: “You should see me the next full moon.”

She growls then, and then instantly looks embarrassed that she did it, closing her eyes, her cheeks flushing red, and Mick’s grin comes before he can stop it, finally climbing tenderly into bed beside her. Before he can think anymore of it, he sinks low across the mattress, pulls down the top of her panties, and looks at her c-section scar again, and says:

“You sure this ain’t from a bobcat?”

It’s her who laughs this time, her eyes opening, embarrassment still there but not quite running so deep maybe, and he presses his lips to the scar, feels the bristle of hair against his mouth, the bodily hitch of her breath. Then – a hand at his shoulder, calloused, working fingers smoothing over an old bullet hole scar, and fuck, it’s his breath that hitches then.

“I’m guessing this is from a - - a giant bee.”

“A giant bee,” he echoes, hand coming to palm at her too-soft hip as he starts to push his way back up the bed. “How giant?”

“Giant-giant,” she replies. “I heard they were engineering them in a lab in Portland to make crazy amounts of honey.”

It feels weird – how long the smile holds on his face, and his hand coasts up her side to gently grab her arm, hold it up so they can both see where she burnt herself on the iron last week.

“You get this volcano diving?”

She hums in affirmation, before saying: “To save a family of elephants.”

He can’t help it then, the bark of a laugh, but before it can bellow too loud, before he can think to stop it, Mary Pat’s leaning forwards, freeing her arm from his grip to curl it around his neck and kiss him. His laugh lost to the warmth of her mouth and the scratch of her fingers on the base of his skull.

“I know what you do,” she breathes into his mouth. “I know who you are. Please don’t think - - don’t think you can’t come here after.”

The air is sucked out of his lungs, and he leans back just enough to look at her – at her blue eyes and her working scars and the way her gaze holds him, and he thinks I’m not supposed to get this but he just says okay.

#mick x mary pat #i just love them a lot you guys #one day they'll have a scene together on the show #i am willing it into existence #navigate a broken path #fic asks #intimacy prompts #my fic #welcome to my ama #mick #mary pat #Anonymous

26 notes · View notes

bonelymonsterclub · 3 years

Text

(1) Branded For Carnage

“No, no, no...” you moaned, desperately twisting the rusty knobs of your cramped shower. The pipes groaned within the walls, water trickling from the shower head, then with an ominous rattle, the water stopped. Again. “Shit.” You raked your fingers through your hair, grimacing at the built-up grease from a weekend of vegging on the couch and wishing for the sweet embrace of death. Now the weekend was over, and in little over an hour, you were to begin your new job at a bar-slash-restaurant called “Grillby's”; it was a monster-run establishment, but over the five months since monsters were freed from beneath the mountain, it was quickly becoming one of the most popular eateries in Ebott City. You wanted to make a good first impression, and you certainly couldn't do that if you showed up looking like Death himself had personally paid you a visit, not to mention your probably smelled like sweat and junk food. “Shit!”

You paced the limited width of the room, biting at your thumbnail, before you finally slumped against the sink and succumbed to your fate: you'd have to suck up your pride and ask one of the neighbors to take pity on you and let you clean up in their bathroom. That wouldn't normally have been a problem, except you'd only been existing in your apartment for about two and a half weeks and, being so busy between job-hunting and unpacking your shit, you hadn't bothered to introduce yourself to anyone.

What a great first impression I'll be making, you thought sarcastically as you finally left the bathroom, your clothes for the day tossed over your arm. You'd never had to do a walk of shame, but you imagined that it was something similar to how you felt as you exited your apartment and dragged your feet until you were in front of your neighbor's door. You knocked lightly on the worn wood and popped your knuckles as you waited. Thumping footsteps sounded from within and when the door swung open, you looked up... and up. Before you stood a monster made of bone and pure spite, if the way he was glaring at you was any indication. He was dressed in really tight-looking black pants, a long-sleeved maroon shirt, and curiously enough, despite it being the beginning of summer, a tattered red scarf and a pair of red gloves.

“Human,” he growled, crossing his arms. “What Reason Could You Possibly Have For Interrupting The Illustrious Papyrus' Morning Routine?”

You swallowed thickly. Now, you had no problem with monsters, considering you'd be working under one for the foreseeable future, but this had to be the most intimidating one you'd ever laid your eyes on – the deep scars across his eye socket enhanced his terrifying appearance. Your mind couldn't help but compare him to the image humans held of the Grim Reaper.

“I See. I Should've Known That A Mere Human Would Be Struck Speechless In My Awesome Presence,” he sighed, sounding greatly put upon.

“N- no!” you finally managed to stammer. “That's not it. Sorry, um... Papyrus, was it? I'm one of your neighbors and my shower isn't working, so I was hoping I could possibly use yours? It'll be quick; ten minutes at the most.”

Papyrus stared at you inscrutably for a moment before scoffing. “Nice Try, Human. You've Underestimated My Brilliance. I Am Not Foolish Enough To Allow You To Infiltrate My Home So You Know The Layout To Raid It Later.”

You gaped at him in disbelief for a moment. Is he serious? “But-”

“ENOUGH!” You jumped. “Scurry Back To Whatever Hole You Crawled Out Of And See To It That You Don't Pester Me Again.” He appeared to deem the conversation finished after that because, without giving you a chance to speak further, he stepped back and slammed the door in your face.

You bit your lip when you heard another door somewhere behind you click shut softly. Papyrus' words were probably heard by all of the occupants of your floor – the whole apartment building, perhaps, considering your apparently lackluster luck. You weren't sure you wanted to take a chance with anyone else after that – perhaps you could call up your sister, but though she didn't live very far, the travel time in addition to your shower would likely make you late. Before you could slunk off to hide away in your apartment and try to wash up with the kitchen sink, the door in front of you swung open again, making you flinch.

“I- I was just going!” you yelped; however, it wasn't Papyrus who was staring you down this time, but another skeleton who appeared quite a bit shorter, rounder, and all-together too tired.

Clad in a red turtleneck, black shorts, and fuzzy pink slippers, this new skeleton didn't seem quite as threatening as Papyrus. He was a few inches shorter than you and had prominent fangs on display; he also had a scar, though it was on the top of his skull rather than directly on his face. However, it wasn't his appearance that sent a chill down your spine. This skeleton had a presence that not even Papyrus had managed, and it made you all the more nervous when he apparently finished his silent assessment of you and made eye contact. (Well, you thought he was making eye contact; his eye sockets were as empty as Papyrus'.)

“*come on in,” he said, stepping aside slightly.

Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn't that, and you gaped at him for a moment. His brow furrowed after a moment and your panic began anew, thinking you'd offended him, but he just opened the door wider.

“*well? you wanted t’ take a shower, didn't ya?” His mouth was set in a permanent grin, but somehow, you could've sworn it grew a little bigger as he teased, “*we ain't gonna bite, sweetheart.”

You grew flustered and shuffled past him when he waved you through the doorway. You peered around meekly as he nudged the door shut. The layout wasn't much different from your apartment, though they had a lot more stuff cluttering the floor.

“SANS!”

You would forever deny the startled squeak that escaped you when Papyrus barged out of the kitchen area. He glared at you so hard that you thought you might combust on the spot.

“Sans,” he repeated in a quieter, much eerier tone. “What, Exactly, Is That Human Doing In Our Home?”

“*they're gonna use our shower,” the shorter skeleton – Sans – replied casually. “*geez, paps. ya realize that makin' a good first impression ain't just not killin' someone on the spot anymore. ya gotta show some kindness. ‘member?”

“But Not Killing Them On The Spot Is A Kindness!” Papyrus insisted.

“*ya wanna take that up with the kid?”

Somehow that seemed to mellow Papyrus out. He returned his gaze to you and sighed heavily. “My... Apologies, Human,” he said lowly through clenched teeth. “Please, Feel Free To Put Our Shower To Good Use. Heaven Knows That Sans Doesn't.”

Despite how... forced the apology sounded, it sort of felt like he was attempting to joke around at the end.

“Thank you so much!” You could've cried with relief. “I promise I'll be out of your way as soon as possible.”

Was it you or were Papyrus' cheeks turning red? “See To It That You Do. Sans, Breakfast Is Waiting.”

Sans pointed out the bathroom to you – though you could've located it yourself, seeing as their apartment layout was similar to yours, you were grateful for his help – and you hurried into it, locking the door behind you for good measure. You set your work clothes on the counter, turned the shower on as hot as it would go, then stripped and hopped in. There weren't any cleaning products you could use – just a large bottle of Mettaton's Patented Bone Bleach, which you were sure wasn't made for humans –, but you weren't too concerned. You had post-shower products you could put in your hair and deodorant, so you scrubbed yourself down thoroughly before getting out. It was only after you shut off the shower and stepped out that you realized that you hadn't even checked to see if there were any towels, but you saw a fluffy white one folded and set on the other side of the sink from your clothes. You were pretty sure there hadn't been one when you walked into the bathroom, but considering that you locked the door, it wasn't like your hosts could've snuck in and set it there. You marked it down as you being oblivious to it on your way in and set to drying yourself off before redressing.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, dirty clothes bundled under one arm, you almost collided with Papyrus’ rib cage. You shuffled back enough to look up at him, though he stubbornly refused to meet your gaze, glaring a hole through the door behind you.

“Human, Allow Me To Make Up For My Discourteous Manners By Treating You To Breakfast.”

He gestured towards the kitchen, where you could see Sans sitting at a high-set table, groggily shoveling spoonfuls of red mush into his mouth.

“There’s really no need,” you protested.

“I Insist.”

You had a feeling you weren’t going to win this argument, especially with the way he was now scowling at you. That’s how you found yourself seated at the table, next to Sans and across from Papyrus, with that aforementioned red mush piled onto a plate in front of you.

“Can I ask what this is?” You prodded at the paste with your fork, thrown off by its jello-like consistency.

Papyrus scoffed as he dug into a bowl of oatmeal with dinosaur eggs. “Honestly, You’ve No Eye For The Culinary Arts. It’s Lasagna, My Personal Recipe!”

You stared blankly at the heap of… lasagna on your plate and wondered if it was even safe to consume. But Sans was eating it with no problem - he’d even gone for seconds -, so it couldn’t be poisoned at the very least. You briefly met Papyrus’ expectant stare, then scooped up a forkful of the stuff and shoved it into your mouth before you could second guess your decision. As soon as the slop touched your tongue, you had to clamp your jaws together tightly to fight off your gag reflex. It took everything you had to not let your face scrunch up in response to the indescribable flavor. You somehow managed to choke it, and the next several forkfuls, down, sending Sans a grateful look when he slid his half-full glass of milk over to you, and you took a swig before daring to look Papyrus in the eyes again. Sans had finished his meal at this point and was slumped over the table, his face buried in his arms, but you could somehow feel the threatening expectations he held for your next words.

“It… was great, Papyrus,” you said, offering him a smile. “Nearly as great as you.”

Sans began to snore as Papyrus sat ramrod straight, looking proud - and was that a hint of relief you saw there?

“W- Well Of Course It Was!” he boasted. “It Is The Only Meal I Learned To Cook Back In Snowdin.”

The only meal? No wonder Sans could handle it without a problem; his poor taste buds had probably been rotted away from Papyrus’ concoction. (Did skeletons even have taste buds? Did they even have tongues?)

You dared to tread into unstable territory. “This is the only meal you know? But surely, with your cooking prowess, you’d have more in your repertoire.”

Papyrus sputtered and though he didn’t look up, Sans’ snoring ceased. The taller skeleton’s face was turning all kinds of red and you knew you had to conclude this quickly.

“Oh, I have an idea!” you announced with a gleeful clap of your hands, as if a thought was just coming to mind. “I happen to have went to culinary school for a time, and I know how to make all sorts of food. Let’s make a deal, Papyrus. In exchange for me using your shower until mine gets fixed, how about I teach you some recipes I know?”

Papyrus mulled over this - visibly putting a hand to his chin and humming aloud -, then seemed to come to a decision with a firm nod. He stood from his chair and leaned over the table to offer a gloved hand to you.

“You Have Yourself A Deal, Human.”

You stood as well, shaking his hand and altogether relieved your risk would be well-rewarded in exchange for something you genuinely enjoyed doing. Your phone began buzzing insistently in your pocket - your alarm alerting you to head for Grillby’s now or you’d be late - and you gathered your clothes once more from where you’d set them beside your seat.

“I have to go now,” you said. Papyrus’ eyes darted to your uncleared plate with barely disguised disappointment and though you knew you’d probably regret it later, you stole another large forkful of food. It was worth it to see the spark of surprise and delight on the intimidating skeleton’s face. “I’ll come see you later to set up our dates. Thanks for breakfast!”

“D- DATES!?” Papyrus’ shriek exploded behind you as you escaped their apartment to beeline to yours to deposit your clothes and slap on some deodorant before you headed out.

#underfell #underfell sans #underfell papyrus #underfell x reader #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #undertale #undertale au

109 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command. I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!”

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

“Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--”

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production. We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #this chapter ended up being much more of a beast than i thought #and this is WITH some scenes getting moved to next chapter for like...SPACE #but that's pretty much what took this so long #trying to rearrange this to cover some of the big points that HAD to be covered by Shirayuki POV #so that this was only like...6K instead of 8K and double the chapter length of any one before it #DEEP SIGH #this is a hobby i choose to do for fun

18 notes · View notes

scandalousfemale · 4 years

Text

Fall to Pieces

Rafe Cameron x Y/N

An unexpected and unnecessary part 2 to Lists, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

Y/N helps Rafe get sober after he told her what he had done. She’s conflicted because now she’s getting glimpses of a better Rafe but she can’t forget or forgive him so he makes it right the only way that he knows how.

