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wanderinginksplot · 2 years

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Gar Cyare Chapter Three

Alpha-17/fem!reader fic

Word Count: 6,200

Warnings: Threats, extended flashback sequences, minor insecurities on the reader's part, Kaminoans being creepy, flirtation.

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Tome'tayle (Memories)

Tracking the passage of time on Kamino was difficult.

You were sure that the planet had seasons of some kind - most did, after all - but you had never really seen evidence of it. You rarely needed to step outside and, when you did, you found the weather extremely unhelpful in estimating the season. When there was a storm coming in, the winds whipped past Tipoca City, bringing a brisk chill to the window panes. When it was raining, the air seemed close and thick between the drops. There was never a scent of petrichor on Kamino; after all, there was very little greenery to be found. If there were no active or incoming storms, the platforms tended to be breezy and cool. On the rare occasion that sunlight reached Tipoca City, it built up humidity so intense that it was hard to breathe.

All of that was to say that your time with Alpha passed in a pleasant blur. Days turned to weeks and longer. You had thoroughly settled into your altered role with the Senate, Alpha had regained favor with his ARC trainees, and the repairs to Tipoca City were nearly finished. Life on Kamino was settling back into normalcy, insofar as it could ever be considered normal.

It was odd to think about how natural everything felt. You could almost imagine that the Separatists had never attacked Kamino.

Almost.

As you sat in your office, darkened holopad screens reflecting the gray Kaminoan skies visible through the window behind you, your attention was caught on a small holoprojector sitting on the corner of your desk. It had been given to you by the ARCs-in-training, set to display a series of images in rotation. The images had mostly been captured by Bacara, who proved to have quite a talent for recording people and scenes at the perfect time.

The current one was a candid image of the group sitting at the table you had claimed in the cafeteria. Despite the normalcy of the setting and people, you remembered that day vividly.

You had been sitting with Alpha, the ARCs, and Limit, enjoying your meal. Being in the cafeteria hadn’t stopped being uncomfortable since the attack. The cadets weren’t hostile to you anymore, not the way they had been just after the invasion, but they weren’t going out of their way to be friendly. There were no flirtations. Anywhere you went around Tipoca City, wary glares and suspicious whispers followed, but you did your best to ignore them.

The cafeteria was tricky, since you were sharing an enclosed space with the cadets. Your ability to ignore them waned in the close quarters and your heart sank every time one of them made a derisive face at you.

Still, the troopers didn’t make it easy to pay attention to those cadets. They were loud. It was something you had noticed the first time you had ever eaten in the cafeteria. You had been terrified back then, nervous that you would offend someone or be in their way. Between your fears, the underwhelming food, and the sheer level of noise in the room, you had never managed to relax in the cafeteria.

Things were still loud now, maybe even more so. Alpha and Limit were quiet, but the ARCs tended to be bold, especially when they were arguing about something ridiculous. And that was often.

Surprisingly, you didn’t find the noise as jarring when you were in the middle of it instead of on the outskirts. And you had very much been in the middle of it. Alpha was sitting beside you, occasionally contributing to the conversation but mostly just listening in alternating waves of irritation, amusement, and fond exasperation.

Somewhere between dumping his tray and returning to the table, Bacara had managed to capture the holoimage, which showed everyone enjoying a meal together, talking and laughing exuberantly.

Then everything had gone wrong.

A cadet had been moving past your group, clearly heading for a table, when someone shouted something. You didn’t hear what it was, but the tone wasn’t entirely friendly. You turned to see what was going on - worried that it was directed at you and unsure what you would do if it was.

Unfortunately, the cadet had been startled and lurched to the side with his heavily laden tray. His full glass of water had toppled, spilling cold liquid onto your shoulder, splashing it across your chest and trailing down your arm.

The cafeteria had gone silent a moment later, but you couldn’t be sure whether that had happened when they saw your drenched sleeve or when Alpha had seized the cadet by the arms.

“You have ten seconds to explain what just happened,” Alpha ordered tersely.

The cadet stammered for a moment - he was a young trooper, too young to look like anything other than a child. “I- I was walking to a table and got startled, sir. Sorry, sir. Sorry, ma’am.”

Alpha stared at him as if he could read the cadet’s mind if he looked deep enough, a hard light in his eyes. Your mind was screaming for you to say something, but all you managed to do was watch. Alpha’s grip didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let the cadet go, either. He just held on and stared grimly.

Bacara had approached the table with a smooth, easy stride that didn't quite manage to hide his worry. “Alpha, I saw the whole thing happen. It was an accident.”

That spurred you into speaking as well. “It’s just water, Alpha,” you soothed quietly. “It’ll dry and he didn’t do it on purpose.”

Alpha let the cadet go. Without breaking his gaze on the cadet’s face, he scooped up the empty glass and handed it back. “Best go get more, trooper. Take a different way back to your table.”

The cadet backed away quickly, nodding too many times. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

The rest of the meal had been quiet and tense, ending shortly afterward.

Originally, that image hadn’t been included in the rotation on the holoprojector the ARCs had given you. You had to ask Bacara for it. You understood his reasoning for keeping it out, but even the mild reminder of unpleasant moments made the rest of the rotation much more pleasant. It kept you grateful for the better times.

As that image faded, it was replaced with one of you standing with the kids. Tech was next to you with Hunter beside him. Wrecker was on your other side, already towering over you and everyone else. One of his arms was propped on your shoulder - because Alpha had scowled at him for propping it on your head - and the other was wrapped around Crosshair. All of you were smiling, even Crosshair. For that alone, you had demanded a copy of the image.

It had been a surprise for you to find that you and Alpha had apparently adopted four genetically altered troopers. Granted, you had already planned something along those lines after they had helped Alpha and the ARCs so much during the Separatist attack, but it was a bit of a surprise to learn that the adoption had essentially happened without you knowing.

In any case, the troopers had been a bright spot during the recovery, just as fiercely protective of you as Alpha and the ARCs were. You thought their efforts were more cute than intimidating, but you could see them growing, learning, and becoming more competent even as you watched with fascination and a bit of sadness.

The day Bacara had captured that holoimage, you had gone to the ARC training area to support the men in one of their late-afternoon trainings. You had finished with your work earlier than expected and thought you would drop in. Alpha never said anything directly about it, but you hadn’t missed the way he preened and showed off just a bit when you were watching a training session. And it wasn’t exactly a punishment for you, either.

When you had settled at your usual spot inside the training area - safely tucked off to one side so you wouldn’t accidentally get in the way - you were taken aback by the training. Instead of the planned training about infiltration tactics, Alpha and the ARCs were standing in a loose circle around the cadets. Alpha would announce a move or series of moves and the cadets would perform them. The ARCs called advice, encouragement, or stepped in to provide an opponent if necessary.

You couldn’t hide that you were worried at first. A lot of the moves the cadets were doing were intense, seeming far too advanced for them… but they completed every one perfectly. In that moment, you were struck by the difference you were already seeing in the four young men.

You had only known them for a handful of weeks, maybe a few months at most, and they already looked so grown-up. Their faces and bodies were leaner, they had gotten taller, and they were already starting to put on the muscle mass common to the troopers. Wrecker was taller and more muscular than his brothers while Tech and Crosshair were far more slender than typical, but the changes were clear.

While you were coming to terms with the ache in your heart, already mourning the lost childhoods of these cadets you had barely gotten to know, Alpha called an end to the exercise.

As the cadets took a moment to catch their breath, Alpha nodded approvingly at them. “That was much better. You’re improving quickly.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Tech said, eyes shining behind his goggles.

“We’re just tryin’ to keep up with all of you guys!” Wrecker tossed out, dodging and returning the punches Drift playfully threw in his direction.

“Yeah, but we’re ARCs,” Neyo countered. “If you’re keeping up with us, you’re better than most of the cadets on Kamino.”

“Not bad for a bad batch,” Crosshair said, a wry smile on his face.

You had frowned, sitting up and opening your mouth to say something when the ARCs burst out laughing. Before you could say anything at all, the ARCs had congratulated Crosshair on that piece of humor and the name had been repeated more times than you could count.

“You okay, neverd’ika?” Alpha had asked, coming to sit beside you.

You gestured at the cadets. “The bad batch? Don’t you think that’s… I don’t know… insulting? I don’t remember a lot of the Separatist attack, but I remember enough to know that they were a huge help. Why would they call themselves that?”

“I don’t know; they didn’t talk it over with me,” Alpha replied with a shrug. “Ask ‘em.”

“I will,” you decided, firming your jaw.

Alpha’s fingers on your wrist stilled you before you could move too far, and the warning look on his face stopped you from saying something immediately. “But remember, it might be more insulting to tell them that they don’t have the right to choose what they call themselves.”

You paused, deflating slightly. Alpha had made a fair point, and you had no idea how to convince the cadets not to call themselves that without taking away their agency. In the end, you settled for calling, “Why ‘bad batch’?”

The cadets paused at the sound of your question as the room’s occupants turned toward you. They exchanged glances, but when Hunter spoke, his answer was confident and firm. “That’s all the Kaminoans see when they look at us. It’s what they call us. If we call ourselves that, they’ll know we don’t see it as an insult. It’s just who we are. We’re a Bad Batch.”

You wanted to argue, to convince them that they were more than that, but when Hunter said their self-chosen title with relish, enough emphasis to capitalize it in your mind, you couldn’t say anything about their choice. If they wanted to be the Bad Batch, that was who they would be.

Somehow, though, these four headstrong young troopers were watching you with nervous anticipation, like they needed your approval. Your heart melted just a bit more for the cadets you and Alpha had unofficially adopted. You nodded gravely. “If you’re going to have a group name, you’ll need a group symbol. That way, there’s no mistake about who you are and what you’re going to do. Every place you go and every bit of good you do, the Kaminoans will be reminded that they tried to shrug off some of the best troopers this place has ever produced.”

Warmth at your back warned you that Alpha had stepped up behind you. With a heavy hand on your shoulder, he rumbled, “I’ll never forget that you stepped up to help me and these men during the attack. You put yourselves at risk for no gain. If you want to call yourselves the Bad Batch, you should. I’m proud to say that I was there for the Bad Batch’s first mission.”

There was a beat of silence before the newly-christened Bad Batch saluted the captain.

No - that wasn’t quite right. The angle of their bodies was wrong.

You had to choke back a wave of emotion when you realized that their salutes were aimed at both Alpha and you.

The image switched, breaking you from your reverie. Only then were you aware of the fond smile stretched across your face. It didn't leave as the next images in the sequence appeared.

It was an image of this very office, one major difference being that the holoprojector currently displaying these images was missing. If you remembered correctly, this image had been captured shortly before Bacara had given you the gift.

You were laughing in the image. You were half-sitting behind your desk, but you were clearly being pulled up and out of your chair by Monnk and Drift. They were laughing, too, and you distinctly remembered Bacara doing the same behind the holocamera.

You had called to warn Alpha that you would be working late that night. Since you had accepted the new contract with the Republic, your workload had lightened considerably. You still had to reach certain goals with your report, regularly submitting sections to Jaiss for review, but those goals were far more attainable than they had ever been. You couldn't remember the last time you had to work through a meal.

Even staying late wouldn't have put you at risk of missing dinner with Alpha, but you definitely intended to work past the end of the work day. Alpha hadn't been thrilled by that when you called him, but he didn't try to argue with you… which was suspicious, since he argued about everything.

At roughly three minutes after you typically left your office, you heard running footsteps in the hall followed by frantic pounding on your door. When it had opened, Drift and Monnk had invited themselves in, followed by Bacara.

"C'mon, work day is over," Monnk announced, starting for your desk.

“What?” you had asked reflexively, having heard the question but been too confused to process it immediately. “No, I just have to finish this part of the project. I’m almost done. It won’t take more than an hour.”

“Then that will be an easy start to your day tomorrow,” Drift told you. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t just leave,” you protested.

“You can,” Bacara told you. “And you need to.”

“We all saw how hard you worked before the contract was changed,” Monnk agreed. “None of us are gonna let you start working like that again.”

You were touched by their concern, honestly… but you really did need to finish this section or you would forget the point you had been trying to make. You didn’t trust that you would remember the particular phrasing that you had come up with by the time you started your next work day.

“I’ll just finish this section and then I’ll be done for the day,” you bargained.

“Nope, not good enough,” Monnk decreed. “Come on.”

He had reached out - carefully giving you ample time to pull away if that’s what you chose to do - and gently took one of your wrists in his hands. You used your free hand to save your progress on the report but shook your head at the same time.

“Monnk, it’ll be five more minutes,” you protested, the loud laughter spilling from you detracting slightly from the overall impression. “Maybe ten.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Drift said sternly, holding up a hand in your direction. “Are you refusing to comply with orders? Attempting to incite a riot? Resisting arrest?”

Despite yourself, you only laughed harder. “Am- am I being arrested?”

“If you don’t leave here, sure,” Bacara told you, lifting the holocamera in your direction as Drift grabbed your other wrist.

“Alpha will bail me out,” you insisted.

“Nah, Captain’s on our side,” Monnk said, utterly unconcerned.

That sounded about right, which only made you laugh harder.

“Shift it, civvie,” Drift ordered, though his grip on your arm was more insistent and irritating than forceful. He and Monnk ended up waving your hands around as they pulled you back and forth in an extremely silly manner.

“Don’t tell me she’s overpowering you two,” Bacara teased from behind the holocamera. “What kind of ARCs are you?”

“She’s a tough one,” Drift grunted, pretending to struggle. “The captain must have taught her all his best tricks.”

“Don’t worry, Bacara, we’ll get her,” Monnk promised, pulling your wrist in a way that let him strain against his own hold while you were hardly jostled. “She may be tough, but we’re tougher!”

Bacara gave a skeptical grunt. “Dunno, I might put credits on her instead.”

Monnk and Drift had looked offended for half a second before they had started laughing as hard as you were. Bacara had snapped the picture and here it was.

The image slowly faded into another one. As lovely as the other memories were, they couldn’t begin to compete with this one. It was a relatively simple one - just you and Alpha walking down one of the many bland hallways of Tipoca City. The edges of things in the background were blurred slightly from Bacara’s speed as he had taken it. For that reason, he had been reluctant to give you a copy of it, but you had managed to plead one from him.

The background may have been blurry, but you and Alpha were in perfect focus. You weren’t walking hand-in-hand or anything equally overt, but you were in the middle of a conversation. Neither of you had noticed Bacara or his holocamera yet, so neither of you had your guard up.