WC: 5,308

Warning: smut, mentions of shooting the sheriff (but he did not shoot the deputy), mentions of jail, mentions of drugs and withdrawals, mentions of funerals (they think Sarah and John B are dead), spoilers, unprotected sex, mention of birth control, mentions of anger, mentions of parental unit dying/going to jail, mentions of PTSD, mentions of nightmares, y/n pulls a knife out on Barry and regrets it immediately, mentions of drugs

A/N: Hello! Thank you for taking the time to even look at this fic, I worked really long and hard on it and I had a great time writing it. It was my first time ever writing smut so if it sucks, I’m so sorry. I’m also running on no sleep because I’ve been editing this all night. That being said, I tried my best to proofread, I’m sure that there are tons of mistakes anyway. Again, thank you for reading my fic! I ended it the only way that felt right to me. Oh, and it’s inspired by Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

It’s been 7 months since Rafe showed up at your door and ripped your heart out of your now gaping chest. 6 months and three weeks since his family held a funeral for his sister in which he couldn’t attend because he was going through withdrawals. 6 months since his friends and family started asking you about his whereabouts. You’ve lied to everyone you knew back on the Outer Banks, telling them that you haven’t seen him since that summer.

You’ve convinced yourself that you were okay with taking care of him even if you weren’t together but for the first three weeks while he was at his worse, every time you had to touch him, you wanted to throw up (most times you did). You just can’t help but picture him killing Peterkin, sometimes you have dreams where you see it happen and you didn’t do anything to stop it, then you’d wake up next to him and have to move to the sofa just from the disgust. Though you’re not exactly sure what really happened that day, and he wouldn’t tell you, your overactive imagination filled in the blanks for you every night for those first few weeks.

The fifth week was better, in the sense that your disgust was slowly being taken over by hate. You hated that he had put you in this situation. You hated that you allowed yourself to care enough to take care of him. You hated that you love him but most of all, you hate his father for screwing up his children so much that one would rather die than go back to him and the other couldn’t stay sober long enough to know right from wrong.

You were also able to convince your parents to help you co-sign and move into a house near the school instead of staying in the dorms. You said that it’s because of all the teens partying around you and that you couldn’t concentrate on studying but really, it’s because of the noise complaints that you’ve been getting. It’s been hell studying for finals while sleeping next to someone going through cold shakes or nightmares. You’ve told yourself multiple times that Rafe was going through withdraws while also suffering from PTSD but it didn’t make you feel any better when you started missing classes or came home to your living room completely destroyed because he had a rage fit due to the cravings. You’ve offered to send him to rehab but he wanted no trace of where he could be so you complied.

A month after getting everything straightened out, you were finally moving out. You were happy that you could go further into the city where Rafe could go out more, spend more time around other people than surround himself with his mistakes, and four walls. Though the process wore on him, you could tell that he was becoming a better person. He was more patient and understanding. It would be a lie to say that his fuse wasn’t still just as bad when someone would trigger it but it seems you’ve been doing a lot of that anyway—lying.

Seven months into living together and him finally being sober, you want to say that he reminds you of the old Rafe but he doesn’t. He’s much more mature, his sad eyes tell a story that he’s seen way too much, too soon. Some days, you wish that you could take his pain away. Other days, you wish that he’d drown in it…at least you wish you thought that.

Renting a U-Haul, and maybe to fill your own fantasy of moving in together like a normal couple in college, you had Rafe help you pack. Was it a good idea? Probably not. Most of the time you ended up yelling at him for packing the bedroom things with the living room items. When you saw him put the dishes in with the DVDs, you had banished him to the house for the rest of the day, telling him that you’d pack the kitchen away by yourself. You were happy that you’d actually done that though because it gave you the excuse to give the two of you some space. You had found yourself getting close to him again. Leaning in when you laughed, touching his arm to show him something on your phone or when you window shop. You didn’t want to give him mixed signals but how could you not when you’re confused yourself?

So, you left Rafe unpacking all the boxes of clothes and moving around the furniture while you came back and tackled the kitchen. You almost wished that you had asked him to come along just for his company but after waking up in his arms last night, groggy from being tired, you figured that it was best to put some distance between the two of you.

A soft knocking sounded from your door and the smile that appeared on your face should’ve been criminal. You were almost too happy to see him. You couldn’t—wouldn’t let yourself forget what he did, though it was hard to remember when you’ve never seen Rafe in that state. Pushing your thoughts aside for the millionth time, you yanked the door open, your smile immediately dropping. You tried to shut the door as quickly as you opened it but a hand lands in the middle of the door and pushes it open the rest of the way.

“Now, that’s no way to greet an old friend,” Barry said, as condescending as ever.

“You’ve lost that title the minute you started selling drugs,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

He was right. Barry and you go way back, back before you were considered a “kook”, before you even knew what it meant to be a part of figure 8. Well, technically your moms go way back. You two were destined to be friends since you’ve come out of the womb. You shared secrets, scars, heartbreaks, skinned knees, all the same. You held him when his mom died and invited him over to your place every single day, unknowingly introducing him to his future clients. Your mom loved him like a child and if you ate, he ate. Until, of course, you started dating Rafe at fifteen and Barry started finding new friends. About a year later, the friendship was over. One night you walked in on him selling drugs to Rafe. You told them both that you wanted nothing to do with either of them if Barry kept selling and Rafe kept distributing but neither of them listened. Barry continued selling but stopped coming around, breaking your mother’s heart. As for Rafe, well, we know that story.

“Yes, of course. Big, bad, naughty, Barry,” he rolled his eyes and though his words had a hint of humor, his eyes did not. He shoved past you and made his way inside your apartment.

“What do you want?” You said in a clipped tone, eyeing his figure to see if he has any visible weapons on him or not because last time he showed up at your apartment, he was not so kind.

“Rafe,” Barry said matter of factly with a bright smile. As if he wasn’t talking about someone who supposedly dropped off the face of the earth seven months ago.

You stared at him and shrugged, “your guess is as good as mine.”

“Y/n, I’m not going to ask you twice and I don’t exactly do well to being lied to, where is Rafe?” He leaned against the refrigerator with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyeing you.

“I haven’t seen him,” you lied through gritted teeth. You backed yourself into your kitchen, feeling comfort that there was an exit behind you while Barry was in your line of sight.

“Baby, if you only knew what he’s done, you wouldn’t be protecting him right now,” Barry chuckled as he took a step towards you, “he owes me a debt and I’ve given him long enough. Now, I’m here to collect. Listen, it’s either me or the SBI, it’s your choi-,” he didn’t have the time to finish before you found your hand wrapped around your kitchen knife bringing the blade down on the sink beside you.

You tried to speak between breaths, “Stop it! Stop!”

Barry’s irritating smile has finally dropped from his face. His hands out in front of him as if he was prepared for you to lose it and charge at him...and maybe you might. At this point, you’re not really sure what you planned to do. You just needed to protect Rafe.

“He’s mine,” you breathe out a declaration you haven’t let left your lips since the night of Rafe’s confession, “you don’t get to take him, the SBI doesn’t get to take him, fucking death doesn’t get to take him from me without my permission. Now, get the fuck out of my apartment right now because I do not know where he is and if I did, I would never tell you,” you said with an eerie calm washing over you. You keep taking steps toward Barry who hasn’t moved back once.

“Come at me, baby, I have nothing to lose,” Barry said with his arms at his side, faking vulnerability while his shifty eyes were telling another story.

“Yes, you do,” you assured him, “We both do, but the difference between us is that I’m willing to lose it all. Are you?”

“You think I’m going to just forget what his little sister did? She stole from me. Now I have leverage over my best seller— my best thief, and you want me to let that slide because a chick with a knife who can’t even keep it steady enough to point at me wants to threaten me? I’ll come back every single day if I have to.”

“His little sister is dead, haven’t you heard? Her and John B got washed away in the storm and you still have the nerve to talk about her? You can come back every day if you want to. I’ll give you the keys to the place. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t live here anymore.” You gestured toward the empty living room and the boxes beside the two of you.

For the first time, Barry let his guard down long enough to take a look around the apartment.

“I left him,” you continued your half-lie. You did leave Rafe, at your new house, “when I found out what happened, I left him and I couldn’t handle being on campus where I knew he could find me,” where you knew anyone else could find him, “so I’m leaving.” You shrugged, feigning indifference. Setting the knife down on the sink as if that wasn’t the most insane thing that you’ve ever done. You dug into your purse. “Here’s something for your troubles, yeah?” Your mother always told you to have cash on you and finally, it has come in handy, you pulled around about three grand, almost 1/3 of what you got for selling your car.

“Take it,” you shoved the money against his chest. With no hesitation Barry’s clammy hands landed on yours, pressing both your hand and the money against his chest. The contact instantly brought you back from your previous panic. You couldn’t even believe that you had pulled a knife out on him, what were you even going to do with it? It’s not like you were…it’s not like you were Rafe. At the realization, you met Barry’s eyes with so much sadness, “this is the last thing I’m going to do for you, Barry. For your mom, I hope you can get a real job one day,” you said sincerely.

“Always had a thing for the bad boys, huh, y/n?” Barry said, the joking tone in his voice disappearing as he took the money from underneath your palm, letting your hand fall.

“Just the lost ones,” you admitted, “goodbye, Barry.”

He pocketed the cash, giving you one last look before turning around and leaving you to the boxes.

The house was surprisingly mostly unpacked, except for the two new boxes that you had brought back with you, though in your defense, you didn’t have a lot of things to begin with. After a long-needed shower—more so on Rafe’s part since you left him to do the grunt work all day, you had fixed up dinner for the both of you.

Something had shifted inside of you since the talk with Barry. You could no longer ignore your feelings now that they’re right in your face but you’re still so conflicted. You love Rafe. You love him so much and he’s sober and trying for the first time. You’re seeing him in a new light but today, after picking up that knife, you can’t get over the horrible things that he’s done and it’s tearing you apart inside.

From the archway of the kitchen, you can’t help but look at the boy on your sofa. He’s probably watching some dumb show, his long legs stretched out in front of him while he’s nursing a bottle of water, the sadness in his eyes looking more and more permanent. Your fists clenched up beside you as tears threaten to fall as you made your way in front of him. You can’t count the number of times you’ve seen him like this, the number of times you’ve fantasized about him like this but with your children crawling all over him as you’d laugh and sip a cup of coffee. Now that’s really all it’ll be, a fantasy.

Rafe had set the bottle on the coffee table in front of him as if sensing a confrontation coming on and it fueled your anger even more. You hated that he knew you so well and that you two were so well connected that you could both feel the shift of the energy between the two of you without saying one word. You finally made it in front of him, your knees touching, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his.

He waited, looking back at you as your tears fell from your face and his hands twitched like he wanted to reach out towards you but thought better of it.

“I hate you,” you said pathetically as your shoulders slumped. You angrily wiped away your tears as you shook your head at him. The boy who once was your dream. Rafe didn’t even flinch at your words, he knew it already. He hoped that you’d change your mind about him but he knew from the very first night that things would never be the same.

Without saying a word, Rafe reached for your fists, kissing your knuckles knowing that you’d never use them against him. As if apologizing for even causing you to form them.

“I hate you so much and I can’t forgive you for what you did; I’ve tried,” you said through your tears, “but I also love you so much,” you whispered your confession. His head snapping up at you, searching for your lies and finding none.

Before you could even think, one of his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you down to straddle him as the other came up to your face, forcing you to now look up at him.

“You still love me?” Rafe finally spoke, brushing away a few of your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ve always loved you but you make me hate you,” you said as you leaned your face against his palm, missing the feeling of intimacy with him.

It was almost like something had changed within him, as if he was arguing with himself and finally made up his mind when he leaned in closer to your face, his lips brushing against yours, “Don’t. Tonight just, just love me, okay?”

How could you say no to that? You nodded and it takes him all but a second for his lips to touch yours, knowing that the minute you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile.

The kiss was electric. It was something that you had no idea you were even craving until his were on yours and you couldn’t get enough. Your tongue swiped at his lower lip, taking it in between your teeth and giving him a soft bite, using his gasp as an invitation for your tongue to enter his mouth. Rafe didn’t deny you as his hands worked his way to your hips that’s been subconsciously rocking against his. You worked your hands up his shirt, lingering on his abs, feeling them expand and contract with every breath he takes before removing your lips from his just to pull off his shirt.

Heavenly. It was the only word that came to your mind when you looked at his body. Rafe didn’t give you much time to marvel at the sculpted figure that is his body before pulling your face towards his again, “fuck, y/n,” Rafe breathe and it sent a shiver down your spine. You can already feel the wetness pooling between your legs, knowing full well that the thin layer of your pajama pants is doing nothing but allowing him to feel it, too. Just like how you can feel him grow underneath you, making you whimper when you rock against him the right way. You made your way down his neck, kissing and biting him, marking him like you were teenagers again. Rafe growled at you when you bit a little bit too hard into his shoulder.

“Y/n, baby,” Rafe rasped, trying to get your attention but it was useless, “princess,” he said almost inaudible as you were about to rub out your own orgasm against him. Suddenly, his hand came down hard on your backside, and instead of yelping, you moaned for him to go harder which all but caused him to pull you away from him. Your arms suddenly empty and your chest heaving, you looked at Rafe’s plump lips and eyes that are dark with desire. He stood up and didn’t waste a moment, he allowed you to jump onto him, supporting your weight with his arms around you.

You quickly yanked off your top, allowing your breast to press up against him when you wrap your arms around his neck, “I need you,” you admitted against his neck. More than he knew. In more ways than he could give but for now, you could accept him like this. You felt your back slam against the wall as he fists your hair in his hands, forcing your head back so he could kiss your neck and leave some marks of his own. By the time he reached your bed, you needed your release. He had set you down on the bed, almost too gently. You reached for his pants but his fingers wrapped around your wrist, “I want to taste you first,” he said with what you thought was supposed to be a smile but he was already preoccupying himself with pulling off your shorts. You were almost sure that he moaned just by the sight of your spread legs as if he hadn’t already seen you like this a hundred times.

You laid back and spread your legs further, reaching for his head with his hand but instead he interlocked his fingers with yours saying, “don’t rush me, princess, I want to remember this.” It felt like an eternity before you felt his lips on your inner thigh, causing your body to shudder. Slowly, you felt his tongue delve into you, flicking your clit just right enough for you to buck your hips against him. He wrapped his lips around your clit as his tongue worked it just the way you liked until your nails are leaving marks on him as you scream, “Yes, Rafe, right there, please don’t stop!” Your words along with your moans, giving him the confidence that he still remembers how to make you cum; and you did. Hard. You could’ve sworn that you went cross-eyed for a moment as your thighs attempted to shut around his head. He brought his hands up to hold them back as he continued, bringing on another shaking orgasm.

“I need you in me, Rafe,” you said as this point, almost delirious but you needed the closeness. “I need you to fuck me like you just—like you hate me,” you said but you weren’t sure if you meant it. Granted, in your state, you’d take him any way that he’d come but you just thought back to all the times you’d slept with him in that last month before everything went to shit. When he was at his worst with drugs that most times, he couldn’t get it up, and when he could, it would be rough and fast.

Rafe crawled up your body, using his thumb to wipe his lower lip and then sucking it clean, causing your eyes to flutter. You pushed down his pants until they were around his knees and he kicked them all the way off himself but he didn’t pounce on you and started drilling you. He almost seemed…hesitant.

“I know you hate me but I don’t,” Rafe started, slowly as he began inserting himself into you, inch by inch, “I can’t fuck you like I used to right now. I can’t fuck you like I’m angry, I need to-,” he stopped himself with a moan as you clenched around him, “I just need you to fuck you like you love me okay?” He rasped, looking more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. You nodded, grabbing a hold of his hair as you wrapped your legs around him, you kissed him deeply before looking at him in his eyes, “I love you Rafe,” you breathe and that was all it took for him to lose his control.

After basically wrestling around in the sheets, you both came multiple times. Each time with whispers of promises of forever that you both knew was just something said in the heat of the moment. When you both felt spent, though not nearly having enough of each other, Rafe had gotten up to go to the bathroom and get a wet cloth to come and clean you up. You haven’t been this reckless since you two were sixteen and had a pregnancy scare, so you were thanking the heavens for your birth control right now.

Rafe had put the towel away in the bathroom again but didn’t bother to put on his clothes as he laid next to you in bed. You rested your head against his chest as his finger started trailing your spine.

“I saw Barry today,” you said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe tensed, pulling you closer to him as if he could protect you, “What did he want?”

“Other than a trip down memory lane?” you offered, “you.”

Rafe didn’t say a word as he kissed the top of your head and you drifted off to sleep.

The sun was evil, you were sure of it. The blinding light had awakened you and all you tried to do was burrow deeper into the hard body next to you. Only except, the body wasn’t there. Blindly, you reached out beside you, almost in a panic when you couldn’t feel anything other than the cold sheets, indicating that it has been vacant for some time. You finally opened your eyes and sat up; your body deliciously sore but you couldn’t even enjoy that right now. You walked into the living room, naked as the day you born, only to see a small duffel bag by the door.

“Rafe?” You called out, only to have him appear from the kitchen with an orange juice in his hand. He took a look at you and his eyes lingered on your body, the marks that he left on you. The marks you left on his neck and chest, obvious as well, but you couldn’t concentrate on that, “I can’t believe you,” you spat out as you turned on your heel and made your way back into the bedroom.

You didn’t make it past the door frame before Rafe’s arm snaked around you and pressed your back to his front, his lips coming down to your ear, “stop,” he said, his tone was almost like an order but you knew it was a plea, “whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, stop it.”

You turned around in his arms, willing yourself not to cave when his face was inches from yours. Willing yourself not to cry when his bag is inches away from the door, “you’re leaving me,” you stated.

“I’m not leaving you,” Rafe corrected, “last night was just…amazing but it did remind me that being sober isn’t the only thing that I had to get done. I have loose ends, y/n. I have things that I need to make right. So, yes, I am leaving but do not think for a second that I’m leaving because of you. I’m alive because of you.”

“Nice speech,” you said bitterly, crossing your arms across your chest as you stepped out of his grasp, “you’re leaving right after we had sex. It’s still a douchebag move to make.”

“Y/n, I told you. I had a realization. Trust me, if I didn’t-,” he stopped himself, watching you as you pulled his shirt over your head, “if I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t but I need to like, I don’t know. Clear my head or find myself or whatever the fuck it is. I need to go back to my dad and show my face. Fuck, I need to visit Sarah’s grave.”

“And you can’t do all of that with me? Here I am again, re-arraigning my whole life for you and Rafe Cameron can’t eve-,” he cut you off by lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. His kiss was hard and bruising.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe parroted the line he said seven months ago, only this time, he whispered it with a smile ghosting around his lips.

“I love you,” he said as he caressed your face with one hand, the other still holding you up, “I love you and you do not fully love me like before. I can see it in your eyes, princess. We laugh and we might’ve fucked yesterday but it does not change anything. You don’t trust me so I need to go and make things right, okay? You told me that I needed to love myself before you can be with me again, before you can love me again. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Okay?” he said as he set you down on your feet again.

You nodded, you understood. You weren’t dumb enough to think he’d stay here forever anyway, no matter how much you took care of him and he was right. There are still days where you can’t look at him and having sex last night might’ve made it clear where you both stood with each other but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes you still hated him-you were just too drunk off sex to act on it.

“Yeah. Okay,” was all you could say. Though you gripped onto his hand like a child as he walked to the front door, picking his bag off the floor and effortlessly resting the strap on his shoulder. He turned to you and reached into his pocket, leaving a small gold chain necklace in the palm on your hand. A lame replacement for his own hand, you thought, but you willed yourself not to grab onto him again.

“Thank you. For literally everything. For changing your whole life for me. For stopping everything. No amount of thank you will ever be enough,” Rafe said sincerely and though it looks like he wants to, he doesn’t kiss you.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, your voice small. You gripped the necklace to your chest.

“I don’t know. But I fucking hope so, y/n,” Rafe said before turning around and walking out of your door.

Epilogue

“It’s been two years, dad,” you fidget on the bar stool in your parent’s house, you were finally back in the Outer Banks for the first time since Sarah’s funeral. A small simple gold chain hangs from your neck. You don’t remember the last time you took it off.

“A lot of things have changed, y/n. He might not be who he was anymore,” your dad warned, his eyes trained on yours and even though you know he meant that maybe Rafe isn’t like the boy you fell in love with when you were fifteen, all you wished for was that he wasn’t like the boy he was when he was nineteen.

You held up your glass of water, as if you’re making a toast, “then here’s to changes,” you smiled as your dad shook his head.

When Rafe had left your house, two years ago, he had come back to the Outer Banks like a boy on a mission. You weren’t exactly sure what had happened but rumor has it, he reached out to JJ, Kiara, and Pope to help put his father in prison. From there, they had recruited the help from Mrs. Lana Grubbs, who somehow had enough information to put Ward away for good. Of course, in the midst of getting his father in jail, he had to come clean about his involvement in the murder of Sheriff Peterkin—something that should’ve been a capital offense, but with the help of a very good lawyer (thanks dad) and being involved in the arrest of Ward Cameron, it was brought down to voluntary manslaughter. Rumor also had it that Ward Cameron could’ve gotten away, he could have stuck to his original story, seems like the police bought it anyway but once he heard that Rafe was basically selling himself out for this, he complied, knowing that his son would get less time. By all means, Ward was not a good father and even a worse excuse of a man but you’d like to believe that that was his way of telling Rafe that he loved him enough to do this, especially since he’s lost Sarah.

You sat outside of the prison, in your car. You saw the barb wires and the guards and almost got cold feet. You wrapped your hands tightly around the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white and took a deep breath. You didn’t know why you were so nervous but you felt like if you exit your car, you’d turn into a puddle of goo. After a couple of breathing exercises, you’ve gathered enough courage to walk up to the gate, giving the officer your ID, hoping that you’re still on Rafe’s visitations list. After a couple of minutes, just enough to make you sweat, they led you back to a room. Metal chairs had lined up against the glass, a phone at the side of each divider.

Reminding yourself to breathe, you sat down on the cold steel. You picked up the phone, eager to hear Rafe’s voice. As the rows of inmates started filling up each seat, sitting in front of their loved ones, your eyes searched for him. All the orange jumpsuits looking the same but then you felt it. That connection, that energy that you once shared with this man who was once the love of your life and now almost a stranger. He sat down across from you as you looked up at him, a grin painted on his face, and for the first time in a while, his smile reaches his eyes, “hey princess.”

tags: @millyelliot @snkkat

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron #drew starkey #HAAAAAAA DID I SLEEP? NO #DID I CRY? YEH #FUCK THIS IS LONG #outer banks #my drabbles #outerbanks #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic #my writing

267 notes · View notes

lunarimagines · 4 years

Text

CONDITIONALLY YOURS [1]

Summary: After a minor glitch you are left living with someone you never dreamed of living with. While you swear nothing will happen, a lot can change in the span of a month...

Warnings: language

A/N: This is the new series I have inspiration for right now as classes start up again soon. Does not take place in the current universe... literally no social distancing. Putting Eye on the Target on hold. If you liked Watch Me Babygirl you might like this series ;)

----

Starting college was stressful on its own. Beyond moving to a new school in a new state with new people, moving sucked. Moving was the worst part, in fact, you decided as you hauled up your fifth box from your car to your dorm room. It was digging into your arms and your hands as you hauled it up the four flights of stairs to your room, squishing to the side of the stairwell to allow other students moving in to squeeze by you in a hurry to unpack their own things. You decided that after you finished moving you would never use the stairs ever again. You’d had enough stairs to last you for the rest of your life.

“Woo, I think I’m going to die,” you huffed to your best friend as he followed you into your new room carrying a box filled with your clothes. He snorted as he set the box by your desk and looked around your room. Your side was empty save the boxes of your things while your roommates’ side was completely unpacked - no boxes in sight - and organized.

“The good thing is that I think your roommate has already moved in so maybe she can help you finish unpacking and get organized,” Wooyoung commented as he stared at the made bed across from you stark one.

You nodded as you looked around the room, taking particular interest in your roommate’s decor. It was nice, you finally decided. It was not only neat and tidy - all of the posters and picture frames were hung up straight with command strips - but the colors were calming. You figured the two of you would get along just fine.

“Hey I think that was the last box by the way,” Wooyoung motioned to the stack of boxes scattered on (objectively) your half of the room. “Want to help me unpack my boxes from my car into my room?”

“I guess it’s only fair,” you joked as you followed him out of your room, closing the door soundly behind you.

“I kind of hate that we live across campus from one another,” Wooyoung remarked. “Like… it almost makes me feel lonely being so far from you.”

You simply smiled at your best friend. The thing about Wooyoung was that he easily made friends. He was positive and boisterous and seemed to just attract people. He would soon find himself surrounded by plenty of friends in his dorm. You… you were hoping to find friends in classes and school clubs where you knew you would at least have something in common with them. It wasn’t like you were sure you and Wooyoung would drift apart, but you were worried that your friendship may be tested in such a new environment. After having become friends your Junior year of high school the two of you had seemed almost inseparable, but now you weren’t so sure you were.

Pushing all thoughts from your mind, you grabbed the first box from Wooyoung’s car and gritted your teeth as you started your ascent to his third floor dorm room.

Four exhausting hours later, you were laying in your room on your freshly made bed. Nothing other than your sheets and bathroom supplies had been unpacked. You knew you would eventually have to get up to find your pajama box, but that was a problem for future Y/N. Right now you just wanted to close your eyes and rest. Your limbs hurt and muscles you didn’t even know you had were starting to ache. Reaching over to turn off the light above the center of the room, you snuggled into your sheets and dozed.

You didn’t even hear your roommate come back. Upon seeing your sleeping form, your roommate decided to simply leave the lights off and shower in the ensuite shower in darkness and near silence. They figured it wouldn’t be a good first impression to wake you up… They understood just how tiring moving could be.

Here’s the thing about suddenly living in such close proximities with strangers though: you get woken up by nearly any sound they make before you know them and their routines. You weren’t fully out of your dazed state until you heard the shower shut off. Your eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness of the room but you couldn’t imagine it would be easy for your roommate to navigate the mess of boxes coming out of a brightly lit bathroom into sudden darkness.

Sliding off of your bed, you moved to turn on the light by the dorm door to give your roommate some light.

The click of the bathroom door startled you as you turned around after having flicked the lights on.

“I figured it would be easier for you if I turne-”

Holy shit. Holy fuck.

A boy around your age was staring back at you in shock, his grey sweatpants hanging loosely off of his hips, no shirt in sight, and his hand frozen towel-drying his hair. And he was not simply a half-naked boy around your age, but a HOT half-naked boy around your age. Your eyes seemed to move on their own as you scanned him, spending more time than necessary staring at his slightly damp abs.

God, you felt like you were in a stupid drama. This had to be a dream. Or your roommate let her boyfriend into your room while you were asleep to shower in your room because you had a nice shower. Those were the only two options. It wasn’t as if he could have come into the wrong room… the doors locked automatically behind you and only the person with the correct key could get in. It was simple mechanics.

So why was this boy standing there staring back at you with wide eyes? And who was this boy?

“I - uh - you live here - like HERE here, like in this room… with me?” you mumbled intelligently.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled back, equally as intelligently.

You noticed a slight blush rising on his neck the longer the two of you stood there. You moved to the side to let him find a shirt to put on, paying extra attention to the slight curve of his ass in his sweatpants as he bent down to find a shirt in his drawer set. Everything about this boy was attractive, you noted.

He turned back around, no longer shirtless, and cleared his throat suddenly.

“I, uh, I guess we should probably go downstairs to the desk and see if they can assign us to different rooms,” he reasoned. “I’ll either move or help you move when they reassign us. I’m, yeah, I’m really sorry about this.”

His sudden statement wasn’t entirely surprising to you. The dorms didn’t allow co-ed roommates otherwise you and Wooyoung may have lived together. You simply nodded back, your keys already in your hand to troop down to the ground floor. You would just have to endure the stairs one more time because God forbid you get stuck in an elevator with this boy, too.