You were staring up at Alpha with admiration written clearly across your expression. Even in the middle of whatever you had been saying to him, you were watching him more closely than your surroundings. There was a smile curving your lips and your face was bright with happiness.

You would have been embarrassed by how openly stunned you were by Alpha… if he hadn’t looked equally adoring. His expression was a little more subtle by nature, but his eyes were warm and satisfied.

As the two of you had agreed months before, you weren’t open about your relationship. You weren’t touching, but something in your body language spoke of closeness and a familiarity formed over long exposure to each other. It was impossible for you to know for sure, but you liked to think that a stranger seeing the two of you for the first time would know that you were friends or more, just based on the way you walked in harmony even with the slight distance between you.

“Hey, you ready for-? What? Why are you smiling like that?”

You glanced up quickly, meeting Alpha’s eyes from where he was standing at the doorway of your office. Despite the judgment of his words, his tone was soft - more curious than anything. Your heart performed a series of gymnastics as you noted that he was wearing the same warm expression he had in the treasured holoimage.

“Just watching the projector,” you explained, glancing at the chrono past Alpha’s shoulder. It was time to go to dinner. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Give me a moment and I’ll be ready to leave.”

Alpha hummed, settling comfortably into a chair as he watched you. “Busy day?”

You laughed. “Something like that.”

As soon as you had finished saving your documents and storing the datapads, you shut off the lights and left your office with Alpha walking beside you.

In your more introspective moments before you had confessed your feelings, you had done your best to envision what it would be like to date the stern and imposing Captain Alpha-17. The results had often been overly romanticized - especially since you were well aware that no relationship was perfect - but you had typically reminded yourself that Alpha was, above all else, a soldier. You had thoroughly expected him to struggle in this new role, something unlike anything he had known before.

You had been wrong.

Was Alpha the perfect boyfriend? Absolutely not. But you weren't perfect either and your relationship seemed to be going just fine. What Alpha lacked in relationship experience, he made up for with focus.

Alpha had approached dating you with the intense scrutiny he used to study battle plans or landing conditions for an upcoming mission. (Or so you assumed from the stories he had told you.) If he didn't understand something, he asked questions until he did. And after he had woken from his alcohol-assisted sleep, he dissected his communication breakdown with the precision of a man defusing a bomb.

It was intense but flattering. Alpha had made it clear through his every action that this relationship was a priority for him. Maybe not the most important thing in his life, but certainly not far off. He was focused on you, studying your relationship together until he knew he understood every part of it.

The only thing you could do was put your full focus on him in return. There were ups and downs, even with your prior experiences with romance. You weren’t totally lost, but between the need for secrecy, the intensity of Tipoca City so soon after an infiltration, and Alpha’s own propensity for showing his feelings rather than speaking about them… Actually, when you stopped to think about it, your prior romantic experience didn’t help all that much.

Even then, walking down the hallway in comfortable quiet, was something you hadn’t experienced before. You had always felt the need to fill silences in the past. Why didn’t you now? Was it because you didn’t need to speak or because you didn’t know what to say? And did Alpha feel the same? He didn’t spend much time talking, but was he wondering why you weren’t? The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him yet again…

“Neverd’ika,” Alpha said suddenly, making you tense. Your gaze scanned the hallway ahead of you, automatically searching for some kind of threat, but found nothing. Alpha murmured your name, drawing your attention. “You’re frowning. Everything good?”

“Are you happy with me?” you asked, the words bursting from you before you could think them through.

Alpha halted immediately, his fingers on your forearm pulling you to a stop as well. His brows were furrowed low over his eyes as they scanned your face. “What’s going on? Am I happy with you? Of course I’m happy with you. Are you happy with me?”

“Of course!” you replied earnestly.

Alpha huffed, making an exasperated gesture that showed his frustration with you without using a single word. “Then why are you asking questions like that?”

“I just-” you cut yourself off with a sigh. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, Alpha took a step closer. His height meant you were left staring up at him, but you couldn’t deny that his nearness had your heart beating faster. His hand, tucked close by his side, found yours. With his hand running gently over the back of your palm, you were caught in a firestorm of anticipation and comfort.

“Neverd’ika, I promise you this,” Alpha started, voice low and serious. “If I ever think things need to end between us, I’ll tell you. I’m enough of a man to do that. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded and Alpha nodded with you. “And you’ll do the same with me. Promise me that you’ll tell me if you want to end this.”

You nodded again, but Alpha looked skeptical. “And you won’t be nice to me just to spare my feelings like you do with the cadets?” You shook your head, a grin fighting to form at his over-exaggerated suspicion. “Because I’m the perfect person to practice your meanness on. In fact, that might be a good idea…”

“Alpha, don’t,” you argued, half-laughing. “You know how you couldn’t help me spar because you could never try to hurt me? I feel the same way about you. I couldn’t be cruel to you. Please don’t ask me to.”

“I don’t think you would ever be cruel, cyare,” Alpha admitted. “But I think you could hurt me. Kriff, I know you could. You’re the only one who could.”

Your heart melted a bit at that and you lifted slightly onto your toes. Alpha’s gaze bounced from your eyes to your lips and back - an unbelievably quick flick of his attention, but it was enough to make your lips part with your suddenly quickened breath.

Just as Alpha started to lean down, a group of cadets passed. Alpha straightened, throwing a dirty look at the cadets. Whether it was because of their interruption or because he was preparing for them to throw an insult in your direction, you couldn’t be sure.

In either case, the cadets took no notice of you or Alpha. They passed in laughing conversation. When the noise of them had faded, you and Alpha reluctantly pulled apart and continued in the direction of the mess hall.

You and Alpha had been remarkably tame as a couple.

Sure, you had kissed. You dreamed about that kiss. You had shared a few touches here and there. You had woken up in his bed - and his arms - the morning after his encounter with Zackra Trem and her alcohol. But those scattered incidents were as far as things had ever gone between you.

There was chemistry between you. The urge to get closer physically was there, but the obstacles seemed to appear out of nowhere. If you weren’t busy doing your jobs, there were Kaminoans around. If the Kaminoans weren’t nearby, cadets were. And even when the stars aligned perfectly, there was an odd sense of hesitancy. You had initially wondered if it was coming from you, but you had noticed it from Alpha as well.

Your only guess was that months of denying yourselves the slightest physical touch had given both of you a natural reluctance toward moving forward in your relationship. At least, that was what you hoped it was. If there were deeper issues between you and Alpha, you needed to find out as soon as you could.

Those thoughts disappeared as you finally reached the mess hall, but the underlying sense of urgency still remained. Still, you tried to push it from your mind as you stood in line to retrieve a tray with Alpha. The ARCs-in-training, the self-proclaimed Bad Batch, and Limit were all waiting at your usual table.

You and Alpha were greeted as cheerfully as ever. Out of long-formed habit, you took seats facing the door, the edges of your trays aligned so that you had an excuse to sit a little closer than one would typically see in the Kaminoan cafeteria.

As you shared a meal with your boyfriend and the odd group of friends you had collected, you began to relax into things. Your tumultuous thoughts of earlier faded into nothingness as you chatted with everyone. You even got Alpha to smile.

You didn’t know exactly when you had started to lean into Alpha’s side, or when he relaxed the muscles of his thigh so that your legs were pressed together from hip to knee. All you knew was that when Limit hissed for you to watch out, you yanked away from him and the time it took to unlace your fingers felt like a heart-pounding eternity.

“What is it?” Alpha demanded lowly, pretending to pay incredibly close attention to his meal.

“Kaminoans,” Limit told you, voice the darkest you had heard from the friendly medic.

“They’re circling today,” Neyo muttered. “Upper levels. They’ve been staring down at everyone for almost an hour.”

“Why?” you asked, glancing around the table. Having people stare at you while you were trying to eat seemed like an invasion somehow, and bad manners if nothing else. But though everyone else seemed irritated by it, apparently none of them were surprised.

“They do this every so often,” Faie told you. “No one is sure why.”

“Looking for excess,” Alpha said, spearing a piece of food so hard that you were sure his utensils would go through the table itself.

“Excess,” you repeated blankly. “What excess?”

“Any excess,” Alpha said, glowering up at the raised bank of windows that looked out onto the cafeteria. “You forget, neverd’ika, the Kamiini are running a business. They watch us to search for overages in food provision or consumption, deficiencies with any of the men and the way they eat, or too much conversation between them. They don’t like their products forming bonds. There is no money to be made through brotherhood.”

The bitterness was so thick in Alpha’s voice that you felt you could choke on it. To hear Alpha sounding so angry was far from unusual… but the underlying pain made you settle a comforting hand on his forearm.

Alpha had a half-moment to glance over at you and smile before Bacara rapped his knuckles against the underside of the table with a sharp crack. “What did we just say? Watch yourselves or the entirety of Tipoca City is going to know about the two of you.”

“I’m confused,” Hunter said, speaking for the first time instead of continuing his quiet observation. “Everybody already knows about the two of you. What does it matter if the Kaminoans see it? They probably already know, too.”

Alpha stared at him, frowning heavily. “Kid-”

“You know what?” Drift interrupted. “The rest of us are pretty much done here. Why don’t we take the Bad Batchlets and teach them about the concept of plausible deniability?”

“Batchlets?” Crosshair repeated, sounding irritated.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Monnk told them, urging everyone up and out of their seats. When everyone was on their way to the garbage cans or the cafeteria doors, Monnk leaned down to speak. Glancing between you and Alpha, he said, “If I were you, I would take this time to talk about everything, especially what comes next.”

“And that means?” Alpha asked, arching a brow.

Monnk shrugged, sending you a kind smile. “Whatever comes next for you according to how you want your relationship to go. Surely you’ve got some kind of plan? And if you don’t… that might be the first thing you need to talk about.”

And then he straightened, throwing a nod over his shoulder and leaving the cafeteria before either of you could give any kind of response.

You and Alpha finished your meal in silence - you hadn’t spoken about it, hadn’t planned it, but you were clearly on the same wavelength. Unlike the earlier lack of conversation on your way to the cafeteria and most silences you and the captain had shared, this one was distinctly uncomfortable. If you had been able to see past your own sense of nervousness, you would have figured that both of you were trying to plan what you wanted to say.

Alpha’s fingertips brushed your elbow and you knew what he meant. You stood, following him to dump your tray and leave it in the appropriate place before you left the cafeteria.

You knew, of course, what Monnk had meant by ‘what comes next’. He wanted you and Alpha to talk about where your relationship was going, what you would do when your contract on Kamino ended, and any excuses you would give if you were caught and your relationship was exposed. There was a lot of conversation to be had.

So why did your mind immediately jump toward the question of moving things forward in your physical relationship with Alpha?

Your nerves were on fire as Alpha steered you wordlessly in the direction of your personal quarters. No matter which way your conversation ended up going, you were going to need privacy for it.

The snarled thoughts in your head cut short so abruptly that they seemed to echo in your mind as a cadet started walking toward you with a purposeful air. Beside you, Alpha straightened, a lethal-looking scowl already forming on his face. You pressed your palm against the warm span of his back and Alpha closed his mouth. His glare didn’t fade.

The cadet stopped a short distance in front of you, his air of professionalism contrasting sharply with his youthful appearance. He nodded at Alpha. “Captain.”

Alpha didn’t nod back, but the cadet had already shifted his attention to you. “How involved are you in the production of clones, ma’am?”

The question wasn’t outright offensive, so you did your best to answer it honestly and without clear suspicion. “Not at all, trooper. I’m just the one writing the report requested by the Republic Senate about the production process.”

“And do you have anything to do with the testing of the final products?” he asked.

You frowned at him. “Testing? No. That’s all done by the Kaminoans and their staff.”

“Do you want to be part of the testing group?” One corner of his mouth curved upward and he waggled his eyebrows as he added, “I’d be fine with it if you wanted to make sure all of my pieces work. In fact-”

“That’s enough of that,” Alpha cut off, stepping forward between you and the cadet. “Run along before I test how firmly your arms are attached.”

The cadet smirked, but you noticed his speed as he fled the area. You glanced up at Alpha, a smile growing on your face. He shook his head, voice grumpy as he asked, “What?”

“That’s the first time one of the cadets has flirted with me since the attack!” you exclaimed, trying not to tear up about such a minor thing.

“That isn’t true,” Alpha argued. “I watched you- uh, saw you in the mess. There was some di’kutla cadet flirting with you at every meal.”

Any glee you may have felt knowing that Alpha had been watching you during your separation dissipated in the face of your embarrassment. Ducking your head slightly, you mumbled, “Uh, not- not quite. But it’s okay. Let’s keep going.”

The effort it took not to run down the hallway toward your quarters was ridiculous, but you managed. Of course, it took less than the length of one hall for Alpha to catch up with you. “What does that mean, neverd’ika? I saw it. I was proud of you for standing your ground, even when I thought you would never speak to me again. You shut the cadets down without a problem and you did it every day.”

“Those cadets…” You trailed off to take a deep, slow breath. It wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to admit, but you refused to lie to Alpha. “They weren’t flirting with me.”

“You said they were,” Alpha told you.

“Technically, you said that.”

Something in Alpha’s eyes told you he was thinking back over your conversation in his quarters after your cast had been removed. “I did,” he agreed eventually. “But you didn’t correct me. What were they really saying to you?”

“A lot of it was questions,” you answered honestly. The fact that there had been a few threats and insults wasn’t worth mentioning, especially since the ARCs-in-training had dealt with those situations immediately and decisively. “As long as they were polite, I answered their questions and invited them to stay. Some of them took me up on it, some didn’t.”

Alpha frowned, but reached out to brush the side of your hand with his fingers. “I can’t believe you misled me.”

“We were arguing,” you reminded him, smiling to take the sting out of your defensive tone. “And I can’t believe you were watching me in the cafeteria.”

“Every day,” Alpha said unashamedly. “How else was I supposed to survive eleven days without you?”

Your heart lurched at that. When you could speak, your voice came out so low and rich that you almost didn’t recognize it. “Alpha, you’re lucky we’re still in public or I would show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

Alpha’s head whipped in your direction. “Your leg is bothering you.”

The sudden change of subject - especially with a statement that was patently untrue - made your head spin… or maybe that was just the shift of Tipoca City as Alpha scooped you into his arms and rushed off toward your quarters at top speed.

---

Author's Note - sorry for posting later than expected! I think I'm going to start planning Thursday posts in the future to make things a little easier. On the bright side, only about a week and a half left until the next chapter!