“I’m Y/N by the way,” you said desperately to erase the awkward silence between the two of you.

“Seonghwa,” the boy replied coolly.

Fitting name, you thought as you pushed open the door to the ground floor. A cool and sexy name for a cool and sexy guy I guess.

Despite move-in having finished for the day, the ground floor was in chaos. Students were complaining of beds not having been lifted, of clogged sinks, of lights not turning on, of awful roommates, of missing items. Every time you turned someone was complaining about something else. The line to the front counter snaked across the room.

“Maybe it’s not just us,” you reasoned as the two of you got in the back of the line. You peered through the crowd but you couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the front of the line now.

“If we can’t get up to the front before the station closes do you have somebody you can stay with tonight?” Seonghwa questioned. “I have a few friends I might be able to crash with if you don’t.”

“I don’t have any friends besides Wooyoung, and I don’t think his roommate would be too cool with me crashing there.”

In reality you had no idea if Wooyoung or his roommate would be okay with it or not. You didn’t want to move your stuff, you didn’t want to deal with any paperwork, you didn’t want to do anything. It had been an exhausting day and all you wanted to do was go back to sleep.

“We can only take a few high priority cases before we have to close for the night. IF the issue DIRECTLY concerns your safety, please come forward. Otherwise, we apologize for any inconveniences. Thank you.”

A collective groan went up from the crowd. The surge of people to go back to their rooms pushed you and Seonghwa back against a wall. He simply sighed as he watched the organized chaos, his eyes scanning the crowd in annoyance. His jaw was tight and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed.

“Here,” he held out his hand, “I don’t want to get separated in this crowd. I think we should go back upstairs and figure out what we’re going to do next.”

You hummed in agreement as you grabbed his hand. It was warm and surprisingly soft, and you squeezed it tightly as Seonghwa wove his way up to the stairs and to your fourth floor room. The stairwell was hell and you rammed your hip into the railing multiple times as Seonghwa led you through the crowd. The girls seemed to move out of his way without even thinking about it, pausing and stepping back enough when admiring him to let you through the gaps. You had to admit, Seonghwa did look very handsome even with his disheveled, damp hair and casual clothes. Still, there were so many people on the stairs it was impossible you wouldn’t get bumped at all.

Arriving at your floor, you felt the rush of cool air as you stepped into the hallway. Seonghwa didn’t let go of your hand as he led you to your shared room despite the hallway being entirely empty. You chuckled at the action and squeezed his hand tightly before releasing it. You didn’t need protection anymore and your hand was starting to get clammy. The last thing you needed was to sweat on your hot roommate.

Seonghwa seemed shocked. His eyes went wide as he stopped and stared down at his hand before shoving it in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Sorry. I didn’t even realize,” he commented as he unlocked your door and went inside. He settled on his bed and stared blankly across the room. You followed suit to sit cross legged on your bed, staring at him expectantly.

“I guess I’ll pack a bag and go stay with my friend-”

“Just stay,” you interrupted. As the two of you had stood in line together you’d been thinking… “It’s not fair to either of us. Why should either of us move? Besides, this room is prime with a bathroom in it and it’s on the corner. Based on the amount of people downstairs and during move-in, I seriously doubt there’s any open rooms, especially in this dorm. This is the most popular dorm on campus. You’re going to give it up because someone else made a mistake?”

Seonghwa looked skeptical but he didn’t interrupt. He only nodded pensively as he stared at you, his eyes narrowed and sucking on his cheek. You had some good points. Still…

“Won’t it be uncomfortable?”

“Why? Because we’re the opposite gender means we have to have a romantic or sexual relationship? Just don’t walk around naked and we’ll be fine,” you dismissed. “It won’t be weird if we don’t make it weird.”

Seonghwa still didn’t seem convinced.

“Look. Let’s give it a trial period, say a month. If it’s weird, we’ll tell someone and get reassigned. Win-win.”

It was silent in your room as Seonghwa pondered your offer. In some ways, it made a lot of sense. Why give up your spot, not get refunded on your rent, and have to go the process of moving again in the same week just because of a computer glitch? No, better to stay put. Even if Seonghwa moved out you would still feel obligated to help him… which would mean you were also moving in a way. Not worth it. Also, while you found him attractive it stopped there. You didn’t know him. He was interesting physically only. It wasn’t like you wanted to become intimate with him. Besides, it didn’t seem like he liked you too much anyways.

“Fine.”

You blinked in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah fine,” he sighed, “on one condition. We don’t tell anyone. Not even our friends. I don’t want to make it weird for them either. I don’t want to answer their questions. I just… don’t. Deal?”

You smirked at him, your eyes lighting up. Winking quickly, you got up to grab your shower things and a box marked “pajamas and towels.” Walking toward the shower, you dropped your stuff inside before turning and sticking your head out into the room.

“Deal.”

With the resounding clack of the bathroom door shutting and soft click of the lock it was decided: you and Seonghwa were officially roommates. At least for the month.

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #seonghwa reactions #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #kpop imagines #kpop fic #seonghwa fic #ateez fic #wooyoung #seonghwa #ateez #kpop #myimagines #conditionally yours post

87 notes · View notes

writingwithadinosaur · 4 years

Text

“Under the Knife” - Part 3

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 1,700-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talk of Murder, Talk of Crime Scenes, Talk of Murder Victims, Cursing

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection. This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

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

“As most of you know, this is (Y/N) Graham, she will be our profiler for this case.”

“Oh good. Another Graham.” Beverly commented over her clipboard, writing down something involving the case probably. Jack gave her a chastising glance and she held her hands up in defense.

“(Y/N) this is Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, and Jimmy Price.” Jack introduced you very quickly to the science-ier part of the team very quickly before jumping right into work. “So, tell us what you got so far, (Y/N).”

You opened your small notebook and began summarizing your notes from last night’s reading.

“Alright. So far I’ve been able to see three patterns: the ways they were killed, the time frame, and the fact that all of the victims that were dismembered were doctors. The strongest thing I can think of is that this killer was wronged by doctors in some way. I’m not sure if it's a doctor in the general term or if there is some specific way that ties these three doctors, and our killer, together. That was something I was going to work on today.

The way that the bodies are taken apart is very particular. From what I could tell from the photos in the files, all of the cuts seemed to be straight lines all the way through. Which means that this guy’s gotta have access not only to the tools that can do this sort of stuff, but also whatever drug he got in their system to make them lay still while he... worked. So I’m assuming the murder weapon is nothing with a jagged blade or saw-like teeth until we get to the bone. Do we have any reports on striation patterns or anything that could help us with what was used?”

“It’s like you said, the cuts were almost completely straight lines, even through to the bone. The only things we could think of were surgical tools.” Zeller spoke up. “The skin and muscles were cut similarly to how a surgeon would with a scalpel. But the bone is where it gets tricky. You can’t cut like this through bone with just a scalpel.”

“Unless you have plenty of time and you're very persistent.” Beverly joked; you were the only one that slightly exhaled a laugh through your nose at her quip.

“Alright, so the killer has a medical background.” Jack tossed into the air. You nodded.

“Possibly. But why would a doctor be going after other doctors?”

“Maybe they’re taking all his patients?” Beverly shot out. You just nodded and looked back at your notes to see where you left off.

“The uh.. The most concerning thing is the time frame. They were all killed two weeks part from each other. Dr. Everet was almost 6 weeks ago, Dr. Chaseten almost 4, and Dr. Loriet about 2.”

“Which means we could have another dead doctor within the week.” Jack solemnly spoke as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Alright, you three keep looking over everything to see if we missed something. (Y/N), start working on possible correlations between the victims and the killer. Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

And that’s how the next two days went. Researching, thinking, and trying to get into a mindset that you weren’t totally sure of yet.

You had checked in with Will like you promised and said that you were fine but you were going to be very busy for at least the next few days. Hannibal had called you after your first day and could hear the slight exhaustion in your voice. He asked you to have lunch with him tomorrow and you very quickly agreed.

But the next day, you spent more time than you thought flipping through the databases to try to find any correlation between Everet, Chasten, and Loriet. The three of them never worked in the same hospital, clinic, or even the same city. Their wives didn’t know each other. Their neighbors didn’t know each other. They didn’t have any sort of communication with each other. They were all different types of doctors. Everet and Loriet went to the same med school, but they graduated 3 years apart.

So what the fuck am I missing?

You kept looking back over the crime scene photos. You couldn’t understand why the doctors were mutilated and positioned so intricately, but the others were cast aside. The focus has to be on the doctors. They must have done something to ‘wrong’ the killer. So what the hell did all three of you do to make someone want to murder?

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock at your office door. You let out a slightly aggravated sigh.

“Jack, I told you I will let you know when I-- Oh! Hannibal! Hi!” You looked up from your computer screen to find Hannibal standing in the doorway with a bag in his hand.

“Should I come back later?”

“No! No. Come on in. I probably should take a break. I feel like I’m going in circles anyways.” You looked at your watch and saw it was almost 3:30 PM. The last time you looked at the clock, it was 10:30 AM. “And I missed our lunch meeting.” You put your head in your hands and groaned in annoyance with yourself. “I am so sorry, Hannibal. I--”

“No need for apologies, my dear. I figured Jack had put a lot on your plate, so I thought I would bring lunch to you.” Hannibal made his way into your office and shut the door behind him.

“You really didn’t have to.”

“When was the last time you ate, (Y/N)?” Hannibal questioned you, looking you dead in the eye after he sat down in one of your office chairs.

You weren’t entirely sure. You started to speak but then stopped yourself, really trying to remember when you ate last. I know I had ½ of my breakfast at 7:30 this morning. Did I have my granola bar? Does coffee count as a meal?

“The fact that you have to think about when your last meal was, is a bit concerning. But nonetheless, I am more than happy to remedy that. ” He smiled one of his rare but small smiles and began unpacking whatever culinary art he brought. You tried to condense some of your piles of papers and folders so you had enough room to put food down.

Hannibal had brought a home-cooked meal for the two of you to enjoy. A ginger salad with fresh pan-seared scallops and even some infused water that he had marinating in his fridge overnight. This was so much better than the PB&J you had packed.

As you began to dig in, Hannibal couldn’t help but look at some of the crime scene photos and your notes.

“So what are we calling this killer?”

“‘The Virginia Scalpel.’” You said with slight annoyance. “He has a medical background and is within a reasonable distance from all of the vics. Yet, we have no idea who he is.”

“Does the killer have to be a medical professional? Maybe they just have very steady hands.”

“True. But there is almost no way that a regular guy could cut through muscle and bone that cleanly without surgical tools or the knowledge of how to use them. Not to mention the fact that he would have some serious explaining to do on how he got the succinylcholine or whatever paralyzer he plans to use next.” You rub your eyes gently, feeling the strain from the computer screen hitting you. Hannibal could feel the stress radiating off of you.

“Do you want to talk about this case?”

“Not really. But I’m not sure what else to talk about. This has been my life for the last 3 days, the killer could strike again any day now, and I still don’t know why these three doctors were targeted or who will be next!”

You started to fidget with your ring unconsciously and a bit aggressively, a sign to Hannibal that your anxiety was starting to catch up. Despite the physical signs that you needed a break, you continued to glance over an open file near you while you took another bite of food. He leaned forward in his seat a bit as he closed the file that you had been rereading for what he assumed to be at least the tenth time.

“(Y/N), you need to breathe.” You just nodded and closed your eyes to try to help your deep breaths relax you faster. “How about we go for a walk? Get the blood flowing.”

“I would love to. But I feel like I can’t afford that break right now.” You shook your head slightly as you reached down for a stack of papers you had bundled and put on the floor earlier. You didn’t see him get up, but Hannibal was standing, adjusting his jacket before holding a hand out to you.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You looked from his hand to his face before standing up, shrugging. A small walk around the building wouldn’t hurt, right?

Before your hand could land in his, your phone rang and you felt your heart sink, dreading what could be waiting for you on the other end of the line. Both you and Hannibal looked down at your phone and saw the caller ID: “Jack Crawford.” You took a deep inhale and hit the answer button.

“I really hope you’re calling just to bug me to work faster, Jack…” You tried your best to control your voice. You looked up and Hannibal was watching, trying to listen in and gauge how you were going to react.

“Afraid not. There’s another Scalpel vic. I’m texting you the address. Drop whatever you're doing and get down here.” Jack hung up before you could say anything, leaving you in a bit of shock.

Dammit! What the hell am I missing?! Someone else is dead--Another doctor is dead because I don’t have any answers yet. How can--

“(Y/N)?” Hannibal’s hand on your arm broke your stream of internal chastising before it could get too bad, but you did unintentionally jump at the contact. He instantly raised his hands up and let you process for a moment. “There’s another one, isn’t there?”

You just nod. A second later, your phone flashed a message from Jack with an address.

“Guess my ‘walk’ is going to be to a crime scene.” You try to joke despite feeling a tinge of guilt spreading through you. Hannibal tried to walk you to your car but you kindly denied him. You wanted to be alone as you prepared yourself for your first real crime scene.

#hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fandom #hannibal imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter / reader

112 notes · View notes

thecassadilla · 4 years

Text

Fix You Up

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,375/AO3

Summary: Winding up in the emergency room isn't fun, but it's certainly a bit easier to endure when there's a beautiful doctor taking care of you.

Author’s Note: This is called “I’ve been re-watching way too much Grey’s Anatomy and I decided to write a completely self-indulgent/kind of ethically wrong but it doesn’t really matter because it’s fiction” fic based off of it. I’m not a doctor/nurse/medical professional of any type so I apologize if I got something wrong. Enjoy!!!

The last thing that Kristoff Bjorgman needed was to wind up in the emergency room. He hadn’t intended for the knife to slip and slice his finger open. But going to the hospital, getting through triage, and waiting in a white, sterile room to see a doctor made him re-evaluate his initial thoughts.

The last thing he actually needed was a pretty, perky, red-headed doctor taking care of him. And yet, it was happening whether he liked it or not.

“Hi, Mr. B - ooh,” she laughed as she walked into his room, attempting to read his last name off of his chart. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just that they teach you how to pronounce words like ‘choledocholithiasis’ in medical school but they don’t teach us how to pronounce our patients’ last names.”

“Oh, it’s -”

“No, I think I got it. Bjorgman?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yup, that’s it,” he nodded, pursing his lips. She seemed way too young to be a doctor; her hair was tied up in a high ponytail that bounced when she moved, and combined with the scrubs and white coat she was wearing, she looked like she was supposed to be trick-or-treating instead of practicing medicine.

“Alright, Mr. Bjorgman, I’m Dr. Anna Andersen. What brings you in today?” She walked over to the sink and began to vigorously wash her hands.

“Apparently, I need stitches.”

She turned off the water and dried her hands with a paper towel before walking over to his side. She glanced down at his outstretched hand, inspecting the laceration for a few seconds. “I would say that I agree with your diagnosis. You definitely need a few stitches.”

“Fantastic,” he groaned.

“I’m sorry, I know this probably isn’t fun,” she frowned, grabbing a pair of gloves from the dispenser and snapping them on. “But we’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

“I appreciate that.”

She sat down on the chair and rolled over to the side of his bed, inspecting his wound more closely. “How did this happen?”

He hesitated, and contemplated lying to her; maybe because he was certain that she’d laugh at him or think he was stupid for cutting himself open while chopping vegetables. He decided to tell the truth anyway. “I was cooking and the knife slipped.”

“Okay, do you mind if I -?” She motioned to his finger, a sense of relief washing over him; there was not a laugh or even a lip twitch in sight.

“Go ahead.”

She gently placed her fingers on the area surrounding the cut. “Does this hurt at all?”

“Just a little,” he grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But you can feel my fingers, yes?”

“I can.”

“Good.” She rotated his hand, surveying the damage from all angles. “Are you able to bend your finger?”

He demonstrated for her, despite the fact that it hurt every time he moved it.

“And how long ago did this happen?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think how long it had taken him to stop the bleeding and get in the car and fill out all the paperwork. “Like, two hours ago.”

“Okay, and are you allergic to any medications or anesthetics?”

“No,” he sighed.

“Sorry for all the questions, it’s procedure. Are you currently taking any medications?”

He shook his head.

“Alright, last one. Do you remember how long ago you had your last tetanus shot?”

“I don’t.”

She gently placed his hand back on the tray, then stood up, pulled the gloves off, and threw them in the trash. “Well, the good news is that the edges aren’t jagged and this should heal very nicely with a few stitches. The bad news is that you won’t be able to bend your finger for a few days.”

“Great.”

“Now, I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get the stuff I need to fix your finger and a tetanus booster and then we’ll get you out of here.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said in a low voice.

She smiled before ducking out of the room. Though he had yet to see her put her actual skills to the test, he was impressed by her bedside manner; she was actually quite adorable. Perhaps he had judged her too quickly.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said when she returned a few minutes later, setting down the materials she’d need on the tray next to his hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She walked over to the sink and washed her hands again before putting on another pair of clean gloves. She sat back down in the chair next to his bed and scooted in as close as she could.

“Now, before I start stitching you up, I’m going to give you a local anesthetic so you won’t feel any pain,” she explained, as she pulled a syringe from a plastic package. “Speaking from experience, this will sting a bit.”

“Experience?” he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Like from your personal experience or what other people have told you?”

She filled it up with liquid from a tiny clear vial. “Both.”

“Do you warn all of your patients that it will hurt?”

“Only the ones I like,” she winked. “I’ll have to poke you a few times, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded, and she began to anesthetize the area. She poked him once, and then again, and again. He gritted his teeth.

“Almost done, you’re doing great,” she said, noticing his discomfort. She poked him one last time. “Okay, the worst is over.”

She stood up and deposited the needle in the sharp materials box next to the bed before taking her seat once again. “In just a few minutes, you’ll be numb and I can start.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said that would sting,” he remarked.

“I also wasn’t kidding when I said I only warn the patients that I like,” she grinned. She had such a beautiful smile. “A lot of people come in here and try to undermine my medical experience. I don’t warn people who think they know it all.”

He immediately felt guilty for thinking she looked more prepared for Halloween than for being a doctor. “No offense, but you do look very young.”

“Because I am young. I’m twenty-six,” she confessed with a shrug.

“They let you be a doctor that young? Not just you, but people in general.”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “Medical school is only four years, and you’re officially a doctor when you graduate. Then you do a residency, which is what I’m doing right now, and that can be up to seven years. I’m still in my first year.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said. “That’s a lot of learning.”

“They don’t really advertise how many years of training you have to go through,” she said, tapping on his finger. “Can you feel that?”

“No.”

“Wonderful, now it’s time to party,” she announced. “First, I’m going to clean your wound with some saline solution.”

Though his finger was numbed, he could feel the sensation of the liquid trickling down his palm.

“And now, I’m going to put some antibacterial liquid on your skin,” she explained, doing so as she spoke. “And I have to drape it with a sheet before I suture it…”

She unpacked the blue paper from it’s plastic package, and unfolded it. Conveniently, there was a hole right in the center.

“Here,” she said, holding it up. “Slip your finger right through here, and...perfect!!”

“Do you always narrate what you’re doing for your patients?” he asked in a sincere tone. It was a genuine question.

“Yeah, it usually makes them feel better, but we can talk about something else if you want. Or, if you’d prefer me to be quiet, I can do that, too.”

In any other situation, he would have preferred the quiet, but she had a very appealing voice. “No, you can keep talking.”

“Good, I like talking,” she remarked with a smirk. She was now holding what looked like a pair of scissors in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

She leaned over his hand, which obstructed his view. “So you may feel the needle going in and out, but it shouldn’t hurt. There, did you feel that?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good,” she said. “So, what do you do for work?”

“I’m an engineer,” he answered, shortly. He didn’t want to bore her with the details.

“Is that a job where you use your hands a lot?”

“Yeah, it is.”

She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him, her bright, blue eyes nearly boring a hole into his own. “You’re either going to have to take a few days off from work or do something that doesn’t involve your hands, okay? Doctors’ orders. You shouldn’t bend your finger or do any heavy lifting until the stitches come out because you don’t want to accidentally rip it open.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “Fine.”

She turned away again and resumed what she was doing. “Did you drive yourself here or did someone give you a ride?”

“I drove myself.”

“Now, I don’t advocate for reckless driving and I would strongly recommend that you call someone to pick you up. You won’t be able to bend your finger around the wheel.”

“I don’t really have anyone that I can call, but I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.”

Though he couldn’t see what she was doing, he could see the concentration on her face. She was so close that he could practically count the freckles that were scattered across her nose and cheeks. “So, uh, why did you become a doctor?”

She chuckled. “That’s a bit of a loaded question, but it’s practically a family business. My parents were doctors, my sister’s a doctor. I’m just following in their footsteps.”

“That’s cool that you can say that you all have the same career.”

“I suppose,” she said, her voice twinged with uncertainty. He wasn’t sure how to interpret her tone, but before he could even think about asking what she meant, she placed her tools down on the tray. “And just like that, you’re all stitched up.”

“That was fast,” he remarked as she removed the drape from around his finger. He was able to see it for the first time and counted six tiny knots.

“It isn’t really a time-consuming process,” she shrugged.

“Well, you did a really good job.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “Now, I’m going to put some antibiotic ointment on it and then wrap it in gauze. You’ll have to keep it clean and dry for the first twenty-four hours. I’ll print you out some more detailed care instructions, but I’m going to recommend that you come back here in ten days to have them removed.”

“Gotcha.”

“Also, don’t rub any alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on it. And if you see any signs of infection - swelling, pus, increase in pain - you can come back or you can make an appointment with your primary care physician.”

“Understood.”

“I just have to give you the tetanus booster and then I’ll get your discharge papers. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She prepared the vaccine, then stood up and ripped open an alcohol pad. She lifted up the sleeve of his shirt and cleaned off a small area. “This shouldn’t hurt at all,” she said, before injecting the liquid into his body. Seconds later, she was pulling it out, covering the tiny wound with a bandage, and dropping the needle into the sharps container.

“That was a walk in the park compared to the other one,” he chuckled.

“Easy peasy,” she smiled, gathering up all of the items that needed to be discarded. She walked over the garbage, and tossed it away before removing her gloves. “You stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, inspecting his finger as soon as she left the room. There wasn’t much to see, since the wound was covered by gauze.

“Alright, so this is a bag of stuff to take care of your finger - a few single-use packets of ointment, some gauze, and some tape. You’ll have to stop by a drug store to get enough ointment to last you for the entire ten days, though.” She handed him the small plastic bag.

He nodded. “Alright.”

She shuffled through the papers before handing him on. “Those are the wound care instructions. Please try to follow them as best as you can. When it’s time for the stitches to come out, you can come back here or go to your regular healthcare provider, it’s up to you. And last but not least, these are your discharge papers. We just need you to sign this page and then you’re a free man.”

She placed the papers and a pen on the tray and pushed it closer to him. He signed them without hesitating and she took them back once he was finished.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, I think you covered everything.”

She smiled. “Alright, then you’re free to go. Take care of yourself, Mr. Bjorgman.”

“Kristoff,” he corrected, holding out his hand for her.

She accepted, and shook it, keeping her eyes locked on his and allowing her fingers to linger for just a second when she pulled her hand back. “Be well, okay?”

Though he was free from the confines of the hospital, he felt almost as if he’d left a piece of himself there. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, for some reason. Not on the drive home, not when he was cleaning up the massacre in his kitchen, and not when he finally crawled into his bed that night but found himself unable to sleep. She was a beautiful, compassionate doctor and he was the idiot who showed up in her emergency room with a gaping hole in his finger. Remnants of their conversation played over and over again in his head, and though he didn’t know her at all, he found himself creating scenarios in his head where they would have the opportunity to meet again. He kept having to remind himself that she was only being so nice because she was a doctor.

As luck would have it, he would find himself back in the emergency room just two days later, for a rather unfortunate reason. Doubled over in pain, he spotted her in the hallway talking to a colleague as he was wheeled toward his room by an orderly. He couldn’t help but notice her eyes following where he was going until he couldn’t see her anymore, and he fervently hoped that she’d be the one to treat him, again.

She walked into his room shortly after, looking quite concerned. “Hey, what are you doing back here? Infection?”

“No,” he breathed. “I’m having really bad abdominal pains.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve been nauseous and I haven’t been able to keep anything down, and I have a fever. And the pain is really bad. Do you think it could be appendicitis?”

“It could be, but they’ll have to run some tests on you to confirm,” she said, shoving her hands into the pocket of her coat.

“Are you the only doctor that works here?”

“It feels like that sometimes,” she remarked. “But I’m not your doctor today.”

His face fell. “You’re not?”

She shook her head. “I just saw you from the hallway and I wanted to see what was going on, make sure that you were okay.”

“I wish I could say that I was making this up just so I could see you again.”

“You know, you’re really handsome and I like looking at you, but I’d prefer if we didn’t keep meeting like this.”

Feeling bold, he decided to press on. “What if we met somewhere else? Like a grocery store or a bar?”

She cocked her head, a smirk plastered across her face. “It would be a miracle because I don’t have a social life and I survive on takeout. I can't say I wouldn't like that, though.”

He laughed, but it only caused his pain to intensify and thus, remind him of the seriousness of the situation. He exhaled a few times through his mouth before speaking again. “What will happen if it is appendicitis?”

She sighed. “You’ll have to have surgery.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “When it rains, it pours, huh?”

She gently squeezed his arm. “We’ll take really good care of you.”

His memory got a little foggy after that; he remembered his actual doctor coming in, the nurse putting in an I.V., someone coming in and drawing his blood, and an ultrasound machine being wheeled into his room. He concluded that they must’ve given him some painkillers after that, because the next thing he remembered was waking up after surgery, the doctor telling him that it went well, and then promptly falling back to sleep.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally woke up.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” a soft voice asked. Suddenly, Dr. Andersen was by his side; she looked quite concerned and she was wearing normal clothes, not her scrubs or white coat.

He cleared his throat. “I’m okay.”

“Your surgery went really well,” she assured him. “You came in at just the perfect time.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were okay before I left for the night,” she explained, gently resting her hand on his arm. “Is there anything that I could get for you? Anyone I can call?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a small smile. “Get some rest, alright?”

“Wait,” he called, just as she was about to walk through the door. She obliged, and turned around. “They say lightning never strikes the same place twice. I’ve never been to the emergency room in my entire life, and now I’ve been here twice in three days. That has to be some kind of coincidence, right?”

“Today was my last day on rotation for emergency medicine. I’m moving on to pediatrics.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “Because of me?”

“No, not at all,” she assured him. “That’s just how being a first year resident works.”

“I don’t...” he trailed off.

“The reason I brought it up is because you were talking about coincidences,” she said, in a low voice.

Suddenly, it clicked. “That’s a pretty big one, huh?”

She nodded slowly. “I would say so.”

“So what does this mean?”

She walked back over to his bed, sat down on the edge of it, and dropped her bag on the floor. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried about you all day.”

No use in being anything but honest now. “I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been thinking about you since the other day.”

“I may have been thinking about you, too,” she smirked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean I can ask you on a date?”

“You may,” she blushed. “But only after you recover from your surgery. Don’t forget that you’re supposed to spend the next couple of weeks recovering.”

“So I won’t be able to take you out for, like, three weeks?”

“Don’t forget that I work eighty hours a week, too,” she laughed. “But I’ll give you my phone number and you can text me as much as you want. I may not be able to answer right away, but I enjoy reading my messages on my breaks.”

“Deal,” he agreed and he recited his number to her, so she could text him and he could save it.

“You really should get some rest now, though,” she insisted, standing up and straightening his blankets.

“You should really take your own advice.”