Thanks for reading, and extra thanks for those who commented on or reblogged the last chapter! My motivation for writing this story is starting to fade a bit and those really keep me going!

(I have no plans to abandon this story, but the reblogs and comments just make writing a little easier.)

Find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here!

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raichett · 2 years

Note

writing prompt: would you perhaps consider writing something from grian's pov in the universe of your fic Apple Cinnamon Pies? like maybe his perspective of how he feels when he sees scar again after so long?

Now this was interesting to do...

This can also be found on AO3 as a second chapter in Apple Cinnamon Pies.

–

RETURN

The sun beats down on Grian’s neck and shoulders, warm and eternal. Days are days and nights are nights, blurring together, snapshots of light and dark; Grian no longer measures time the way he once did. Nowadays, he pays attention mostly to the temperature of the air and the length of the days, so that he has adequate stores for the winter and he plants the right crops at the right time.

All else has become meaningless in the monotony – he can hardly tell how long he has been waiting, only that it’s been somewhere around a millennia. He’s stuck here; he can’t move on, can’t leave or distract himself, or ever, ever forget. Time is a blur of vivid sharpness, loose but defined; kinder it would be for his memory to fade, slip and slide like the moon and sun across the sky, but mercy has never been afforded to him. Waiting is its own state of hell, a purgatory of suspense, and Grian has been waiting for a very, very long time.

But it is in this sun, this late morning sun with warmth in the air and still enough chill to deny summer its full power, that Grian finds his wait is over.

He’s become aware of yet another fool on the outskirts of the cursed lands, setting up shop, making a home in a place that denies any the comfort of one. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s become more common in recent years, as fear of history has faded and so has common sense, thoughtless and innocent arrogance suffusing throughout the population. Grian has no patience for fools – no want to guard them and no want to bury any more when they inevitably fall, to mobs or time or accident – and he’s always quick to drive them off, no matter the allure of companionship.

Loneliness becomes its own state of being, just like waiting. After a while, one cannot feel it at all.

But then, through the trees, Grian hears it: a laugh.

“Oh, Jellie, Jellie, sweetheart not there, come off of that, there’s my girl… You sure do like to sit on top of shulkers I’m using, huh?”

No. It cannot be. Grian cannot be so – so –

Blessed?

Cursed?

(Grian knows better than most that those can be one and the same. It just depends on one’s perspective.)

Grian slips between the trees, quiet and shadowy. The birds do not startle at his movements, too used to him. Through the foliage, a clearing comes into sight: a pile of chests and shulker boxes, a grey and white cat, and…

Grian knows that face, knows those green eyes, that brown hair, that scarred skin. He’s grinning, his face creasing with laugh lines, deeper than is familiar, more defined. He’s wearing clothes. But it’s utterly unmistakeable.

“Scar…” Grian breathes out, a whisper unheard on the wind. His heart doesn’t know what to do inside his chest. Burst? Sink? Stop beating or start racing? His mind gets stuck, skipping like a record disc. Scar. Scar. Scar.

Scar leans down, lifts a shulker box, moves it. His shirt is tight over his muscles, not loose or worn. His shoulders are broad and strong, his belly sloping with a healthy little tummy, not wasted or pared down by rationing and scarcity; he eats well, dresses well, has little tension and no fear so ingrained it curves and bends the body, distorting it always. He looks vibrant.

Grian is seized by the overwhelming urge to shelter him, protect him, guard his little world and never let the man peel back the cover to see the darkness underneath; he wants, fearfully, for the man to never see so much as a whisper of Grian’s cursèd presence. And yet, he wants to run to him, shouting, wants to throw his arms around him and weep into his chest that he’s waited for so long, waited and waited and waited.

And now here Scar is.

…

… He’s too unburdened. Grian feels cruel at the thought, for to wish such pain upon Scar is abhorrent, but. But.

Scar’s body language and tone of voice are – different; enough similarities to cry, enough divergences to throw up, sickened.

He’s Scar, Grian realises. But he’s not the same Scar. His soul has moved on. Then he berates himself. I knew this, I knew I was waiting for a return from a soul and not a mind. I knew this.

Grian retreats, though he can hardly bear to. He sinks back into the shadows of the forest, eyes fixed on Scar as he disappears under the cover of leaves, gorgeously green, and trunks, richly brown; nothing like pale gritty sand and cacti lit by lava pools. This is where he belongs; shadows and secrecy, sword and shield to a man whose world he cannot touch, and perhaps never could.

He feels a tear slip down his cheek.

He’s back, he cries, uncertain whether to laugh or cry, to howl with celebration or wail his old pain, scoring open the scabs and letting them bleed, finally and once again. He’s back. He’s back.

Scar…

#my writing #flash fic #ask #scarian #trafficshipping #ACP-verse

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wiredlyrelatable · 1 year

Text

IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S THE BREAKUP!

JANHVI was having beer sitting somewhere in the outskirts of the city, near a lake, when she gets a call from AKASH saying,

AKASH: JAN! I really want to talk to you. Where the hell are you from past few days?

JANHVI: I am busy now AK!

AKASH: I have to say something important. It's urgent man!

JANHVI: Oh! okay fine, I will send the location.

He reaching there, sits beside her and says,

AKASH: Oh my god! You are drinking? Is everything alright?

JANHVI: It's just because of the weather man.

AKASH: I just want you to know that I am tired of being in a relationship. It's not you it's me, I think I would be happy being single now. I am saying this because I don't want to stretch this relationship anymore just because I don't want to hurt you. At some point in future you will get to know this and we both will sulk later thinking why didn't one of us confess this to eachother.

JANHVI: Oh! So you want to breakup?

AKASH: Yes! But we can be friends from now, right?

JANHVI smiles, looks at him and says,

JANHVI: It's okay man! I don't like to have a friendship as compensation for a relationship breakup.

AKASH: I meant we can chill together like we used to but as friends from now.

JANHVI: I understood your point AK, but it will be okay if we try to move on instead of continuing this relationship as friendship right?

AKASH: I like your honesty!

JANHVI: If you remember that was the thing you fell for.

AKASH: Ya I do!

JANHVI: It's getting late, you can leave if you want, I am okay with your breakup thaught, I can deal with it AK.

AKASH: Exactly! It's getting dark. I can't leave you here, let's leave together.

JANHVI: I understand your concern but you should understand that my break up happened just now so I need some time alone with this bottle and the lake in front.

AKASH: I understand JAN! But I am not leaving till I drop you home safely.

She looks at him expression less when he smiles and looks back at the lake sitting beside her.

Both of them enjoy the evening in silence of words and the sound of their heart break within them.

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lazywriters-blog · 2 years

Text

One For Me, One For Us

Yandere izuku midoriya/reader

Warning: May contain triggering content, brief mentions of abusive behaviour, kidnapping, yandere content.

The time is flying by, warm light slowly withering away, soon nightlight will fall, and the day will almost be done, birds are singing by, sun steadily settling into its place, young-lings walking back from school, alone or with their companion, adults and alike going back to their cosy homes, either to their kids or wife's eagerly waiting or dreadfully awaiting to have their ease taken away, perhaps take ones away in-order to compensate their displeasure, it is a repeating cycle, one that can end or never met its end. In a shy manner sits a fairly young woman, arms folded over her chest, observing the normal people go by their daily routine, continuing on perhaps even before they die.

Her expression is calm, demurely crossing her legs to make herself more comfortable, sitting by the window on her balcony. Her device was thrown aside to the tea table. Anxiously rubbing her fingers together once whatever she was waiting for, hadn't arrived. Tensely waiting for a little bit longer, looking over her shoulder once in a while, she chews on her dry lips, appearing even more nervous as time went by, finally, she decides to enter her safe domain and forget her task at hand, for the time being at least. Night greets the day and now it is pitch black outside.

The young lady seated by the window in her lonely hall, peers outside, surveying the outskirts of her property, small but spacious, her lights were on, and most of the windows were shut tight, excluding one of them, the window to the garage was sealed with wooden planks, firmly barricaded to avoid any more casualties, a week before someone had managed to break inside, whether it was accidental or intentional, she was not certain. The police couldn't do much, so paranoia has become a part of her routine. Thinking back on the situation at present, she doesn't remember seeing... that, at least not here in the living room, it had to have been in her room, every minute she keeps finding something odd, unusual, bizarre, on the long table. Hiding behind the television was her perfume, her favourite one, she assumed she had misplaced it somewhere or had forgotten its placement, but behold there it was. Hiding away from her.

She was certain now. Someone had been inside her house. Without her knowing, even though she stays inside almost all the time, and she hadn't even noticed them. It sends a chill up her spine, and suddenly all she could think about is a person standing behind her frame, sneaking over to her, and perhaps murdering her in cold blood, in her own safe haven, in the security of her sweet home. Would it be a peaceful death? knowing you died in your own house- no; she is thinking too far ahead, she can not paralyze herself in fear.

Swiftly moving towards the settee, she apprehensively decides to head to her room, sleep if she could, call in someone that would generously help her after tonight.

Cautiously changing into her comfy clothes, she nervously lays down on her bed. Hoping for the better.

She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep long before a subtle sound rattles her, rendering herself awake, she tacitly reaches out to the nightstand, quietly attempts to pry it open, fishing out a pistol gripping it tightly, she feebly erects herself in a sitting position, attentively watching and listening to any mild indicators, luckily she had left the light turned on in the hallway leading up to her bedroom, so if anyone approaches, she could see their shadow moving.

For a while, it was tense, serene, nothing happened, no noise, no shadow, had her paranoia gotten to her? Was she making this all up? Was this a dream? Had the lonesome months gotten to her and driven her to the brink of insanity? It felt like her soul had left her body and now just an empty shell remains to guard against destruction, maybe this is all surreal, maybe it was just a rat playing around and caused a sound, her mind was rationalizing everything, but all that comes to a quick halt when the light outside her room turns off.

Very subtle footsteps are making their way towards her, she almost couldn't heed it until it stopped right in front of the entrance, her heart drops, the handle now slowly rotating, but she had not forgotten to lock her door. She dreadfully waits for any reaction, none for a tense minute, until the sound of the lock coming undone alerts her, nippily laying down into a sleeping position, she stills herself, exhaling shallow breaths, short and panicky, hands firmly grasping onto the weapon, discreetly hiding the gun underneath her blanket she waits for a fight or flight response.

She couldn't tell what was going on, the person was skillfully silent, and her heart was running rampant. Focusing on any sounds, she remains on standby.

"I'm sorry I'm late honey, my job has me doing overnight nowadays, evil people don't ever stop, do they? I gotta keep up to my word." A breathy deep voice spoke, soft yet low. "No one knows about us, I'll keep it that way. You don't have to worry about it." The male voice carried on, eventually, it grew closer to her.

"I was hoping to take the next step in our relationship. Get married, live happily ever after, but I'm not sure how you will react to it- I'm certain you'll love it! just... I don't want anything happening to you. I've been trying hard to set up the ideal life for you and me. Maybe we can afford to take the risk now, I'll keep you safe I promise!" He continued. "I won't let anything harm you I swear. So, please give us a chance."

He didn't know she was listening to him right? Did he know that she was never asleep in the first place, had he have known? Is that why he is confessing in his twisted way. She was scared, she couldn't pinpoint a single thing, what was he doing, what was he thinking of doing to her?

"I think it's time to leave. I should probably help you pack up while you rest, I know this might be hard but it's okay, I know you don't like being outside longer than needed, which is oddly perfect! NO ONE will know you and I are even in a relationship. Or even husband and wife, I promise I won't take long to get married, I just need to get the preparations done, have you adjusted and content with everything, I'll do whatever I can." He muttered, the sound of drawers opening immediately setting her into action. He was not kidding.

"I know you'll understand, I love how understanding you can be."

He had his back turned to her, this was a perfect chance to shoot him while he is unaware, but almost instantly he turns back to face her, she was so glad to not have followed her instincts because as soon as he's done, he is walking straight towards her. Saying, "Okay I'm done, I picked out the ones you really liked, I like seeing you in these." He ceases before her, steadily inching closer before both of their breaths touch, "Time to leave! Goodnight sweetheart."

She barely managed to escape his clutch, holding a small bag in his hand, stunned but not surprised, she fearfully glared at him, stiffly pointing the gun at his face, building up the courage she asked, "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?!" He is smiling at her words, giving her a soft look. "Sorry to wake you up honey, I know how moody you get when you get disturbed during your sleep, it's okay though, I understand." He tries to near her, but she firmly draws the pistol closer to his face.

"Shut up- Get out of my house!" She yelled, hoping to knock some sense into him, he knew her, almost all personal details, but she knew him through news and social media, only allowed to see what he wants everyone to see and know about him. Who wouldn't know Mr. Deku?

"Honey-" He attempts to speak but she was not having any of it.

"I'm not your honey! We don't even know each other, excluding you who probably stalked me for long enough to know almost most of my life. I hate heroes, you and everyone included."

"You don't mean that, I know you don't." He grins, even with a gun right in front of his nose, he urges himself forward, earning a clean shot to the shoulder, which does nothing to hinder his ability to pin her down, whilst forcing a hand on her lips, she struggles, tossing and turning restlessly, her skin was hurting under his dense grip, and he wasn't letting up.

"Please stop, I have to do this quickly now or else we'll both get caught."

He was bleeding, some of his blood dripped onto her clothes, even though she had injured him, he kept on going unruffled as if he wasn't feeling any kind of pain, as if she hadn't just shot him in the shoulder, made him bleed, lose blood, still struggling against his will. She thinks of doing something different, she was getting desperate, guilt-trip him, making him feel bad, unheroic, anything is not off the table now, anything to instil him back to his rational self. Her tears were not a false play, she has to use his sympathy to her advantage.

"Why are you doing this? Please stop."

Someone had to have heard the gunshot, if they had enough conscience the police would surely be on the way right about now, explains his frantic behaviour, hasty moves, his eyes blown wide open with wary. She has to buy herself more time, or else she risks getting her life in ruin.

"I can't, he is after you, I have to make sure you don't end up losing your life because of my ignorance." He answered, soft eyes staring straight into hers, his fingers on her wrist steadily consolidating, he doesn't buy into her act, at least seems smart enough to dodge. When she tries to kick him, he quickly shoves his knee between her legs, pressing her into the mattress further, his face leaning dangerously close to hers, she swiftly held her breath, looking away from his potent stare, "I'm sorry but I have to do this before it is too late." she knows what's coming, and she couldn't think of anything, his hand was getting closer and she needed to take action.

"I'm pregnant!!" she abruptly shouted, stunning both him and herself, she only took in her own words after she uttered without thinking twice, and the confused expression on his face seemed so... scary. "No you are not, I've never seen you with anyone. You are lying to me." he spoke, closing the tiniest gap between them. "I know you, very well. You would never do such a thing unless you are telling the truth, which I can not believe."

"You don't know enough, you don't know me at all!" she boldly replied.

"I know what you are trying to do, it's not going to work."

DAY ONE END

#midoriya x reader #yandere imagines #yandere bnha #mha yandere #yandere izuku midorya x reader #yandere izuku x reader #yandere izuku #yandere bnha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha izuku #bnha fanfiction #yandere mha #mha imagines #yandere midoriya izuku #izuku x reader

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years

Text

Luke Crain Headcanons

Request: Hi🥺I’m usually not to good about making request but I’m trying to breakout of my shell on that cause you are an amazing writer and I love everything you write!! But can I request a Luke Crain headcanon where you guys grew up together but distanced while he was in rehab but you came back together after what happened with Nellie! Thank you so much you’re an angel🥺💛

Thank you SO much @cathrinexxxv I LOVE LUKE CRAIN! Also I’m so ready to binge watch all of Bly Manor tomorrow!! <3

You and Luke first met when you were very young. As in, really really little. To this day, you’re still constantly teasing him and making him blush smile about his huge magnifying pair of glasses and his obsession with bowler hats.

You and your family used to live in the small village which was a fifteen minute walk away from the looming heights of Hill House, so when a rumour started spreading down the houses that a new family full of children were moving in for the summer, you, naturally, were intrigued.

One night, when you had heard from your mother that the new family had moved in, you sneaked out your back garden on a warm afternoon before dinner, cutting through the dark and dingy forest until you reached the outskirts of the property. Seeing a boy around your own age sitting on his own on the burnt grass, you waved to Luke from behind the branch of a nearby, crooked oak tree. He was startled, to say the least, but as he watched you hide slightly behind the bark, he was surprised to find he wasn’t scared in the slightest.

He felt as if he almost knew you already. As if this was always meant to happen, that you were meant to find each other here.

Nudging his glasses back up the bridge of the nose, he shyly waved back. Once he finally realised that you weren’t going to budge from your hiding place, nervous from the stories your neighbours had told you about this house, he decided to pick up his crayons in one fist and his paper in the other, before he sets off half stumbling, half stomping along the uneven ground towards you.

When he finally reaches the trunk, he stops and looks at you kind of funnily, tilting his head slightly before he decides the right reaction was to smile at you.

‘My name is Luke Crain. Do you want to play with me? All my siblings ignore me and they don’t want to draw with me.’

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon huddled under the shaking leaves, sitting on the roots of the tree, Luke tracing out a picture and you giggling as you tried to bump his hand out of the way to colour it in.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. Nellie loved you of course, and saw you as her honorary best friend as well, as did the rest of the siblings (even though Shirley would never admit it, and Theo was too stubborn to), which meant constant sleepovers at Hill House.

Hugh would always chuckle and shake his head when he peeked into Luke and Nellie’s room, seeing Nell asleep on a red bean bag with a half open bag of sweets lying deserted by her feet, and you and Luke sprawled out on the mat by the iron railings of his bed, snoring.

You were also the only one he allowed up into his treehouse. Although, sometimes he was too embarrassed to let you, or his siblings, in, because he had stuck pictures up on the wall of the drawings he had tried to do of you.

Growing up with Luke also meant having to calm him down after he starts seeing the tall, floating ghost. Sometimes you would try to climb up the ivy outside of his bedroom window, only to topple into the house headfirst when you start to hear Luke’s high pitched screaming coming from under his bed. Although Olivia would come running in, she would always end up comforting sobbing Nellie, as Luke would only grab onto you, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed as you remind him the rule.

‘Breathe in and out Luke, that’s it. In and out, seven times - that’s what keeps you safe.’

‘Eight’, he would say with a trembling breath. ‘Eight times. You’re my family too.’

The two of you were gutted when Luke had to move away, but your parents could already see how close the two of you were, and so decided that a move away and a new school for you, perhaps, wasn’t the worst idea. Especially, they decided, since you had been there that night as well.

Although the two of you were close for the whole of your childhood, it takes Luke until he’s eighteen years old to realise just how long he’s really been in love with you. It takes some nudging on from Nellie, pointing out how you would run up to his locker during breaks between classes and just fill him in on how your day was going - each break, no matter how long it had been, without fail. Luke was the only person you wanted to talk to, and from the look of pure delight on Luke’s face as he leans against his locker door and gives his full, undivided attention to you, you’re the only person he wants to listen to.

Or how, Nellie would continue, you would come round to their house for dinner, and although Aunt Janet tried to separate the two of you by sitting you opposite each other, you would just spend the whole dinner ignoring whatever Theo was talking about and giving each other funny looks as you kicked each other in the shin.

Or, when the two of you got a bit older, and you would sneak out of your dorm to visit him in the middle of the night, throwing little rocks at his window until his curtains would rustle and the window latch would be thrown open, his grinning face peering down at you. Despite having spent the whole weekend together, reading to each other in the town’s local library, or just lying shoulder to shoulder watching movies, the two of you would sit out in his garden, on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you.

That’s when he finally realised how immensely, and terrifyingly in love with you he was.

It scared him, to realise this, but deep down he knew it had always been you.

He has so many nightmares though. So many nights are spent with his head lying heavy in your lap, as you brush through his golden hair, trying to shush him and calm him down, or rocking him as he cries into your shoulder because of the nightmares he has about his mother, or about Abigail.

As the two of you start to escape your teenage years, and the wishful chasing after each other that came with it, your relationship becomes slightly more strained when he starts using. You choose to move in with Nellie for a while, once he finally goes to rehab. When she gets married, and you're forced to find somewhere new to live, you think you'll never hear from the Crains again - you get the odd visit from Nell, or Theo, but they're so busy enjoying the newly wed life, or studying for their degree that it's not enough - nothing fills the hole that comes from missing Luke.

It hurts that he never comes to see you, but little did you know that he used to sit at his little beige desk every night, underneath the barred window, just staring up at the moon as he bit on the edge of his pen, a feeling of such wistfulness and loneliness and longing weighing down his chest.

He used to write you a letter, every day, just pouring out all the feelings he was too afraid to tell you, but he always crumples them up and throws them away, too scared to send them.

When Steve phones you up to tell you the news about Nellie’s passing, you told him to immediately come and pick you up.

You're terrified when you open the door and walk out into the bone chilling night to hug him, your heart thumping in your chest when he tells you about how Luke has left rehab again and is somewhere out on the streets, probably using. It breaks your heart, but you know you have to be the one to find him, to bring him back.

When you reach him, and see the man you've loved since you were a child wandering, shoeless and shivering along the freezing, cracked pavement, muttering to himself, you can’t help a tear slip out as you unbuckle your seatbelt and hop out of Steve’s rental.

Luke is so terrified, he doesnt recognise you for a second. It’s only a second, though, before his eyes widen and he pounces on you, wrapping you into him so familiarly, his frame looming large above you but yet feels so fragile in your grasp as he buries his head into the side of your neck and starts crying.

‘I’m so, so cold, Y/n, and my arms are s-s-so stiff, and I’m s-so sorry, I’m so sorry-’

You can’t bear to tell him the news, so you just hold the nape of his neck and pull him tight against your chest, hating the way his whole body shakes in your hold.

On the day of Nell’s funeral, he doesn't leave your side once - it’s as if the two of you had never been separated at all. As everyone files in through the main door, ignoring the sour face on Shirley as they wander into the reception area, you and Luke just sit knee to knee on the couch opposite the entryway.

‘I tried to write to you,’ he starts, as he fumbles a cigarette from out of his breast pocket and tucks it away behind his ear, trying to busy himself with anything so he doesn’t have to meet your confused eyes, and so you don’t have to see the guilt ridden in his. ‘I want you to know that. Nellie kept on telling me off, but i just didn't know how to say what i needed to say to you.’

‘Luke, its okay, i understand how difficult it was for you-’

‘No-no, Y/n, no more excuses! You mean so much to me and i- i cant... i can't lose anyone else. Just-’

He's so gentle when he finally reaches over and kisses you, trying to shake off his fear and just show you what he meant instead. His suit rumples against your chest as he smooshes himself against you, cupping your cheeks softly with his large hands as he tilts you to the side to meet him in a needy, a desperate, a long anticipated kiss.

He doesn’t pull away - he can't - until you finally break for air, and only then does he finally concede and places his forehead against yours with a soft thud, just closing his eyes in both agony and bliss.

‘I’m sorry that took me so long to do.’

‘It was worth the wait. Although, I have to be honest, your timing has always been rubbish.’

He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against your chest as he rests his head on your shoulder like a lost puppy, gazing up at you with those wide, lost eyes, and for the first time you can finally see the adoration and awe and just pure love that’s always been in them.

For the rest of the reception. before he tells you of his plans to go back and burn Hill House to the ground, is spent with the two of you escaping from his siblings by stepping outside and sitting on Shirley’s porch. Your arms stay linked tightly together, as if afraid to let go again, and his coat is wrapped around both of your shoulders as he rests against you, just content to be surrounded by your presence.

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kaebedom-me · 3 years

Note

What about chaeya and the reader's first time with all three headcanons??? Like how did it all start

This all started because i ship them but i also want to be between them

Coming right up, nonnie!!!!

I kinda like to think they met through the traveller?

But prior to that they'd know of each other, or at least Kaeya would know Childe because of his position

They're not friends but they're not acquaintances either? It's complicated

Them occasionally seeing each other around and they "hang out", really it's just them trying to see if the other will falter and give up information lol

They don't tho, they're professionals

So they end up just getting to know each other a certain amount? They just vibe ya know

I usually leave these kind of requests vague because i want y'all to have the full self insert package and your own ideas of how you want enter the relationship but I'll give you my version? HAHAHA

I like to think maybe y'all know each other prior to the three of you hanging out? Like maybe you're already friends w the two of them

One day, you're doing your thing just vibing and you see one of them and since you've finished your thing and jskf lets say you met Kaeya and he finished his thing so y'all decide to just chill ya know

It's totally not a date or anything lmao

Jk unless 👀

Nah, Kaeya's just teasing

But you two do walk around and just hangout as pals do uwu

Y'all maybe stopping by a shop for some refreshments before wanting to head back to where y'all were headed

This is prolly somewhere in Liyue, maybe the outskirts near Mondstadt

And Childe sees you when he's out doing his thing also and is like "!! that's my friend" but also sees Kaeya?

Immediately sus, not of the two of you, he's not jealous also ok

He's just curious cuz what a small world

He approaches the two of you and invites himself to sit down

And you have a lil moment of "y'all know each other???"

I like to think y'all start hanging out more after cuz you like their company and they seem to be fine w each other's and yours

Now forming a relationship is a little harder

It's very easy to fall for the both of them with their teasing remarks and them being protective of you, like you can't help but to just catch feelings

Them falling is a little harder, i think they're both a little protective of themselves, so a relationship isn't exactly something they're head

They're not like wary of getting their heart broken or being in a relationship, it's more they have their respective things they have to deal with

Doesn't stop them from thinking about it though, especially when you're being cute because of their teasing

Them falling for each other is a different thing though

I like to think there's a little Thought in their head about it

Less from love but more from lust, especially when they're being difficult to each other

The tension [chef's kiss] makes their dick h-

Anyway

That's when the dynamic kind of changes? Y'all are getting along a little better, you guys seeking out each other's company more, goodbyes are a little harder

They definitely can tell when you're more interested in them, even if you don't see it yet?

They start to try to woo you a little

I also think they're both stupid. Sure, they're smart and sneaky and can tell when you're behaving differently around them

But they will 100% mistake their own feelings for each other as like a rivalry of who's getting more of your attention

We stan smart stupid boys

Can go anyway from here on?

If you're like receptive of them giving you affection them it'll involve into them fighting for your affections

If you're kinda dense they'd fight for your attentions less because it feels less like a competition and they'd bond over how to get you to realise that they like you and they'd fall for each other more first

My personal favourite is you trying to get them to realise they have feelings for each other and you play their wingman

Like you realise the Tension between them and you start drilling for answers when you're alone w them, or pulling the "oh i gotta do smth you two wait here" and just leave them, those kinda of shenanigans to get them to acknowledge their feelings

One day you just come back to them angrily making out [chef's kiss] [chef's kiss] immaculate

Them falling for each other and starting to date, they won't let you feel left out though

The vibes of your lil trio will still be the same except their more affectionate to each other sometimes

If you're chill with it they'd be so handsy w each other in front of you, like they won't fuck or make out in front of you but they will do it like before you out hanging

You get used it

Honestly, you kinda just meld into it? Like yeah you guys get along well and the lines just kinda blur where your friendship ends and a relationship starts

Cuz they're also such touchy people, if you're comfortable with that, so even when they're dating they'd still hug you and all

Eventually it'll click on your guys' brains to try a poly relationship

It's not much difference, the dynamic is the same it's just y'all being able to kiss and fuck now lmao

Obv, they'd talk to each other first and they'll realise that they still have feelings for you

They'd agree with each other about opening up the relationship to you first before approaching you with it

When you accept, even with hesistation, they'd be so happy!!

Will not bombard you with affections at first, i think they'd need time to adjust too

So at first it'll be a lot exploring around, cautious touches and hugs and stuff

Y'all 3 going on dates together after and realising you guys are the same people before the relationship and just feel a little dumb to be so tense

After that it's just smooth sailing!! Expect lots of cuddles and kisses and most importantly more time spent together!!

Sex comes a little later since you guys are pretty used to the friends dynamic but when y'all pass the trial period oof

#I tried to keep it as vague as possible for the full self insert experience so #I hope its not confusing #Tho i do feel like i inserted myself a little in there so jekfbfbdk #If it's not satisfactory nonnie pls feel free to request again with a little more specific like dynamic!#Childe #Childe x reader #Kaeya #Kaeya x reader #childe x reader x kaeya #Tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #Shanna writes

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Title: Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: Whoops on the posting schedule. Had a wedding, etc. and things just got away from me.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's cold in the warehouse, the drafty chill causing goosebumps to erupt under the leather jacket you still had on. You're seated in one of the metal chairs, eyes trained on the door. Your companion had his to the other side, watching the windows.