“I know, I know,” she rolled her eyes. She picked up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Have a good night, Kristoff.”

“You too...Anna,” he called. She beamed at him and as soon as she was out of sight, he found himself unable to control his own smile.

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fic #yay the first thing i've published in 3 months #lowkey kind of hate it but i hate everything i write #my writing

35 notes · View notes

rainandhotchocolate · 4 years

Text

Blackout - Part 7

A/N lelel it’s here!! I am so fucking TIRED but exams are done and I’m on holidays and thank you for all the love and good luck wishes!! Here’s hoping I passed hehe. Anyways, here’s a long chapter for you - I think it’s 2.5k ish so I hope tht partially makes up for the supreme lateness!! Love y’all xx

Part 7

“You ready?” Lily stood behind Y/N in the mirror, straightening the front of Y/N’s robes.

“I think so,” Y/N took in a deep breath, spinning around to face her, “You know we’d make a great couple.”

Lily snorted, “Someone needs to take care of James.”

“Ahh true love,” Y/N laughed, playing with the front of her robes, “Did I really wear this every day?”

“I promise I didn’t prank you for your first day back at work,” Lily replied, “And yes, I think Sirius might have some more at you- his as well.”

Lily cleared her throat awkwardly, ushering Y/N out of her room and down the stairs to where James was making scrambled eggs. Y/N rolled her eyes at Lily’s uncomfortable expression.

“I’m not going to melt if you say anything about Sirius and me, Lils.”

“I’m sorry, I just keep forgettin- no sorry I mean-“

“Breathe Lily,” Y/N sat down, pulling a plate of eggs towards her, “Look, I know it’s weird, for both of us, but I can’t panic every time I hear about my past relationship.”

Y/N didn’t miss the look that passed between Lily and James but she ignored it, digging into her food.

“Excited to head back to work?” James sat down in front of her, wiggling is eyebrows.

“I mean, I’ve forgotten a fair amount, I’m a bit worried I’ve forgotten how to, you know, exist in the world.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lily knocked her elbow, “And I’m coming to meet you for lunch anyway so you have an excuse to ditch any corporate gits.”

“And you know that when there’s silence in a conversation you’re meant to screech at the top of your lungs right? Common Ministry courtesy.”

Y/N glared at James, “One day I’m going to fall for one of your stupid comments and you’ll be very sorry.”

“I’ll be cackling you mean.”

“No no, you will be vomiting slugs for a week.”

James put his hands up in mock surrender.

“I promise to avoid anything you might actually believe.”

“Much appreciated.”

“Ok, come on come on, I don’t want you to be late on your second first day,” Lily stood up, grabbing Y/N’s bag and hauling it over her shoulder. Y/N stood up, stretching out her back and smiling.

“Let’s go.”

Y/N felt her stomach flipping over as Lily led her down the backstreets of London to the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry. She was grateful that they took her back, though she had a feeling that someone had had a little discussion with Dumbledore, given she’d received an odd letter congratulating her on her job just minutes before the Ministry owl came through.

Lily opened the bright red phone booth, pulling Y/N inside. Ok deep breath, you got this job once for a reason, you can’t have changed that much.

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts when she felt the jolt of the elevator as it began sinking into the ground. Lily handed her a name tag and gave her a steady smile. The elevator opened, revealing the large tiled lobby to the Ministry of Magic. It was larger than Y/N had remembered, a looming hallway with large ceilings and deep blue tiled archways leading into deep sectors of the building. The grand fountain sat at the end of the hall, golden statues of a centaur and a wizard joined together and surrounded by crystal blue water.

Lily led her down the hallway, heels clicking loudly and back straight and tall. Fellow witches and wizards slipped in and out of the hall through passageways and the floo network, each holding large briefcases and papers, all looking extremely busy.

Lily slipped quickly into an elevator at the end of the hall, pulling Y/N inside with her.

“You’re level 6,” Lily whispered into her ear, having to lean passed a small witch with grey hair and a stare that Y/N thought could kill a man on the spot.

“Do I need to sign in?” Y/N tried to lean back but curled away as the witch turned her gaze onto Y/N.

“No, Salitus said to go straight to his office.”

“Right.” Y/N remembered the name, furrowing her brows to try to see if any details came to her. A weird feeling came over her, making her heart pump harder in her chest and she pulled out of her thoughts, focusing on the man in front of her instead.

“Level 6,” the elevator voice called, and Lily pulled Y/N out of the elevator, following two men who were talking in hushed whispers down the hallway to their left.

“You ok?” Lily had turned to her but expression changed quickly when she saw Y/N’s face.

“Yeah, I just… I feel weird, I don’t know, I think I’m nervous.”

Lily bit her lip, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand.

“You don’t have to come in today you know? We can just go for a walk around London, try again tomorrow?”

“No,” Y/N steeled herself, “I’m just being silly, let’s go.”

****

Sirius placed the large box on James’ counter. When he looked up to meet James and Peter’s eye he saw them grimacing at him.

“Yeah nice and subtle guys.” Sirius huffed, “Making me feel real good about the whole bringing back my ex-girlfriend’s stuff who I never broke up with.”

“Not really sure what to do in this situation,” Peter tried to hide his expression better but it didn’t work.

“Yeah, normally your break ups entailed more firewhiskey and running around in the woods.”

“That would be much more entertaining than this version.” Sirius sat down at the table and pushed the box towards James. “She’s gone to work?”

“Yep, left a few hours ago.”

“How… you know, did she seem?”

“I think nervous, but excited to be going back to something she remembered.” James grabbed the box, lifting over and onto the stairs towards the bedrooms.

“I can’t believe she can only remember to that job.” Peter shook her head, “I mean that’s before she even met us.”

“Thanks for that reminder.”

“Ok, ok you we need to get you out of the house.” James watched Sirius who had placed his head into his hands. “I don’t like mopey Sirius.”

“I’ll try to be happier for you,” Sirius rolled his eyes but James continued.

“Come on, we’ll come to yours tonight, I’ll bring drinks and I’ll get Remus to bring back the cloak.”

“I don’t know man, I kind of want to be alone.”

“Alone never ends well with you,” Peter snorted. James elbowed him sharply in the ribs and he groaned.

“Where is Remus anyway?”

“Another mission for Dumbledore,” James huffed, “At least this one is just for a day, apparently Dumbledore wants him to go for a whole month.”

“A month? What on earth is he going to do for that long?” Peter furrowed his brow, unpacking a box of biscuits and handing them around.

“Gather intel? Be killed by feral werewolves?” Sirius scowled, “I don’t like this.”

“I know, Remus looked ragged the last time I saw him.”

“What time does he get back tonight?”

“Around 8, I think.” James crunched down into a biscuit shaking his head, “I’ll be so mad if he’s hurt.”

“Alright mum,” Sirius laughed at his solemn face, “but ok fine, get him to come over when he gets back. And you better actually bring something to drink.”

“Deal.”

****

Lily squeezed Y/N’s hand as she entered Salitus’ office. He was a tall man with lanky limbs and dark auburn hair. Y/N had a faint memory of him as her manager, but nothing concrete. He smiled at her as she entered.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you, we were so glad to hear you had gotten out of St Mungo’s.” Salitus shook her hand and directed Y/N to a brown leather seat in front of his desk. The room was covered in photos of animals flying in and out frames and salamanders spouting fire towards the room.

“Yes, definitely good to be back up and in the real world,” Y/N smiled at him, trying to look light and bubbly, not like the deep pit of confusion she was feeling.

“We’re very happy to have you back and have Lauren ready to help train you back up again if you need support.” Salitus pulled open a drawer to his left and took out a stack of papers, hitting them on the desk to bring them together. “There are a few things we need you to sign, all the same as when you first joined us, just need to make sure that you’re across the same privacy agreements and all that boring stuff.”

He flashed her another smile and Y/N fought the urge to frown at his teeth gleaming slightly in the light of the office.

“That’s totally fine, I can get to them first thing.”

“Perfect! Well I’ll let you get to your office and get a feel for everything and Lauren will drop in soon to get you up to speed. Send me a note if you need anything at all.” Salitus handed her the papers and stood up, Y/N following his lead and getting up quickly from the leather chair.

“Great, it was good to see you again.”

“You as well.” Y/N nodded to him and followed him out towards the door before he closed it behind her. Lily was still waiting outside reading, putting down her book as Y/N approached.

“Everything all good?”

“Yeah I think so,” Y/N shrugged, “Just have to sign some papers and can head back to my office – also I have an office? I thought I shared an office.”

“I think you moved into your own office before you q- the accident,” Lily stumbled, beginning to walk down the corridor. Y/N narrowed her eyes but let Lily lead her further into the department. “This is you.”

Y/N’s name was emblazoned on the front of a large black door towards the end of the corridor.

“Weird.”

“Yeah,” Lily laughed, “I would love to have my name on something.”

“Have a kid and name it Lily,” Y/N grinned at her, “Are you coming in?”

“No, I’ve got to head into work for a bit but I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you then.”

***

“Open the door Sirius!” James banged on the door to his apartment, bottle of firewhiskey in hand. The door swung open to reveal Remus, his eyes looking sunken and black but he was smiling at him all the same.

“Welcome to the house of depression.”

“Oh good, love a warm welcome.” James slid past him and into the apartment. It was covered in art and framed posters of gigs Sirius and Y/N had been too, the furniture clearly picked out by Y/N as it wasn’t black or second-hand.

Remus grinned at him and followed James back towards the living room where music was blasting and Peter was watching Sirius set up an elaborate line of shots with his wand out and ready.

“You ready for a new game!?” Sirius looked up when James entered, clearly already tipsy, his eyes flashing mischievously.

“Hit me.” James sat on the couch and passed him another bottle of whiskey to add to his stash next to the table.

“We’re doing proper firewhiskey,” Sirius flicked his wand so that one of the shots lit on fire. “With a twist.”

“More of a twist?” Remus snorted.

“I’m gonna place these around the rooms and we need to try to apparate directly in front of them.”

“What happens if we miss?”

“The rest of us gets to decide a punishment.” Sirius grinned.

“Sounds good to me,” James grinned in response, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

Three hours later the four boys had drunk two bottles of firewhiskey, Peter was dressed in his underwear and Remus’ hair was singed with fire. James had had to streak down a the road outside Sirius’ apartment at one point as well and was sure the lady downstairs was going to hit on him the next time she passed.

Sirius was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling fan spinning slowly. He’d apparated perfectly in front of each shot and had already out drunk all three of them. Remus was flicking through Sirius’ records, calling out each one he liked to see if the rest of them wanted it playing.

“I’ve told you three time, it’s New Order or nothing.” James called from the bathroom, poking his head around the doorway.

“Alright alright, putting it on now.” Remus flipped the record, placing it on the player and placing the needle down and turning up the volume.

Blue Monday blasted through the speakers and Remus went over to Sirius, still on the floor.

“Come on, you’ve got to get up for Blue Monday.” Remus kicked his feet, stumbling sideways slightly. James had come back into the living room and grabbed Peter’s hand, spinning him towards the fire.

“Nah, imma stay here,” Sirius slurred up at him, kicking his feet back towards Remus who side stepped him.

“Come on.” Remus rolled his eyes, leaning down to grab his hand and pull him back up to standing. Sirius swayed on his feet, stumbling towards the wall, giggling.

“Oops, everything’s spinning,” He mumbled towards Remus, turning around to watch James and Peter pretend to Irish dance in the corner.

“You need water you idiot.”

“Noooo, I’m good, I need some more, I’m sobering up!”

“Liar!” Peter called out to him, attempting a high kick and hitting the edge of the doorway.

“You’re literally going to puke over your floor if you have any more, and you’ve not even had to do anything bad yet,” James caught Peter before he slipped backwards.

“Well come on then, hit me, dare me to do something friends,” Sirius winked at James, “give me your worst.”

“I can’t think of anything,” Remus blinked a few times, “My brain has turned to mush.”

“Streak!” Peter sat down, puffing loudly.

“You can’t re dare the same thing,” James rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, why don’t you floo call someone?”

“Calling someone!” Sirius yelled, throwing his hands up in the air, “Perfect!”

Sirius knelt on the ground, shifting his legs across the floorboards to reach the fireplace. He placed his hand in the large pot of floor powder to his right, grabbing a hand-full and throwing it into the fire.

“James and Lily’s!”

***

“Merlin’s beard I am exhausted.” Y/N flopped onto the couch as Lily handed her a cup of peppermint tea and a plateful of fig newtons.

“Long first day?” Lily smiled at her, curling up her feet underneath the couch and leaning into the arm.

“I remember Lauren being boring but listening to her talk about the ins and outs of my job for three hours honestly made me want to be back in St Mungo’s.”

“She sounds like a delight.” Lily snorted.

“Seriously, she made the job sound like the most painful thing on the planet, but there’s a reason I joined right? A reason I stayed?” Y/N smiled, shaking her head. “I hate feeling like I’m back at step one in my career you know.”

“Ahh you’ll find your way again,” Lily stole a fig newton, “You might just need to repeat some of the same mistakes before you get there.”

“Sounds fucking fun.” Y/N sighed, staring at the fireplace. “How was your day?”

“Alright, doing field work is a bit painful at the moment, I was hoping it would be more like working at St Mungo’s but it feels more like I’m just being sent to break up petty fights they think might be death eater attacks.”

“So, healing broken noses and black eyes?”

“Just about, learning a lot about dumb boys.” Lily snorted, “Which I think I already have a fucking degree in.”

Suddenly there was a crackling sound and within an instant the two girls were standing, wand in hand pointing towards the fire that had began moving in front of them.

“Y/N! Y/N!” A familiar voice called through the fire and they lowered their stance. Sirius’s face was pushing through the fireplace, grinning stupidly as he tried to find Y/N. “There you are!”

“Hey there, Sirius, you sound like you’re having a good night.” Y/N smiled at him, sitting down closer to the fireplace.

“A great night! Fan-bloody-tastic night!”

“So what’s going on?”

“Well the boys dared me to floo call someone and I thought of you!”