It had been over a day since you and Clyde had been taken outside the jazz club. In hindsight, it had been impulsive of you both to go along with the change in plan, and yet the fact that the club had blown up mere seconds after you stepped outside, had you feeling rather alright about your rashness. The two of you hadn't had a chance to recover from the blowback of the explosion, when you were being shoved and pushed at gunpoint into the back of a van, cloth covers thrown over both your heads.

They shouldn't have known that the two of you were undercover agents. But they had. You'd arrived and been led into another building and when the cloth had been torn off of your head, the face in front of you had your head reeling. It had been as though every fear you'd had about the assignment had suddenly manifested itself and you regretted having kept all of your suspicions from Clyde.

Erasmus Jansen had been an associate of your father's whom you'd met on a handful of occasions while traveling with him, at your home growing up, and then once more when your father had agreed to bring you in formally. In a split second decision, you called him Uncle Erasmus – banking on your father's relationship to him to offer you some protection, buy you some time and trust, imploring him to see the little girl who had ran into her father's office eager to show off her working Grand Adage, and not the federal agent who had been sent to stop him.

Your voice had harkened him to pause as recognition flitted into his eyes. Your eyes and the set of your mouth, so very much a reminder of your father. He'd brisked you away into another room where you had continued to bank on your father's reputation. You allowed Jansen to do most of the talking, as he revealed to you that your father had confided in him that he was working on getting agents into the higher echelons of each governmental agency. He had simply never guessed that one of those agents would be his own daughter. You thought it best not to dissuade him of that notion.

Things had progressed quickly after that as you acted almost entirely on instinct, working to ingratiate yourself to him and earn his trust. You'd shot Clyde, wordlessly imploring him to understand what you were doing and why, careful to aim for the thickest parts of the vest and avoid any critical areas.

You'd had to play along. For both of your sakes.

You still had a job to do.

All of your doubts and fears regarding this assignment were coming to life, and there were still two CIA operatives unaccounted for. Jansen had said that your father had been cultivating agents on the inside - that was confirmation enough for you that you and Clyde had been correct. There was a mole still somewhere within the Bureau. Someone who had been watching and waiting, feeding them information for years. Jansen had to know the identity of whomever it was, since he had assumed you were a mole who had never been utilized by your father. It wouldn't have been any surprise to you if your father had indeed even played into the idea that you were a plant. That you were his to command. That he owned you.

Now here you sat, waiting in the outer chamber of a warehouse in the outskirts of Philadelphia. The drive there had seemed vaguely familiar and as you'd driven past an old diner by the road, you're reminded of a trip you'd taken out here with John during your first year of training. Wind rushing around you, your hair tucked safely beneath a helmet, arms wrapped tightly around the firm torso in front of you as your fingers clung to the worn leather jacket. You'd stopped for food at that diner on the way back, after scoping out the property. It had been one of several on a list that you were working through on the weekends you both could spare. Ocean blue eyes and cherry pie. Milkshakes - chocolate for you and strawberry for him. Finding a song on the jukebox that had his shoulders moving along. Your laughter - both yours and his - lighting up that dusty old diner by the side of the road. It felt like a lifetime ago. A person ago.

The clanging of the door separating the outer chamber from the inner maze has you jolting towards it, as both you and Jansen's associate - whose name you'd come to learn was Ramos - moved forward to enter as Jansen's hand beckoned on in. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lowered lighting as you look around. They'd established a temporary base here it seemed. You can see the outline of the ladder that you'd climbed down during your first visit, nearly six years prior. It had rattled and shook, the two of you shushing one another in the following silence. What had then been an empty space was now equipped with weapons. In the center you can see a cage – metal bars separating you from two shapes within. It is all so familiar. You should've known. You should've known then. You shouldn't have written it off as too horrific to be true.

As you draw closer, one of the two shapes moves. You watch, silently accepting the chair that Jansen had drawn out for you as he seated himself in the other one. It is only by the dim lighting inside and the beginnings of moonlight peaking through the high shutters that you can make out the shape as it moves closer. White knuckles gripping tightly onto the metal bars. A scuffed pant leg just barely visible in the darkness. You look up to meet the pale, glassy eyes of Agent Dean Novak, CIA.

*------------*

Emily watches from the corner of her eye as Hotch and Hawthorne pour over the documents they'd grabbed from the storage unit. The team had relocated to the office now that McKinney was aware they were working the case.

Hawthorne had arrived pretty quickly after Hotch had stepped out of the storage unit to call him. He'd been nice and polite to all of them, remembering their names despite her having a vague recollection of you never having gotten around to actually introducing them to him that night at the bar. Though she supposed her memory of that night was far from reliable.

None of them had known that Hotch really knew this guy and now here they were, sitting across from one another at the conference table, quietly comparing notes on anything of interest. It made sense that Hotch had called him in. He'd explained to them all, prior to Hawthorne's arrival, that the two of you had been researching your father's businesses together around the time you joined the Bureau. None of them had been surprised to hear that. Hotch had decided to call in the guy who knew all of this as well as you did. They could certainly use the help. The fact that he was also the closest thing you had to an ex besides Matthew, seemed not to matter.

"He called him Aaron," JJ whispers from beside her, catching Garcia's attention as well. Before Hawthorne had arrived, Garcia had already looked up everything there was to know about the guy. Clean record, upstanding citizen, wealthy family with dubious connections, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Derek had been the one who knew the most about him, and even he knew very little. However, it didn't take a profiler to see that Hotch and Hawthorne had known each other beyond that casual hello at the bar with the rest of them. They'd shaken hands quickly when Hawthorne had arrived, all windswept hair and perfectly fitted suit, before Hotch had introduced him to the rest of the team.

Garcia had already declared him one of the most attractive human beings to ever exist within five minutes of his arrival, having blushed when he'd smiled at her in greeting, much to Morgan's annoyance. He'd shook all of their hands incredibly politely – soft, but not timid in the least. Confident in that self-assured manner where he had nothing to prove to anyone. He'd quickly rolled up his sleeves and dived in. His familiarity with your organizational system immediately paying off as he quickly reduced the number of boxes they had to sift through from the forty nine they'd carried out of the storage facility, down to merely ten. When asked how the two of you had had time to do all of this research in addition to your day jobs – him, logging over sixty hours a week at a major New York law firm, and you being in round the clock training – he'd merely shrugged. Somehow, the two of you had found the time. From that, Emily gathered that neither of you had had much of a life beyond this and each other throughout those two years.

The cavalry seated around the room, all of them searching for any way to find you. Emily knows that that hadn't been the case when she had been presumed dead. Instead, from subsequent conversations with Rossi and Morgan, she'd come to learn that her cavalry had consisted of exactly one, you. You, who had dedicated every spare moment to finding Doyle, avenging her death. Learning that hadn't exactly been a surprise. She'd known that Hotch was away and JJ reassigned. Morgan was busy running the team and Rossi was trying to keep everyone's head above water. You'd been all alone in your vengeance. It had led credence to the number of times she'd come close to dialing your number while hiding out in Paris. Out of everyone, you'd be the person to never stop.

Her eyes wander over once more to the two men seated at the adjacent table. Morgan was working through something with Garcia. Reid and JJ were still sifting through their respective boxes. Hotch and Hawthorne had split a box between them, both of them taking notes as they went through in long yellow legal pads. Both of their heads were bent in concentration, suit jackets long shed in favor of comfort. There was a half eaten sandwich in front of them both, which they'd only acquiesced to partake in under JJ's watchful eye – both abandoned once her back was turned. Hawthorne’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he flipped through a thick folder. Hotch's thumb rubbed the outer edge of his index finger. Both of their legs bounced, the only outlet for the coiled energy within, kept hardly at bay.

Not for the first time, Emily finds herself praying – to who knew what – that they'd find you. If only so that she could see your reaction to these two men co-existing here, because of you.

*------------*

You and Jansen walk back into the outer chamber, leaving Ramos to guard over Novak and Cavanaugh, relieving one of the earlier guards to go walk the perimeter.

"They're the ones you and that other agent wanted to buy. I still have contacts with the Chinese if we want to get them off of our hands this week," he tells you, coming around to sit in one of the chairs off to the side.

You know he trusts you minimally at best right now. Shooting Clyde had been a test that you'd passed, having quickly walked over to him before Ramos could, pressing down into the part of the armpit that would help mimic a lack of pulse when checked. Ramos didn't know enough to ward against that, and Jansen had been busy taking a call. You'd willed Clyde to be passed out long enough from the force of the gunshots for you to get away with the first deception.

"Why the Chinese? Our Russian contacts have always been stronger and more responsive," you counter, tracking back to everything you'd learned from your father years prior. Jansen had to feel like you had a stake in this. You allow yourself to slip back into your old fate, just this once.

"Volkov died last year. It weakened our position with them and we haven't been able to make a new contact that's trustworthy enough."

You sigh, leaning back in the and forcing an air of ease about you. Jansen had to see you assume the role your father had once held in his life. It wouldn't be easy. Only once before had he seen you actually in the business prior to Julian's death. That too, alongside your father. However, your distinct advantage here, ironically, would be your last name. Jansen might have attempted to take over from your father, but your family name still carried weight. A certain respect in these circles that was earned by virtue of swift and calculated brutality.

"Who had been feeding you the names on the inside if it wasn't me?" you ask, side stepping the land mine that was Alexander Volkov. Jansen brought him up only due to your personal relationship with Volkov. After all, your father hadn't been able to brag enough about how you'd cultivated that particular contact for him as your first real project on the job. No one had made strides with the Russians the way you had. You'd spent the first part of your winter break senior year, in the Balkans, being firsthand witness to Volkov's methods. You'd shown no fear, however, and he'd respected that, agreeing to sit down and talk. Even now, the mere thought of the burly, intimidating Russian had your insides churning. It was no wonder that Jansen wouldn't take on any successor to Volkov. Successors in that business were created only through conquest.

"He's up in the Bureau. Sits in on the project meetings," Jansen answers, taking a swig from the flask he still carried with him. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. He wasn't giving you a name exactly, but that alright. If you got enough details, you could figure it out.

"What's in it for him?"

Jansen's face takes on a sinister quality as he takes another sip from the flask, his lips curling into a menacing grin that has your skin crawling. You're not about to like whatever he tells you next.

*------------*

Erasmus Jansen was the name that Garcia had been trying to hunt down in vain since they'd learned that he'd been the one to take you and Easter. Her computer dings, once more turning up empty. With a groan, she looks back at Emily in defeat.

"I can't do this," she wails. "He's mentioned in the Atlantis files and in some older CIA files on Y/N's father, but beyond that, on his own, there's nothing. No bank account, no physical address, not even a MySpace account. The man is a ghost."

Emily nods in sympathy before turning back to Hawthorne who was poring over yet another folder of real estate investments. "You're sure you don't remember anything at all about this guy?"

Hawthorne looks up apologetically, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. Emily was pretty sure his was the face DaVinci had envisioned when he spoke of the golden ratio. "Sorry, no. Only met him while I was a kid and that too only in passing. Cap spent more time with her dad than Julian did so she knew all the players better." He sighs and comes around to where Emily and Garcia are sat, brainstorming through ways of potentially tracking you or Jansen. He leans against Garcia's table, one leg crossed over the other, arms holding up the rest of his weight against the table, and from her vantage point right in front of him, Emily can tell he's mentally combing through absolutely anything that could help. "The only thing she ever said about Jansen was that while he was great at execution, he wouldn't innovate. He'd rather have someone else in charge, which was why he stuck around her father for so long. On his own, he tends to flounder."

"We might be able to use that," Emily offers. "He'll stick to whatever is familiar and uncompromised."

Hawthorne nods, slowly agreeing with her. "Older properties that had other uses in the past. Places he feels comfortable." He's already walking back over to the files, sifting through until he finds one he's looking for. "Can you get aerial views of these?" He pushes a piece of paper with an address on it towards Garcia, who lights up at the opportunity to be able to do something she knows she can deliver on.

"Can I get an aerial shot?" Garcia scoffs as she types furiously, pounding at the keyboard with renewed fervor. "Give me a minute and I can get you a lot more than whatever Google Earth can manage."

Looking up, Emily can see a grin on Hawthorne's face as he watches Garcia continue her rant on exactly how much more she can find, how much better she is, could he please give her a real challenge next time because this ask was elementary at best.

Across the way, Hotch was talking to Rossi and Morgan about a profile they were creating for Jansen, leveraging the details of the Philadelphia bombing and what little Hawthorne had been able to add on. Emily's been surprised by how well Hotch had put himself back together after the video they'd all seen. The video that would likely haunt her for quite some time. Ever since Easter told him you were alive, the man had been single minded in finding you. While Rossi had mentioned looking into Easter's accusation – not out of any belief in it, but merely as a precautionary measure so they could be prepared – Hotch had brushed it aside, saying that would come later. Right then, he didn't want a single resource dedicated to anything besides getting you back. If she had ever doubted Hotch's dedication to you – which she never really had – the thought had no leg to stand on ever since he'd called in Hawthorne.

Hotch catches her gaze and quirks an eyebrow up in question – Do you have something? Emily shakes her head but offers him a small smile that he manages to return somehow. They were going to find you. No matter what.

*------------*

Jansen wanted to move both Novak and Cavanaugh to a secondary location. His paranoia was starting to catch up with him since no other buyers besides you and Clyde had reached out for the purchase, his calls to the Chinese going unanswered. Unbeknownst to him, you'd shut down his website prior to your meeting and he was now reaching out into the void, towards nothing.

He's been teetering a bit and you can see his natural instinct to follow your orders go up against that same paranoia that tells him to not trust you fully yet. You've tried to stall and calm him down and it has worked a bit but you're unsure how much longer you can continue to quell his instincts from working against you.

Your eyes meet Agent Novak's once again as you continue your silent attempt to communicate to him that you were safe. That you were there to help. Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot. Aaron had forced you to learn morse code early on in your time with the team. He had told you it could come in handy at the most opportune of times. You'd spent a few weekends with him and Jack, learning the alphabet. Afterwards, you'd talked him into showing you some complicated knots, which he would only let you out of once you correctly tapped out your request to be released. In hindsight, you briefly wondered if he'd liked you even back then and gotten something more out of tying you up. Something to follow up on later.

You keep repeating your light taps, hoping that Agent Novak – the former Ranger – knew as much morse code as your Eagle Scout boyfriend and his equally nerdy and endearing son.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

F. B. I.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

By now, your email would have triggered the send to Penelope. With Clyde safe, you can only hope that Garcia would, given the circumstances, think to reach out to him. Jansen ordering you to shoot him had been the confirmation you had needed, to know that Easter himself wasn't the mole. Clyde might stand a chance at finding you on his own if Jansen and his lot weren't covering their internet traffic well enough, however you had far more faith in Garcia, despite the mere breadcrumbs you'd left behind. You hadn't known enough to leave behind more. However, together, the two parties should know enough to find you – Clyde had the profile you'd built on Jansen and his operation. Given everything you'd left for Garcia, the team would have all of the access to your old research. They would be able to isolate to local properties once they found the right folders that you'd left on top, and they'd be able to find you.

Aaron would be worried sick. You're already anticipating the lecture you're about to receive when you get back home. All about being more clear about your intentions and not leaving cryptic messages behind. It wouldn't matter that you'd try and fail to explain how you couldn't afford to be more clear for fear that someone else might also catch on. It wouldn't matter what you said to defend yourself. All he would see – all he would reiterate again and again – was that you left yourself open and vulnerable. He'd scoff at you insisting that you had faith in him, in the team. He'd rage against your insistence that this was the best way. The safest way.

Despite everything, in your head you don't hear the drum of your own doubts. Only his encouragement. His voice, which drowns out all of your fears. Reassurances that, soon, this too shall pass and you'll see him once again. He'd find you, no matter how enigmatic your clues might be. He'd find you.

He'd better find you before Jansen decided to ignore you and move.

*------------*

There's a gun in your hand once more. Thrust into it at the beginnings of sound from outside. Jansen's paranoia had kicked into full gear and Ramos had been deployed to scope out the perimeter. Nothing you said placated him any longer and you were wary of pushing your luck. He takes hold of Agent Cavanaugh, entrusting Novak to you. Both of their hands are wrapped behind their back, despite which, either one stood a decent chance at overpowering you had they been in a prime state. As it stood, Jansen had been pumping them both with something that made their reflexes slower and responses sluggish.

Your heart beats rapidly within your chest as you follow Jansen, with him leading Cavanaugh at gunpoint. Your hand is wrapped around Novak's arm, fingers tapping once more at that familiar pattern, regardless of whether or not the message is getting through. It is only as you turn the corner and meet Novak's eye, that you see that the glassy veneer to his eyes has lifted. Meeting yours, he offers an imperceptible nod – a flash of understanding. You're about to switch gears and take action, when Ramos rejoins the group and offers confirmation that there was indeed some movement outside. You're outgunned once more.

*------------*

Derek leads the group through the dark, his hand at the back of a SWAT agent. Hotch had put a tactical team on deck as soon as they'd made some leeway on potential locations you and two CIA operatives could be taken. This warehouse had been one of three locations isolated by Hawthorne as nearby options where someone could reasonably be held and were around back in the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi were leading another team to an abandoned building in Virginia, while him, Reid, and Hotch had come to this other one on the outskirts of Philadelphia.

The third location had been ruled out – Garcia had determined that it had been the subject of an arson and triple homicide case from only a few weeks back. Local detectives had written it off as gang violence. None of them quite believed that given the circumstances, and so Garcia and Hawthorne were digging into it.

If anyone were to ask Derek what he thought of your ex paramour, he'd lie and say he hadn't much of an opinion. However, truth was, the guy had grown on Derek the last day or so. He'd come as soon as Hotch had called, likely having dropped whatever else he had going on. As a DA for the state of NY, Derek reckoned that hadn't been easy. He'd come quickly and while, yes, Derek was just a little annoyed at how Penelope blushed every single time the guy even looked her way, let alone called her Agent Garcia all nice and sweet, and asked her to look something up for him, Derek had to concede that he'd been helpful. He'd known exactly what to look for and all of them had been surprised by the sheer amount of research and area the two of you had covered in two years of looking into your father's businesses. Unfortunately, if Hawthorne was to be believed, the two of you had managed to only scratched the surface.

Regardless, as it stood, Derek could see how you and Hawthorne had worked, and he's a little relieved that not all of your exes were entirely trash. Even Hotch liked him. He might not have said anything, but Hotch had been a lot friendlier with the dude in only a day of working with him, than he'd been with Derek the entire first year. Prentiss had already chalked that up to you having a type – Older. Lawyer. Smart. Ambitious. You could be sure that Prentiss would give you crap for that later, though Derek had seen her eyes rake over Hawthorne about half a dozen times too.

In his ear, he can hear both Hotch and Reid taking their respective positions, with Reid just a few agents behind him. The infrared scanner had already revealed there were people inside - four men circling the perimeter with another five people closer to the center. One of those bodies was far smaller than the others, which led them to assume it was you.

*------------*

The sounds of gunfire have both Jansen and Ramos barreling quickly towards the back exit, Jansen leading and Ramos right behind you. You had no opportunity to duck away and take Agent Novak with you. You had to continue to bide your time and hope that whoever it was –the team or Clyde – would look carefully before they shot.

Down one hallway and the next. Through one door and then another. Quickly and quickly. Feet pounding against the concrete. Gun still weighing down your hand, the other still holding on to Agent Novak. Neither him nor Cavanaugh have put up much of a struggle, liking leaving it to you to take the lead. You pray that you'd about to run into a SWAT team. Once you're out in the open and you don't have Ramos right behind you. Maybe then. Then you'd have your chance.

"F.B.I. Stop where you are!"

Jansen comes to a screeching halt right in front of you, the pathway in front blocked by a tactical team. You recognized that voice. You'd recognize it anywhere.

From behind Agent Novak, you make eye contact with Derek and he wordlessly asks if you're alright. You offer him only a perfunctory acknowledgement, eyes trained quickly once more on Jansen and Ramos. Your main priority was ensuring that both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh were alright.

"Jansen, give it up. You're surrounded," Derek proclaims, gun trained at the man. From beside him, four SWAT agents and Reid emerge, all guns pointed towards the five of you in the center. Your eyes search for Aaron.

Jansen turns back towards you, his eyes wild like a caged animal. "Shoot him," he orders, his gun pressing harshly into Agent Cavanaugh's back.

You don't move. You don't say anything.

"Shoot him," he repeats himself. "Now." He shoves Cavanaugh aside, who stumbles and falls to the ground in his drugged state. Jansen's gun is now pointed past Novak and right at you. He hadn't failed to notice your hesitation to follow his orders.

Your eyes flit up to Agent Novak and then back towards Derek before landing on Jansen's crazed expression once more. You can tell then, that if you don't do as he says, he'll shoot you.

Derek and the SWAT agents will follow protocol. They won't try to take him down while he's got a gun trained on both you and Novak. No sudden movements from the group.

"Jansen. Give it up man. There's no way out for you here. Don't make things worse for yourself." Derek speaks calmly, making a show of lowering his weapon slowly. Behind you, you become aware of Ramos's presence, his gun is trained on you as well, both him and his boss watching you intensely as you continue to defy his direct order.

"I'm not going to shoot a federal agent in front of the F.B.I." you tell him, shaking your head, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the jut of Ramos's rifle at your back. His boss had given him the order. If you turn out to be not what you claim, shoot her. Shoot her and worry about the rest later.

Your hand holds the gun firmly still, the other still anchored to Agent Novak, ready to shove him to the ground in case of gunfire.

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out Reid from behind the SWAT guys, his gun trained on Jansen. You know what he's thinking. He's assessed the room the same as you. Ramos's view was slightly obstructed as he was still behind you and Novak. If it was timed right and Reid took down Jansen before Ramos had the chance to react, you had the ghost of a possibility to shove both yourself and Novak to the ground while SWAT got Ramos. It had to be Jansen first. Jansen had a clear view of you all and Ramos going down wouldn't allow you enough time. It's the only play.

You feel your body coil, ready to move, waiting for Reid's shot.

Jansen's maniacal eyes are still trained on you. You can feel the nudge of Ramos's gun to your back, imploring you to follow orders.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a beam of red light bouncing off the wall right behind Ramos's head. Assurance that they have him. They have him if you can move fast enough.

Each second that the standoff lasts seems to last a lifetime. You become highly aware – of your own heartbeat, of Agent Novak's muscles tensing under your touch, of Reid's shoulders, tensed and ready to take the shot. You're waiting. Waiting for that telltale sign as his right shoulder will flex just barely. That sign that tells you that his finger is ready to pull the trigger. That's what you're waiting for.

One second.

Jansen shifts from one foot to the other.

Two seconds.

Ramos's gun catches the zipper on the back of your jacket.

Three seconds.

Derek opens his mouth to say something again.

Four seconds.

The beam of red flits across your eyes once more.

Five seconds.

You go down.

Your ears ring from the aftermath of the loud gunshots as you lie on top of Agent Novak on the concrete flooring. In front of you, Jansen was dead, having been hit by two shots, one to the back and another to the chest, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind you, Ramos had fallen – single gunshot to the head.

You're aware just barely of Derek helping up both you and Novak, taking the gun from your hands and reengaging the safety. You feel his hands on your arms and his eyes looking you over to make sure you're alright. There's some SWAT guys and paramedics around, making sure both CIA agents are doing well. Reid is still standing where he was when he'd shot Jansen, his arms hanging by his side. You're half expecting to see a shell shocked look on his face, but when you look past Derek and meet his eye, he only smiles at you and you know he's alright.

"Hey, you sure you're okay, Princess? You gotta talk to me here," Derek implores, shaking you just slightly to draw your attention back towards him.

"Yeah," you respond shakily. "Yeah I'm – " You break off, as you look beyond his shoulder and see a far too familiar figure making its way down the ladder, a rifle slung behind its back.

The world stops.

Next thing you know, you've broken away from Derek and taken off in a run. Through the haze of people in the space, past Reid, until you collide into Aaron's chest, his arms wrapping tight around you as he manages to lift you fully off the ground, your legs wrapping around his haphazardly.

Home. You're home.

Aaron can scarcely believe he's holding you, breathing you in – you're here, in his arms. You're real.

The familiar weight of you in his arms feels like a totem, his anchor to reality. It was his reward for never quite believing anything had happened to you. His grace for holding true to his faith in you.

His hand curls behind your back and to your neck, lifting your head that's buried into his shoulder. He needs to see your face. He needs to know he isn't imagining this.

You tilt back to meet his gaze and he can see your panic and relief mixed together, the honeysuckle sweetness of your reunion coating and soothing over the acrid burnt taste left behind by your long absence and the past few days of torment and uncertainty. He can feel the tears slipping down his face as he holds you tighter, closer, your body trembling in his arms, a deep sob working its way through, streaks of tears painting lines down your cheeks.

But you're here. You're here and he has you and that's all that matters as he feels your lips against his, causing his heart to wobble, your hands in his hair and around his shoulders, the wetness of your tears mixing together, no awareness of the surrounding world or the people awaiting the two of you. Screw people. People could wait.

You're here.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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kerwritesthings · 3 years

Text

Orange Blossom At The Bottom Of A Shot Glass

Summary: Salty is followed by sour, which should always be followed by sweet.

Word Count: almost 3.7k

Warning: little cursing, little sexual tension, a bunch of sweet and fluff

Author Notes: ::taps on mic:: Soooo it’s been a GOOD while. The muse has been a little bit of a fickle bitch. Or a lot of one, actually. Also didn’t help that the last piece I wrote totally went a hard boom splat - gee thanks tall idiot Canadian one for that :P

HOWEVER, the muse decided to let go with some of the hockey boys and me play with some words for J’s Winter Writing Challenge. I’m just one day off deadline, though I still want to fill the other 1-2 I was thinking of. Thank you J for pulling this all together, you’re a peach.

This one, is the first attempt at writing Tyler, so please be kind to a girl. It was fun to play in this little part of my hockeysphere/hockeyblr.

I’m also maybe possibly most likely making this into a verse/series. Cause y’all should know that’s how I roll.

The prompt from the challenge was: “Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“From the cute one in the three piece purple suit at the end of the bar, said to get you another of whatever you’re drinking,” Misty says, sliding the half-sugar rimmed martini glass across the copper bar top. “Wouldn’t even entertain doing this if I didn’t know most of them.”

“Thanks Mis,” you smile, pushing your empty glass towards her.

You peek down slyly towards the right. A gaggle of tall, well dressed men circle the far end. You think some look familiar. Then you see who Misty meant when he turns towards the front of the bar and towards where you’re sitting. You know straightaway who he is, know the reputation, the rumblings. It’s hard not to, as big as Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex is, it’s not at the same time. It also helps that you’ve been a hockey fan since birth, paying attention to the boys in green since you moved to Dallas a handful of years ago.

“Misty are you fucking kidding me?” you snap when she wanders back towards you.

“Nope,” she grins like the cat who got the canary. “You should go over and say thank you. Promise you, you may think you know, but he’s a good guy. The lot of them are.”

You shake your head no, downing half your drink in one sip before wiping your finger against the glass to lick at some of the sanding sugar. Misty’s blood orange martinis are your favorite, and a weakness you cannot kick when she’s got the good stuff in stock.

“Give me a blank tabcard and a pen,” you ask. “How many of them are down there? Do a round of shots on my bill, but lemme think of what to send while I write this.”

Misty places one of her pens, a card and your Visa to the right of your cocktail. You carefully fold the card in half, tearing it in two. On one half you cleanly script out your name and cell number while on the second half, you write a cheeky little note:

If you can figure out what the shot is, Misty has something for you. Thanks for the martini, the second always hits better especially when you lick the sugar rim.

“Mis, do you know how to make a reckless slut?” you snicker, capping the pen.

“Red-headed slut, but with whiskey instead of Jaeger yeah?” she questions, looking underneath the bar for a bigger, clean cocktail shaker.

“Honey whiskey if you’ve got it,” you respond, polishing off the rest of your martini before gathering your things. “Then it’s just a touch lighter on the peach. If he can guess it right, then you give him the second half of the note.”

“You got it, I’ll see you,” she waves, off to the middle of the bar to find more ingredients.

You carefully glance down towards the opposite end, noticing the boys all wrapped up so you carefully slip out to make your exit, smiling and shaking your head.

“I’m absolutely insane,” you say out loud to yourself as you head towards your car.

“Segs, my girl left this for you and a round on her for the rest of the motley crew,” Misty explains, slipping him the first card before handing out the shot glasses.

“What she say?” Jamie nudges.

“Other than I missed her licking the rim of her glass?” he chides. “I need to guess what this is and then Misty has something for me, supposedly.”

“I do,” Misty replies, handing the rest of the shots out. “She picked a bit of a good one to leave for you too. Cheers boys, bellow if you need anything.”