“That’s very kind of you,” Y/N laughed, hearing Remus calling out to Sirius in the background.

“Anyway, anyway, I really just wanted to tell you, like, tell you how much I miss you – no, James I’m fine!” Sirius’ face moved towards where Y/N presumed James was trying to pull him away from the fire. Y/N could hear Lily suck in a breath from behind her.

“No, I needed to let you know that I really really miss you, you know? Like it kinds hurts a lot sometimes but you’re still here and you’re ok, but you’re also not here? You know? And I just, I love you Y/N so much and I don’t know what to do without you but you are here, so I’m just really confused but I thought you needed to know ho-“

Sirius’s face disappeared from the fire as she heard three boys yell loudly and presumably drag him backwards and into his living room again. A silence fell, Lily’s breathing heavy and loud behind her.

“Are you ok?” Lily said after a moment, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N said nothing, staring at the place where Sirius’s face had been and feeling every part of her body tense painfully.

“I’m making his life worse by being here.” Y/N muttered finally, her throat constricting tightly. She was bringing him so much pain by existing without the memories of him. She wondered momentarily if it would have been better to just have never woken up. No, that’s not the problem. The problem is whoever did this to me. Whoever decided to cause this pain.

“No you’re not, love, I promise. He’s just drunk and a bit sad, he will be ok.”

“Tell me about that night.” Y/N turned to face Lily. Her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“The night I got hurt, tell me about it. I want to know what happened.”

Taglist:

@averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @sirius-lysad @evyiione @minerva26love @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze @songforhema @your-typical-giggle @myownviperroom @hermionie-is-my-queen @demiwitch527 siobhanhope delightfuldela nadinissavage fleurmoon treestarrrrrrrr @with1love1anu @findzelda @brighteyedmichelle a-dorky-book-keeper placeforcoolusername damalseer @approved-by-dentists @placeforcoolusername @eury-dice3 @bookscoffeeandracoons strangerliaa kamilantya

#rainandhotchocolate #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x you #sirius x y/n #maruaders fic #marauders imagine

89 notes · View notes

clnriswood · 4 years

Photo

ARCHIE ANDREWS X READER

Big Little Town: Part Two

a/n: hello! very long chapter incoming! this one is kind of world build-y but i promise after this it’s angst galore. lmk if you want to be on a tag list, love you all and can’t wait to keep writing!

There hadn’t been much unpacking progress that afternoon. The girl had been in a pretty much constant state of fear and mingled excitement, so the only thing she’d managed was making her oak framed bed up with thick patterned quilts, and her window with a wispy white curtain. Archie saw her bring it upstairs and hang it up, of course. She’d noticed him eyeing her discreetly from his desk, but he was polite enough to pretend not to see what she was doing. After that the drapes had stayed closed. Now, the girl was heaving other objects into her room as a last minute distraction, the current item in question being a large gold framed mirror that she leaned decoratively against the wall opposite her bed. Her mother had helped her bring it up, and now they both stood in front of the mirror, staring at themselves in the vast reflection.

“What do you think?” her mother smiled.

She looked at herself, thinking. She hadn’t changed since earlier, but there was now a visible panic sweat building on her brow.

“I think I’m going to piss myself,” she concluded.

“Oh!?” her mother gaped wih surprise, giving her a light slap.

“Sorry,” she grumbled, turning away and sitting defeatedly on the edge of her bed.

“Don’t say that. It’s a blessing, really,” said her mother, sinking down beside her and placing a hand to her knee. “You have people coming right to you to try and be your friend!”

“How is that a blessing?” she replied dumbly with a furrow of her brows.

“Well,” she tried gently, “you aren’t so good at approaching other people first.”

The girl shot her mother one of those daggered glares she’d gotten so good at.

“Nevermind,” her mother dropped it with a scoff.

The girl stared down at her scuffed up sneakers, tapping them together uneasily.

“She’ll be here soon.”

“She?”

“Betty,” the girl explained. “She’s picking me up to take me to Pop’s.”

“I thought Fred Andrew's boy was doing that?” her mother said with surprise. “Doesn’t that make more sense? He lives right ther-”

“No,” the girl said. “Betty offered first.”

Lie. Immediately after receiving Archie’s invitation he’d asked to take her over but she made something up about Betty taking her and then had to frantically text Betty and lie to her that Archie couldn’t take her and then had to ask her to bring her instead and then-

“You really are bad at this lying thing,” her mother concluded her thought for her.

The girl gaped in mock hurt, but then dropped the expression, too lazy to even try pretending her lie wasn’t, well, a lie.

Then there was a ring at the doorbell. It was distant, but still, struck a fearful cord that sure sounded loud in the girl’s ears. She stood up slowly, tucking her phone into her jean’s tight back pocket and attempting to suck in a confident breath.

“Shame,” her mother’s cheeky words followed her out the room, “I wanted to see how much that Archie boy had grown.”

Thank goodness her back was to her mother as she descended the creaky stairs or she would’ve been in for a whirlwind of questions concerning the absolute red that seeped into her daughter’s cheeks.

. . .

Betty drove a little blue car that was, honestly, a little messy. Not that she was judging, it was just unexpected to see the neat blonde with a book scattered and paper strewn backseat. There was even a bundle of red yarn, like she was going crime solving or something. The thought made the girl laugh to herself. Yeah right.

The car was pretty quiet, (Y/N) thinking of her mother’s remark at her inability to approach people first, one which seemed very relevant at the moment.

“So, what sort of things are you looking forward to at school?” Betty finally broke the silence with some easy conversation.

The girl’s eyes flickered as she watched the flare of passing headlights, responding, “I hear you guys have a good music program?”

“Oh yeah,” Betty flashed her straight white teeth. “I’m awful at that stuff. Archie is great though!”

“Yeah I-” the girl shook her head and wrinkled her nose with embarrassment, “I know I… I used to know Archie. And you, kind of.”

Betty tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, not wanting to be rude but having no indication of who the girl was in her memory.

“I’m (Y/N),” she said, “which you know already. But my full name is (Y/N/) (Y/L/N).”

Betty repeated her full name slowly, trying to see if it rang any bells. She tried again but nothing stirred. She repeated it once more, and it took a second for it to actually hit her.

“OH MY GOD!” she hit the brakes with surprise, her blonde pony swinging.

She turned to get a look at the girl, a good look this time. Her perfect pink lips dropped open.

“You’re-” she shook her head, searching for the right words. Then she settled on gorgeous. “Not that you weren’t before,” she explained quickly, her lashes fluttering, “you’ve just changed a lot.”

Betty turned her big blue eyes slowly back to the road and started driving again with a short little laugh.

“Thanks,” the girl said bashfully, unsure of how else to reply. “You haven’t. Changed, I mean. You were always really cute.”

Betty let out an ugly snort, making the girl’s lips stretch wide into a smile.

“What?!”

“Please,” Betty scoffed. “I was not cute. I was embarrassing. I thought I was going to grow up to be either a princess, the president, or both simultaneously.”

“Are you kidding? That’s still my dream,” she joked, making Betty release a sweet airy laugh.

Sure enough, the girl found herself warming quickly to Betty Cooper.

“I was actually jealous of you, y’know?” Betty said as she turned her head to look at the girl with a grin.

“What? Me!?” she chortled. “Me, the weirdo with no friends?”

Betty shook her head, eyes back on the road now, “one friend.”

And just like that, the panic sweat was back.

“Archie?” she said nervously.

“Yeah, little Archie,” Betty rolled her eyes, “I had the biggest crush on him when we were kids.”

The girl gave a nod, twirling a piece of hair nervously around her index finger. Huh, looks like there was competition for her childhood crush. She couldn’t blame Betty for liking him. Any little girl with two eyes would’ve. Not wanting to sound too obvious, she asked, “do you still?”

Betty ugly snorted again, and then scolded herself for the reaction.

“Don’t tell Archie I laughed at him for that.”

“Believe me I won’t,” the girl chuckled.

“I’ll always love that boy but we’re very different people,” Betty explained, pulling up to the diner. “Plus I’ve got Jughead, and he’s got Ronnie.”

The girl was so busy absorbing the flickering neon lights of Pop’s famous (in her mind) Diner, that it took her a second to process what was just said or what it meant at all.

“What’s a Jughead?” she said stupidly to herself.

Betty just smiled and opened her door, the girl blindly following after her. It had been so long since she’d been to the diner, but not much had changed, other than it looked like it’d had a fresh coat of paint and someone had finally fixed that dreadful buzzing light in the “n” of the sign. The girl tripped nervously behind Betty into the diner, the door letting loose a little jingle as they stepped in. Unlike the cool night air they’d just briefly been exposed to, Pop’s was filled with a warmth and delicious sugary smell that made the girl salivate at once. A feeling of absolute nostalgia swept over her, one so strong Betty had to shake her out of it.

“(Y/N), hey, they’re over here.”

She snapped out of it, hair whirling around her shoulders as she turned to her left, eyes landing on a nearby booth where three people sat. One was a black haired boy in a beanie who sat with his legs up against the table but shifted upwards with a smile when he saw Betty. That must be the boy she’d just referred to as an it, she thought to herself. Then there was a raven haired girl in a sleek black dress who sat about as prim and properly as a person could in a plastic-y diner booth. Ronnie, she presumed. And then there was Archie Andrews. Archie Andrews with the beautiful brown eyes that were glued indiscreetly to her. Archie Andrews with his arm around the stunning girl beside him.

“Fuck,” the girl began to whisper, but then, catching their eye, let the word buzz out into nothingness as she gave them all a big fake smile hello.

“Jug, Veronica, this is (Y/N),” Betty introduced the girl politely.

“Pleasure,” Veronica offered a hand, Jughead giving her a nod of acknowledgement.

She took her hand awkwardly as Betty pulled her up a chair to sit at the end of the table.

Oh good, like she could fifth wheel any harder.

“And Archie, you know (Y/N)!?” Betty beamed.

Archie’s eyes sparkled with knowing as he gave a nod, one the girl barely caught as she looked away quite quickly. Up close he was even more terrifying. And by terrifying she meant handsome. And by handsome she meant terrifying. A loose red strand of hair fell in front of Archie’s enthralled stare, and he was too dumbfounded to do anything about it, so Veronica fixed it up for him, making him snap out of his short lived trance. He moved his eyes over to his girlfriend, giving her a half smile.

“What’ll we be having?” a kind voice interrupted them.

The girl looked up into the eyes of none other than Pop himself. He wore the same old Pop’s uniform and the same old smile. He had that glorious Santa Clause twinkle in his eyes, and just the jolly Santa Clause laugh to go with it.

“My my, if it isn’t (Y/N),” he shook his head.

“You remember me?!” she said with both surprise and flattery.

Pop gave her a pat on the shoulder, addressing the group, “this girl used to come in every afternoon, sit right up on those stools that were too tall for her little legs, and order an extra-chocolate chocolate milkshake,” he smiled. Then, looking down, he chuckled, “how could I forget?”

She looked up at him with a huge grin, “you never did tell me your secret.”

“Ah, you’re old enough now,” he shrugged, “it was an extra brownie.”

“What?!” her mouth fell open, “that was it!? But you’d go back there and make it seem like you were doing this big magical thing-”

“Extra brownie,” he cut her off with a proud little wheeze, to which she shook her head. “I presume it’ll be the same for tonight, right?”

She scoffed, crossing her legs in her chair and sitting up a little better, “right.”

Pop nodded, “good to have you back, kiddo.”

The girl turned back slowly to face the others, who of course were all staring at her. There was a shared expression amongst them that she couldn’t place. They didn’t speak for a few seconds. Then it was Jughead who finally said what they were all thinking.

“You’ll let us try that thing, right?”

She let out a sigh of relief, and then a laugh and a shake of her head, “of course.”

. . .

Once they’d all passed the milkshake around the table once, every person had come to the same conclusion: this girl had taste. Then they’d all ordered themselves a round of her extra-chocolate chocolate milkshakes, even Archie. As she took sips of the delicious sugary goodness, it felt like social fuel being pumped into her lungs. She bonded with Jughead over their interest in fiction, Veronica over their interest in fashion, Betty with everything, and Archie with nothing, since she didn’t really speak to him. The neon lights of the diner sent a warm pink glow over the group, flushing their skin with the retro aura that made Riverdale what it was.

“A cracktown in the middle of the forest,” Jughead had decided to call it.

“Jug,” Betty hit her hand to her forehead with a laugh.

“No, seriously (Y/N) you wouldn’t believe the crap that happens here,” Jughead said, tossing a brownie chunk in his mouth.

“Relax, Jones,” Veronica said. “Don’t go scaring off our new girl so soon.”

The girl smiled a confused smile, unaware of what subtext she was missing out on.

Changing topic, Veronica asked what she might be looking forward to at school.

“Oh, um, the music,” she responded for the second time that night, averting Archie’s eyes as she did so. “I play guitar.”

“Do you now?” Veronica arched a sharp brow. “So does this ginger stallion beside me.”

Veronica grabbed Archie’s large arm and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

He nodded, and she made direct eye contact with him for only the second time that evening. His eyes softened when he caught her looking, making her stomach turn. Not that either would say it, but she was the one who had taught him to play, something they both recalled. He cracked the tiniest of smiles for her, making her forget how to breathe as she found herself suddenly very interested in the bottom of her milkshake glass. An awkward silence, the first and only of the night, ensued.

Veronica, feeling responsible for it, said, “well it’s late. I should be heading home before daddy worries.”

The girl had to pinch herself under the table to keep herself from laughing at whatever the hell had just been said. She raised her jaw to give Veronica a smile, the group rumbling with mutual chatter and goodbye’s as she parted without Archie, who she apparently called Archiekins.

“Me too,” Jughead said, “not because of my daddy issues,” he clarified. “I have a paper to write.”

“I’ll take you back,” Betty said, helping her boyfriend out of the seat after her. He leaned up and planted a kiss to her cheek as he stood, wrapping an arm around her.