He lifts the glass, sniffing it at first, not having any clue.

“J, Rads you guys have any idea?” Tyler asks, they both shake their head.

“Bottoms up,” Jamie adds before they all tip the shots back.

“Anybody?” Tyler pushes again, glasses clicking on the copper.

“I know,” a voice chimes in from the back, dropping the empty shot glass onto the bar.

“Come on then Dicky,” Tyler urges.

He looks at Tyler, trying to hold back a laugh but it doesn’t work.

“It’s a reckless slut,” he manages out between his laughter. “It’s something else dark in place of Jägermeister. Slightly fitting, eh?”

The group busts out in hoops, hollers and their own peals of laughter while Tyler shoves at the one closest to him, this time it’s Alex.

“Whiskey, honey whiskey actually, so nice one there Jason. Winner gets this,” Misty trills happily, wiggling a card in front of the group.

“Hey, wait a second,” Tyler snaps, trying to lean over to snatch the card from the bartender.

“That’s the rules she set,” she says, flicking the card over to his teammate. “Take it up with him, he got it right.”

“What’s it worth?” Jason grins, fist bumping with Misty before turning more towards Tyler.

“Not whatever you’re scheming in that brain of yours,” he takes a pull off his beer.

“I was just gonna say take care of dinner tonight, but if it’s not worth that,” Jason trails off.

“Damnit Dicky,” he sighs, hand flexing around the bottle.

“Let’s go boys, they’re ready for us,” Joe interjects from the outskirts of the group, nodding to the back dining room. “And we like it here so no bloodshed, ok?”

You’re just about to slip the key into your front door lock when your phone buzzes in quick repeated blips. You juggle everything in, snag a bottle of water from the fridge before plopping down on the couch to see what has your phone trilling.

So, Tyler didn’t win the challenge, I did and Misty followed the rules passing it to the winner! Hi, I’m Jason.

::selfie of Jason with the boys scattered about behind him at the bar::

I’m refusing for a bit to give him your number. Want to spare and maybe prepare you before I do. Plus, it’s fun to watch him squirm for a bit when it comes to shit like this.

The reckless slut shot was a nice touch, so I’m hopeful in assuming when you spotted us, him really, you kind of knew who was all down at that end of the bar. Probably have heard some things about his adventures and antics, cause who hasn’t.

I can tell you most of it is blown out of proportion, don’t get me wrong he has his fun, but he’s not an asshole.

Maybe we can all do lunch after practice? I’m happy to play buffer if you don’t want to deal with him solo. We’ll go somewhere solid and make him pick it up :)

You cannot help but smile when flipping through the messages, making sure to save both Jason’s number and ridiculous selfie to your contacts list. You fire off a quick thanks text to Misty before you settle in to figure out the best reply to Jason.

You’re a good teammate and a better friend. I would also make him squirm for a bit too, little shit deserves a bit of discomfort.

I appreciate that, Jason – thank you. I know better than to judge a book by its cover, but it’s hard when the Cliffs Notes versions are face up all over the place. Plus, a lady can never be too careful.

Want to try lunch next week, the three of us? I can’t remember what your upcoming game sitch is like, sorry. Maybe PS214? Something good that’s not too fussy, but chill. Plus, they should have enough options for whatever your nutritionist wants you boys to try to stick to or options to totally cheat out on.

I’ve got some flex in my schedule for lunches, my later afternoons get to be what’s stickier.

You know they were having a team dinner, so you don’t expect a response right away, so you pull yourself together to wash up and get to bed. You wake up to a flurry of more texts the next morning, plans for lunch Monday their practice and a video clip of the two of them, which was utterly ridiculous and adorable at the same time. It eased your tensions just a touch, but lunch would be the kicker.

“There’s my favorite foodie,” Phil the manager says, hugging you immediately. “I was so happy to see your name on the reservations. Is this a work thing or a pleasure thing?”

“Little of both, I’ve got two possibly three of Dallas’ favorite hockey team joining me which is why I asked about the back-corner alcove,” you explain. “But I also want to taste some of the new things you’ve been floating both at the bar and on the menu. Nothing formal yet, but I’m thinking of trying to pull together something around new happy hour approaches.”

“I think one of your lunch companions just walked in,” Phil responds, as you catch someone walking towards the two of you from the corner of your eye. “I know him and his wife, they’ve been in a few times. Hey Jason, nice to see you.”

“Hey Phil, wasn’t sure if you’d be here, good to see you. You’ve met one half of my lunch date already?” he shakes Phil’s hand before reaching for yours.

“She and I run in the same circles, mutual friends, some projects that have crossed paths,” Phil adds. “We’re waiting on one more, yes?”

His phone trills, “It’s Segs, he’s parking now and apologized for being late. He had to let the pups out because his dog sitter couldn’t get there early today.”

“I was early, force of habit, so no worries,” you reply. “He’s going to be pretty much on time in the grand scheme. Plus, I got some actual work done talking to Phil before you got here, so it’s all good.”

“Jason, you best not be trying to steal her from me already,” Tyler claps his shoulder before setting his eyes on you. “You’ve got someone waiting for you at home.”

You can’t help but half roll your eyes and half chuckle, “Nice to officially meet you, Tyler.”

He reaches out, his hand easily dwarfs yours, “You too, Clementine.”

“If you are all ready, we’ve got the table you asked for set,” Phil nods to the right, into the dining room.

“You were mentioning your work when I came in?” Tyler questions as you all sit down.

“I guess you could say I’m a lifestyle writer, mostly food and drink but I’ve dabbled in some travel,” you say. “I started out with my own blog back when I was in college trying to figure out what I wanted to do with life and it kind of got a following from there. I refuse to say influencer, cause no I’m not. Not my schtick. Actual writing pays the bills, not sponsored Instagram or blog posts. I refused to let my baby No Fork become something tainted like that, I think why it became so successful.”

“Wait, wait. You’re A Girl With No Fork? Seriously, my wife is obsessed with your insta page and the blog,” Jason exclaims. “She’s going to lose her ish that I’m having lunch with you.”

“Still blogging but keeping that a little more separate now a days. There’s more bylines with Infatuation, Food and Wine, a good deal with some the local papers. I may have a piece end up with Bon Appetite if this pitch I’m working on comes to fruition,” you explain, taking a sip of what Phil just placed in front of you. “Trying to keep a little of that anonymity left to keep Fork as respected as it is. Your wife and I need to brunch at some point then.”

Phil comes by to ask about any allergies or dietary restrictions, the rest is up to him and the chef, and you know you’re all in good hands.

“So, a pretty girl with a unique name,” Tyler leads. “Feels like there’s probably a good story there.”

“I was a surprisingly early baby, literally my Mom went into labor at 35 weeks and in an orange grove. That was her craving when she was pregnant with me, a ton of citrus. Hence the name,” you smile. “It’s rare I hear anyone other than her use my full name anymore. Even my pen name for my byline on pieces uses my initials. Friends mostly call me C or Em.”

“No Emmy?” Tyler questions.

You shake your head, cheeks flushing. You’ve never allowed that by anyone; not that anyone has ever tried that out for size. It always felt to too special to you, wanting to hold on to that for the right person.

“Let me see these puppies that made you late,” you divert.

“Once you get him started on the three stooges, you cannot go back,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you smile, making grabby hands for his phone. “Come on I know you’ve got a ton of photos and videos on there.”

“They’re definitely a handful, and not so much puppies anymore. Though Gerry would fight me on that, he’s the baby,” Tyler grins wide before pulling up a video of three dogs running around like crazy in what looks to be his backyard pool.

Lunch was more of the same, good food, good conversation and a bunch of joking around. Smart play by Jason to recommend it this way, he’s as much of a sweetheart as his texts made him out to be and helps ease some of the worries you had about Tyler. And Tyler, you found yourself gravitating to him a lot more than you thought you would. You all didn’t realize it until the shift change was happening how long you actually spent in the back booth. As you’re saying goodbye, hugs are passed around between the group of you this time.

“We’re keeping you around by the way,” Tyler whispers in your ear. “Welcome to the crew.”

You fall into a quirky but easy friendship with Tyler and Jason after that, eventually Jamie too once the boys drag him to one of your tasting outings. It evolves quickly from random texting to grabbing meals and drinks, hanging out after games, even meeting Tyler at the dog park to finally meet his trio of crazy pups during one of your crazy timed breaks in your schedule that matched up before he needed to get into his pre-game routine.

Gerry is running amok hopping around with a German Sheppard while Cash just wants Tyler to throw a stick for him to fetch repeatedly. Marshall, however, has taken residence with his head in your lap.

“I know your younger brothers are insane,” you coo, rubbing the chocolate lab’s ear as he nuzzles into your thigh. “I’m sorry I have to leave you with them in a few.”

“So soon?” Tyler asks, tossing Cash’s favorite stick a little father. “You like just got here. He also just doesn’t cuddle like that with anyone. Feel special, so you shouldn’t leave him either.”

“Only a quick break today. Deadlines looming and a bourbon tasting that need to get done if I’m meeting you guys later after the game,” you explain, fingers digging into Marshall’s fur again.

“At some point you do need to come to a game,” he sasses as Cash comes barreling into his legs, Gerry not far behind. “I know you’re a hockey fan, you can’t hide that Em.”

“Perhaps maybe,” you tease, rolling your eyes sticking your tongue out at him. “Ok Marsh, I’m sorry buddy but I gotta go.”

Marshall just slides his head further into your lap, while now Cash head butts your free hand as Gerry crashes into your legs.

“I’m so sorry boys, we’ll have another playdate soon I promise,” you call to them as you pet all their heads.

“Where’s my goodbye pets and love?” he cheekily leans his head towards you.

“Oh Ty,” rolling your eyes as you get up.

You lean in as you were going to kiss his cheek, but you just tweak his nose and flip his snapback off, “See you tonight superstar.”

Misty is thankfully behind the bar again tonight at Oak and Cork, except this time you’re in the middle of the crazy group instead of the far end of the bar.

“You hitting that yet?” Alex grins wiggling his eyebrows and nodding to where you’re leaning against the bar talking to Misty while she makes your drink.

Tyler shoves his teammate, “Dude.”

“First off, don’t be crass. Em is in the damn room. And that’s a no by the way,” Jason rolls his eyes at Alex after handing off glasses to the two of them. “He most definitely wants to; I think that she does too. They just won’t actually talk about it.”

“She sent you reckless slut shots, I think you can talk to her about fucking,” Alex replies, taking a pull from his drink.

“Emmy. She’s not just some random girl to dick and dump, Rads. Fucks sake,” he sighs, hand threading through his hair as he looks over in your direction where you’re talking with Jamie, Joe and his wife.

“Emmy, eh? That speaks volumes. Just ask her already,” Jason interjects. “We’re all tired of your crank ass. I’m going to find my better half.”

“He’s right,” Alex taps his glass against Tyler’s. “Go to her. Ask her. Kiss her. Less cranky, more goals, more fucking.”

Tyler shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He snags a bottle of beer from one of the buckets left out on the bar for the group before he looks for somewhere to take a breather. You catch him stalking off to the patio, amber glass clenched in his hand with his brows knitted together.

“He ok?” you ask Jamie, pointing towards the door where Tyler’s walking through.

“That’s not a good Tyler face,” he sighs. “I should…”

“No, stay. I’ll go check,” you interrupt, polishing off your martini to head outside.

“Hard to have congratulatory drinks when the first star of the game is hiding out on the patio,” you call out.

He shrugs, not turning around at first but you can see the tension across his shoulders even through his dress shirt. You take a couple steps out towards him.

“Hey, come on. Can’t be that bad. Right? Nothing’s wrong with the pups? Your family?” you tread carefully not knowing what could have happened between the dog park and that moment.

He turns around slowly, not looking up at first.

“Tyler, what’s going on?” your concern lacing through your voice clearly.

“I still think about that night here, you know?” he starts, placing his bottle on the railing next to him before leaning back against it. “I was intrigued, girl at a bar alone on a Friday night. Gorgeous one at that. She kind of saw right through me but dished it back unexpectedly and pretty well. Then, then that damn chaperoned lunch. Kind of just rolled from there.”

“Ty, what are you saying?” you need to make sure where he’s going with this.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, it’s exhilarating and unnerving,” he fights out, coming off the railing. “I still think about kissing you, wanting that, all the damn time.”

“Tyler,” you begin, trying to move closer.

“Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Tyler fights out, hands flexing at his side but looking you straight in the eye.

You can see the clench of his jaw clearly from there, the fire he’s holding back in his eyes. Your breath catches, your heart skips and your stomach flips.

“What if I’m ok with that?” you whisper, slipping an inch closer.

“I need you to be sure, Clementine,” he looks at you carefully, pupils flicking wider.

“Clementine? Really Tyler?” you try to tease to lighten the thick air around the two of you.

“Emmy,” he exhales deeply. “Don’t. Please, not tonight. Not now.”

You nod once he opens his eyes, stepping closer.

“Use your words, Emmy,” he murmurs, one hand grasping your hip while the other comes to cup your cheek, thumb trailing across your skin. “I need to hear you say it, babygirl.”

You’re distracted for a moment, having him that close. His words swirl around your head, your senses are slightly overwhelmed by him. His cologne lingers in your nose and makes your eyes flutter.

“You don’t need to placate me though, I’m a big boy,” he says softly. “Friends is better than nothing.”

“I wouldn’t,” you jump in carefully. “It’s why I waited, why I’m saying yes now to you Ty.”

Tyler pulls you forward and claims your mouth. His tongue wicked, swiping at yours. Your hands slip up behind his neck with fingers tangling in his hair at the nape. You lose sense of time, all you can do is sink further into the kiss, and into him, until you’re out of breath.

“You taste like those damn orange martinis you love. I like it,” he sighs, knuckle trailing against your cheek. “I’ve never felt possessive, but fuck. The thought of anyone else sipping your sugar after that makes me see red, Emmy.”

“Is that the ass backwards Tyler way of asking me out?” you tease, popping up on your toes to nip at his bottom lip.

He surges forward and knocks the breath out of you with another bruising kiss.

“Come to my game tomorrow, wear my jersey. Let me show you off properly, let me take you home after, breakfast with the dogs on the patio in the morning,” he asks, this time his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. “And the game after that and the next one after that, the next weeks and months ahead. Let me show you that I’m not that reckless slut you may think I am. You make me not want to be.”