It was kind of a funny sight to see the pink clad blonde girl with the black clad emo boy, but they did seem a good pair. The two stared at her.

“(Y/N), you coming?” Betty smiled.

The girl was far too nervous to even acknowledge Archie for a goodbye as she stood, making a clamor and hitting her knees on the table, “yeah.”

She barely got a step away before Archie cut the group off.

“Actually-” he started

They all turned to look at him.

His eyes were now fixated right on the girl, and confidently. Not that they weren't before, just that he seemed a little unsure of how to act around her up until the given moment, for whatever reason. He had his legs spread apart now, shoulders comfortably back against the crimson backside of the booth.

“I’ll take you,” he said.

“Well-” she protested.

But he wasn’t having it this time.

He did this incredibly frustrating blink smile thing at her that made her heart do somersaults.

“I’ll take her,” he said again, firmly, and to the others this time.

Feeling trapped, the girl turned to Betty for guidance. But Betty, being Betty, just smiled.

“Have fun you two.”

She felt like she was being abandoned by her new sister and her sister’s edgy boyfriend, helpless as they walked hand and hand away from her. She kept her back to Archie long after they left, too scared to turn. Her heels were glued together, and she raised her chin up to stare into the blazing lights above in a failed attempt to make the nightmare end. Then, slowly, she tilted her head, enough to address him without looking properly.

“After you.”

. . .

Archie drove an old truck that made strange noises when it ran but felt homey nonetheless. The seats were faded and it smelt of must and what she presumed to be his own scent, which was a kind of mingled sweat and dark cologne mixture that she strangely liked. An old CD was crammed into the car’s disk drive, and it hummed out low rock music that soothed the girl’s nerves. For a while, neither of them spoke, but it was he who finally broke the silence.

“Sorry,” Archie huffed lightly as the girl studied her void surroundings.

It was pitch black on the roads, and she had her head pressed to the cool glass as she stared into the inky black of the night. Archie had rolled his window down so that an icy breeze rolled up onto her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“For what?” she spoke softly into the surface of the glass, her knees against the door.

“Oh, I know it’s not much,” the red haired boy said, moving his eyes between the road and the girl beside him.

“I like it,” she smiled, tilting her head to look at him and flashing her teeth.

Archie’s lips curled upwards, “yeah?”

He stared at her, his own teeth bright white against the darkness of his car.

“You think I wouldn’t?” she said, moving her knees from the door to facing forwards.

“Well,” he shrugged, “some people in this town have very expensive tastes.”

“Mmm?” she challenged, wiggling a brow at him. “And you think that includes me, Archiekins?”

She’d said the last word with the best Veronica impersonation she could manage; it was awful.

Archie let out a short loud laugh that he then stifled with his free hand. He leaned back further against his seat, relaxing his shoulders and keeping one hand lazily planted to the steering wheel as he shook his gorgeous red hair with amusement.

“I don’t know,” he laughed, his large eyes glimmering as the passing car lights shone in them. “You could’ve changed.”

“Yeah right,” the girl said, easing up and turning so that her back was now fully against the passenger door and her front was pointed directly at the boy.

Archie’s face flashed with some expression she couldn’t make out.

“What?” she prodded him.

“I don’t know, is it so hard to believe?” he shrugged, tilting his head to look briefly down at her.

She averted his eyes instantly. So apparently she wasn’t fully accustomed to him quite yet.

“What do you mean?” she asked the road.

“I mean-” he started, squinting his eyes and swaying his head as he selected his next words, “you’ve definitely changed.”

“Hm?” she said with mild surprise, turning back to look at him and feeling her heart skip a beat when she saw that he was still right there, staring back at her where she’d left him.

Archie didn’t know how to explain verbally, so he just kind of lingered his eyes very curiously on her before moving them slowly back to the road. He suppressed a smile with a bite of his cheek, making her frustrated.

“What?” she snapped.

“There’s not a very gentlemanly way of putting it,” he rolled his head attractively to look back down at her, smirking.

Her raised brows very slowly settled as she realized what he meant, her face burning with embarrassment as she turned it back to the outdoors and prayed he couldn’t make out her expression. So what, he just pointed out that she looked different. But what was that supposed to mean? She had to pinch her thighs to gather herself.

“So then who's to say you haven’t completely changed?” she finally responded in a cool tone.

“If it isn’t obvious by the dump on wheels that I drive,” he laughed, “me.”

“Really?” she taunted, mimicking his seductive head roll and blinking sweetly up at him, “I think you’ve definitely changed.”

Archie snorted and crinkled his nose adorably, tapping the girl off with his shoulders playfully, “hey.”

He wore this inquisitive smile as he turned quickly to look at her. He wanted her to elaborate on what she’d meant, but she just left him hanging like he’d done to her.

“Well,” he decided with a slow exhale, “I’m kind of relieved, to be honest.”

“Why?” she asked, taking his focus on the road as time to study the perfect curvatures of his cheeks, jaws, and lips.

“I’m glad you’re still, you know, you,” he said. “Sweet. Sassy. Kind of scary.”

She knocked his elbow with her own, “shut it Andrews.”

He opened his lips just wide enough to flash the edges of his jutted canines, “there she is.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, moving her legs and folding them to sit crossed legged in his seat. Archie didn’t seem remotely surprised.

“Yeah well, are you still the Archie Andrews I know?” she asked.

“Mmph,” Archie puffed lowly, “you could say that.”

“Elaborate,” she said.

“A lot has happened since you left. So, no. But, also yes? I’m still me underneath everything, I just think that a lot of people forget that... including me,” he explained somberly.

“Oh,” she frowned, “troubled past?”

He laughed bitterly, “like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I might,” she said, squishing her lips together with curiosity.

Archie shook his head with concealed hurt, not knowing where to start. He took a minute to himself before replying, during which he pulled up to their street and into his driveway.

“My dad passed away this year,” he decided.

“Oh,” the girl’s heart dropped.

She used to see Fred all the time when he and Mrs. Andrews would get Archie from school. She’d even written him the personalized essay on why he should get Archie his first guitar, and it had worked. Hurt but not knowing how to reply, she just stared at him, but he wasn’t looking back.

“I’m sorry,” she settled lamely.

“Me too,” Archie turned finally, resting his upset eyes on her, “about your dad.”

“Oh?” she said, taken aback.

“I mean,” he explained, “I knew back then, obviously. But I never said anything about it. I didn’t want you to think I judged you for it.”

“Honestly it’s fine,” she shook her head.

“No,” he cut her off, “because now I know what it feels like. To be the kid with the dad who died. Everyone treats you differently, like you’re, I don’t know, a victim. So nobody talks about it, it’s like they think I’ll self-destruct if they do,” his eyes settled in his lap. “And I don’t want that. I just want my dad.”

Her shoulders slumped with sadness, brows knitting as she leaned forward for his hand. She stopped though, not sure of if that was okay, so she asked.

“Can I?” she half whispered, tapping her fingers against Archie’s hand, which was still clutched tightly to his gear shift.

He just gave a little nod yes.

His hand was shaking a little when she reached for it, so she reassuringly wrapped her fingers around it, like in one of those friend hand holds where you don’t lock fingers. Archie wordlessly stopped her, nudging her fingers aside so he could lace his long fingers through her own. It took her aback, but there was no denying she preferred it. Kind of enthralled at the sight, she just looked at their hands together, hers much smaller and colder, feeling safe entangled in his. And his hands felt good. Rough. Warm. Familiar. Realizing it’d been the first time they’d actually touched in years, she felt her throat go hard. Archie seemed to pick up on it too, because when she lifted her gaze he was looking at her, kind of flickering his eyes back and forth between her own. She felt her heart pick up, thumping loudly in her ears, her blood filled with a faint electricity. But this time she didn’t look away. It felt too good to. So she let Archie do it, though he looked reluctant to do so. He retracted his hand timidly, making her instantly go cold without it.

“Hey,” he started softly, “are we okay?”

She stared at him with a slightly tilted head, “of course, why?”

“Well,” he said nervously, “You kind of shut me out with those curtains before. And then I got a text from Betty saying she was taking you to Pop’s at the last minute, which was weird because I’d already offered. And, well, you didn’t speak to me at all until ten minutes ago.”

He said it all to his knees instead of to her face, his lips curled into a frown.

The girl closed her eyes in embarrassment, shaking her head, “I’m sorry. It’s not what you think.”

When she opened them again he was looking at her, awaiting her next words.

She gulped nervously. It wasn’t exactly like she could admit she’d been hit full force with a suppressed wave of years of her own pent up frustration and feelings when she saw him.

“I just,” she sighed, rubbing a thumb nervously over her wrist “I was afraid.”

“Of what?” he replied with surprise.

“You,” she admitted, settling for the partial truth. “I hadn’t seen you in so long and I didn’t know how much had changed or if you’d-” she shook her head, pausing, “if new Archie would still like me.”

He released an airy laugh, “are you kidding (Y/N)(Y/L/N)?”

That threw her off guard. Back in the day he had often called her by her full name. Whether sweet or stupid, she had never decided. But this time it definitely felt sweet.

“No I’m not, Archie Andrews,” she said slowly back, drawing her gaze away.

That made him grin that damn grin that drove her insane.

“I could never stop liking you,” he promised with enough sincerity to make her look up again. “Promise.”

She smiled timidly, “how am I supposed to get that when I’m being dragged into a new friend group the very night I’m moving back into town?” she said. “I mean, they’re lovely of course,” she defended, “but you can’t blame me for being nervous.”

Archie squinted his eyes, taking in her words before deciding, “you're right.”

“I am?” she said with a confused laugh.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I know you, and I should’ve known better than to think that was your thing.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“And I promise,” he added, “next time it’ll be just us.”

She blinked at the fiery redhead with mingled hope and nervousness, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head forward with an encouraging smile. “Tomorrow I’ll come over and help you unpack. And then after we can do whatever you want, and you can catch me up on everything I missed,” he beamed.

Seeing him get so excited to spend time with her practically sent her off the deep end, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed out by Archie himself. She beamed back at him, making him smile, if possible, even wider.

“Wait,” she realized, feeling upset wash over her, “aren’t you supposed to see Veronica tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Archie said, knitting his brows, “it’s alright. I’m sure she’ll understand me helping out an old friend.”

Ouch. It was sweet, but still, she couldn’t help the sting that came with “old friend.”

“Really?” the girl asked.

“Of course,” he reassured.

She nodded nervously, feeling incredibly grateful to have him back. So she told him.

“I’m really happy to have you back.”

He let his lips fall into a content close, his chocolate eyes twinkling, “I’m happy to have you back too.”

The two stared at each other, an awkward quiet ensuing, neither sure of what to say next. Both luckily and unluckily, the girl’s front porch light snapped on, making both of them jump. The girl’s mother was by the door, and she was waving down Archie’s truck.

“Oh my god,” the girl said with horror, “Archie run.”

But he wasn’t listening. In fact, he was halfway out the truck.

“No way, Mrs. (Y/L/N)!?” he said cheerfully, extending his hand as he walked out to meet her halfway.

The girl cursed under her breath as she climbed out the vehicle, so appalled she could barely look.

“Archie!” her mom said, hobbling over in her pink robe.

She shook the boy’s hand, marvelling at what a handsome young man he was.

The girl’s sneakers crunched over the grass and leaves as she stood beside them, her eyes darting between the exchange and the ground but unsure of where to stay.

“Last time I saw you you were just a tiny little thing with a football twice the size of your head!” she chortled.

“And last time I saw you you looked just as youthful Mrs. (Y/L/N),” Archie replied.

Damn that boy was smooth.

Her mother clearly enjoyed it, voicing, “always an angel, Archie.”

The porch and moon’s light combined sent shadows over their faces, crickets chirping obnoxiously as her mother patted Archie off with a laugh. They made small talk that was frankly too unbearable for the girl, so she wordlessly slipped off and into the house before they could say anything. As soon as she got in she bolted up the stairs, hands running through her hair nervously and back hitting the door of her room once she was safe inside. She sucked in a few breaths, eyes fluttering as she processed the catastrophe occuring downstairs, and just generally in her life. A minute later she heard the front door close, and her mother yelled up something that sounded like an indistinct “well gosh I get what you mean now!” That only embarrassed the girl further, making her slide down against her door with a groan. Thank God her drapes were closed so Archie didn’t see it all happening. Well, speaking of…

The girl slowly opened her eyes, lifting her body from the ground with a sigh. She stood, staring at her curtains. She could see light flooding in from the other side, meaning Archie was now in his room. Sucking in a slow breath, she tucked her long hair behind her ears and approached her curtains slowly. Her face was expressionless as she felt for the fabric, her heart just a little too fast as she timidly pulled it aside.

There was Archie, breathtaking as ever. He sat on the edge of his bed, phone resting in his hands like he was contemplating using it. But then, feeling her bedroom light flood over to his side of the divide, Archie looked up with knowing. She still had one hand holding the drapes, the other loosely by her side, clutching her own phone. Archie stared at her with a happily taken aback expression, his chest heaving lightly against his white tee, his hands steady as they unlocked his phone. The auburn haired boy looked at her for a second, then down at his phone as he typed away a message. Then he looked back up. Her phone screen lit up at once.

No goodbye?

She chuckled, looking up in time to catch him smile with a tilt of his brows.

The girl typed back.

Sorry. Too rough down there, had to get out.

This time Archie laughed.

Goodnight, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

She smiled.

Goodnight, Archie Andrews.

He didn’t text back after that, he just stepped forward and reached for his own blinds, tilting his head at her in a wordless goodbye. Neither wanted to be the first to shut the other out, so instead they just closed their blinds together, the last thing she caught being the ever so faint twitch of Archie’s content lips.

#archie andrews x reader #archie x reader #archie andrews imagine #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #riverdale self insert #riverdale x reader #archie andrews fanfic #archie andrews fic #archie andrews gif #kj apa x reader #fanfiction #betty cooper x reader #jughead jones #veronic lodge #archie andrews x y/n #writing

126 notes · View notes