You smile, nodding and pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

#tyler seguin #tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin writing #tyler seguin fluff #nhl fic #nhl fluff #hockey fic #hockey imagine #juliaswinterwriting

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

cross me

pike jj x reader (plus cody and tyler)

in which your boys have your back

based on the song cross me by ed sheeran, chance the rapper, and pnb rock

JJ hated when you were seeing other guys. It cut into his time with you and in his personal opinion, none of them deserved you, your time, or your affection. He’d watched you go through hell with boys in his frat and in others. He’d seen you crying over them, raging over them, and embarrassed by them (though you shouldn’t have been, they weren’t worth it).

What JJ didn’t know was that you were never really happy with any of them. They were placeholders for the day you managed to work up the courage to ask JJ out. Every guy had something in common with him. The same build, same hair color, same blue eyes, etc. You didn’t even notice it until your roommate set you down and pointed it out.

One afternoon, you were in JJ’s room getting ready for a date. JJ was laid on his bed, hands behind his head, watching you focusing on not getting mascara in your eyeshadow. He laughed at your facial expression, “You look dumb as fuck,” he joked.

“Maybe so, but I look better than you ever could, so I’d hush it if I were you.”

“You’re right,” JJ conceded, content to give you the win, “So, who are you going out with tonight?”

“Some guy in my Calculus class, his name is Danny.”

“Sounds like a douche.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“True, but I know your taste in men.”

He wasn’t wrong. They were normally arrogant assholes, questionable taste for sure, but they kept things interesting at least. Before you could answer, you got a text from the guy coming to pick you up that he was outside the house and you sighed, capping the mascara, “Fuck, he’s here and I’m not ready.”

JJ sat up, “He’s not even coming to the door?”

“Don’t think so, they rarely do.”

He looked really bothered and stood up, “I think I’ll go have a talk with him.”

“JJ,” you warned.

Waving away your concerns, he walked toward the door, “Just want to meet him. If you start dating him, he’s going to be around anyway, may as well get to know him.”

There wasn’t really much you could do to stop him, you weren’t even dressed yet, so you resigned yourself, “Yeah, just don’t scare him away before we even go out once.”

JJ walked out the door into the crisp air, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and he regretted not bringing a jacket. He came to a stop at the car parked right in front of the house and knocked on the window until the boy rolled it down, looking confused.

“What’s up, bro, I’m JJ.”

“Um, hey, I’m Danny.”

“You’re here for my girl?”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “Your girl?”

“Yeah, you’re taking her out tonight.”

“Oh, um, yeah, guess so. Didn’t know she was seeing someone, sorry.”

“No, we’re not…we aren’t together, she’s my best friend.”

Danny gave him a weird look and crossed his arms, “She’s never mentioned you.”

JJ tensed defensively, “Doesn’t matter if she has or not. Just know, that if you hurt her, in any way, you’ll be answering to me.”

“Bro, chill, it’s not that serious.”

“Bro,” JJ mocked, “it is that serious. You fuck with her and you’re fucking with me, so I’m telling you, don’t.”

Danny rolled his eyes, “Whatever dude, jealousy isn’t a good look.”

“It’s not jealousy, it’s loyalty, and if you can’t spot the difference now, you’re in trouble.”

Before Danny could answer, you came speed walking out the door. JJ whirled around and smiled at you, “Lookin good, bud.”

“Always do,” you joked back.

He walked you around to the passenger’s side of the car and opened the door, shutting it behind you softly while Danny watched, weird look on his face.

“Have fun,” JJ told you, in an almost mocking tone, and you just missed him point two fingers at his eyes and then at Danny. You did notice Danny tense and followed his gaze to JJ who was standing innocently, hands back in his pockets.

“You alright, Danny?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you told him with a grin.

Tyler

Tyler normally didn’t pay attention to petty shit at parties, but there was something about the way the group of boys was talking, glancing at you and your roommate cleaning house at beer pong, every so often. He slid over closer so he could hear.

All he heard was “hot piece of ass” and “bet she gets around” and “Maybank has a claim on her, but I heard he’s not doing much about it.”

Tyler stiffened and asked, “Who are you talking about?”

The boy closest to him jumped, “Oh, no one.”

“I know you’re lying, so I’ll ask again. Who are you talking about?”

The boy stuttered, “Um, it’s not really important. It’s just like, locker room talk, you know?”

Tyler sighed, “Yeah, well we don’t talk about women that way here, so you’d better knock it off or I’ll knock you out.”

“Just as bad as Maybank,” one of the boys on the outskirts of the group mumbled but Tyler heard him.

“Say that again.”

The boy looked uncomfortable, but he squared his shoulders, “I said, just as bad as Maybank.”

Before Tyler could say anything, you and your roommate let out a loud yell, and you said “Get the fuck out of here, how many times do I have to beat y’all before you realize you suck!”

Your roommate pulled you away from the table, sufficiently tipsy and well on your way to drunk, and passed you off to Tyler with a, “Bro she’s getting messy and my boyfriend is picking me up in a few minutes.”

You leaned into him, reaching for his beer. He handed it to you with a chuckle and you drained it, setting the bottle on the table near him.

Tyler wrapped an arm around you, “You good, babe?”

“All good, could use another drink though. You gonna be my partner now?”

“No. But I will keep you company.”

“Fuck yeah,” you cheered, “my best friend.”

You were too focused on Tyler to hear the boy, but Tyler heard the mumbled, “So they pass her around then. How do I get in on that little friend-cest action?”

“Show some fucking respect,” Tyler spat at him, finally having heard enough.

Your eyes widened at his hostile tone, “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, dismissing it, but one of the boys spoke over him, “What’s it gonna take to- “

Another guy clapped a hand over his mouth and said, “Nope, we’re not doing this, he’s drunk and he’ll regret getting his ass kicked in the morning.”

You blinked up at Tyler, “Is he being a dick?”

“He is.”

“Ah, men.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, but don’t worry, I won’t let them say shit about you.”

You wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled, “My hero. I know you’ve got my back.”

“I do.”

“Now, hero, you down to go get more drinks?”

“Lead the way, I want nothing more than to be your bartender for the night.”

Cody

When you showed up at the house, in tears, the last person you wanted to see was JJ. The girl he’d been seeing had been sending you shit on Instagram, for no goddamn reason other than that she was just fucking mean.

Cody was leaving when you arrived, and he stopped as soon as he caught a glimpse of your face. He put both of his hands on your shoulders, “Bro, what’s wrong.”

“Fucking Brooke is what’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think, “Who? Oh, the Phi Mu that JJ’s seeing?”

“That’s the one,” you confirmed.

Cody squeezed your shoulder, “What happened?”

“She’s been harassing me on Instagram and shit. I don’t know, it’s been a long fucking morning and I go on Instagram to see a DM saying none of your friends actually like you, you piece of shit and it was just too much.”

“The fuck?” Cody asked, holding his hand out for your phone.

You handed it to him, and he unlocked it with his thumb, scrolling immediately to your Instagram. As he read, his grip tightened around your phone, and when he tried to hand it back, you pushed it away tiredly, “Keep it honestly, I’m so tired.”

Cody slid it in his pocket and nodded, “No class for me, we’re going to get lunch.”

“No, don’t skip class for me.”

“Attendance isn’t mandatory, trust me, it’ll be fine.”

You sighed and followed him to his truck. Throwing your bag into his back seat, you buckled up, holding your hand out for his phone to plug into the aux. Glancing at him, you asked, “What are you feeling?”

“Not picky.”

“Sad playlist time,” you muttered, scrolling through Cody’s Spotify to find where he’d followed your playlist.

Hitting shuffle, Cigarette Daydreams started playing and you threw your head back as Cody started backing out of the driveway, headed to your favorite burrito place. When he parked, Cody looked over at you, “Honestly, you’re fucking awesome, don’t let these girls get you down, yeah?”

You teared up a little and got out of the car, wiping your eyes. He threw and arm over your shoulder and the two of you walked toward the door. Unfortunately, stepping inside, your eyes immediately found JJ and Brooke sitting in your usual booth.

Cody tensed, “Gonna tell them to fucking move.”

“No,” you told him, “let’s just get it to-go and we’ll go somewhere else. She’s ruining the vibes here now.”

With a laugh, Cody nodded, “Sure, we’ll just ignore them.”

It didn’t work because JJ saw you both and caught your attention as you tried to exit, “Guys, come sit?”

“No,” you told him, pulling Cody behind you.

JJ looked hurt and the girl smirked at you, “Let her go, JJ, it’s fine.”

“Hey,” Cody cut in, “don’t you dare speak to her.”

Eyes widening, JJ looked between the three of you in confusion, “What’s going on?”

“Ask Brooke,” you spat at him and started walking toward the door again.

Cody pointed at her, “I’m telling you, knock that shit off. We’re in college and you’re acting like a high school bully.”

“Need people to fight your battles now?” Brooke called after you.

You didn’t even bother to answer her, just kept walking, not really in the mood to deal with any more of her shit. Faintly, you heard Cody tell JJ, “Your little girlfriend is talking shit. Tell her to knock it off.”

With a slight smile, you pushed the door open, Cody at your heels. Grabbing his hand, you squeezed, “Thanks for the backup.”

“Well, someone’s gotta do it,” he said, squeezing back, “may as well be me.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #frat!jj #pike!jj #cody and tyler #jj maybank fic #outer banks #outer banks fic #obx

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agoodgoddamnshot · 3 years

Text

Hollow - Geralt/Jaskier [G]

[Gif isn’t mine]

Warning: Injury Recovery

Word Count: 4769

Originally posted on my AO3

His lessons in Oxenfurt have become afterimages; faint pictures and muffled sounds, none of which is sturdy enough for him to recall. But he can remember one thing a lecturing poet had said to them. They had been learning about sonnets, about the boring compositions of them and all of that technical nonsense. And Jaskier’s mind was still groggy and addled from a night spent drinking and lounging in another student’s bed. He had just enough wherewithal to grab what clothes he needed for the day and stumble his way down to the lecturing halls, still numbed and stumbling and squinting against the midday sun that was just so damn bright.

‘Tis a Fearful Thing to love what death can touch.

And Jaskier still wishes that he had thought of it. It’s a line that has stayed with him throughout the years that have trudged by. He’s generous with his love – he’s loved a lot of people in all different capacities. He’s loved some for a night, others for years. And then there’s Geralt; luring the kind of love out of him that hurts his heart when he’s with the Witcher and hurts when he isn’t; when he wakes in the soft light of morning to a dozing wolf in his bed, hair askew and all form of his usual frown eased from his brow, his chest tightens and his breath catches, and he reaches out to gently dust the backs of his fingers along the Witcher’s cheek, smiling delighted at the soft snuffling sort of noise that comes out of Geralt.

He loves Geralt so much, his heart might just burst. Where it all changed, he isn’t quite sure. Maybe it was in the cave of Dol Blathanna, hearing the Witcher speak with such reverence to the elves. Maybe it was out on the road where he broke half of his bread loaf to give to a struggling mother and her children, displaced from their home by warring factions to the south. Maybe it just came gradually, like seasons blurring into each other.

Days and nights spent on the road would surely kill them both. Monsters or wayward human bandits could take his Witcher while Jaskier’s heart might just give out from worry. Winters at Kaer Morhen were when he could let his shoulders drop and his breathing steady. A keep of Witchers kept monsters out of the mountain and the forests that wrap around it like a shroud. In those short days and long nights, he keeps his Witcher to his bed and cards his fingers through his hair, murmuring soft praise underneath his breath.

But he’s not a fool – no matter how many times Geralt tells him that he is. He knows what a Witcher’s life is like.

He’s in Oxenfurt when it happens. When word reaches him about the extent of Geralt’s injuries, he just about manages to slump into a waiting chair, rather than collapse on to the floor. The student who brought him the news, a shy teaching aide he’s worked with for the spring, quietly slips out of the room, gently clicking the door shut behind her. Jaskier’s hand trembles as he reaches out for a nearby goblet, knocking back the rest of the wine left inside. It does nothing to dull the sour feeling of panic wringing his throat.

He can’t get the Brokilon Forest quick enough.

Listen, he knows. He knows that Geralt is a Witcher. He’s going to get injured, or even killed. Jaskier has been there to stitch him back together for most of his scars. If Jaskier had any say in it at all, he would want death to come to Geralt when it’s quiet and he’s lived his life as much as he can; when Geralt would be asleep, curled around him, with years of life behind him. And Jaskier would follow, because there’s no life without Geralt.

The dryads that meet him at the outskirts of the forest are kind to him. Either they scent the slight scent of elven blood on him or they understand the panic in his eyes as he scans the forest floor for his Witcher. Eithnė leads him to a pool. Jaskier struggles not to catch his foot and stumble over every tree root breaching the ground, stretching out and entangling with others. Eithnė moves through the forest easily, as if the vines and branches part for her.

By the time they reach the ponds in the inner-most part of the forest, Jaskier’s heart struggles to jump out of his throat. His breath catches at the sight of the Witcher, swaddled between thick, moss-cushioned roots, caught in a deep sleep, but with mumbled nonsense slipping out of numbed lips. Jaskier staggers over to his side.

Eithnė stays away, regarding the two of them with an unreadable expression. “He came to us screaming,” she says levelly. “I’ve never known a Witcher to be in so much pain.”

Jaskier’s chest tightens. He flattens a hand along Geralt’s cheek, gently brushing his thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone. His murmurings are slurred, nothing at all making sense. Even the words that Jaskier manages to catch mean nothing to him. Memories, maybe. Geralt mutters about towering walls and how they fall, at fire catching in the great hall and how there’s too many of them to hold back. He twitches underneath Jaskier’s touch. “Hush, my darling,” he whispers, “I’m here. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

It does nothing to quell the small frown knitting his eyebrows together. Geralt grunts and huffs out a breath. His eyes dart underneath his lids.

“The waters of our forest aren’t kind to a Witcher’s mind,” Eithnė says, her words managing to break through the rush of blood through Jaskier’s ears. “But they will heal what they can. Once he’s awake, you may go.”

He’s always been careful with how dryads phrase things. It’s a little known fact to be careful with how you speak to a creature of elven blood, and how it speaks to you. Physically, Geralt is healed. Deep injuries that shattered his knee and elbow welded back together again, as did the muscles and skin surrounding them. Apart from the scars that refuse to fade, one wouldn’t notice a thing. On that front, he can thank Eithnė that yes, the waters of her forest healed what they could.

But he’s not cured. The pain stayed. In the contracts taken after, travelling from town to town; in each battle faced because he just wants to protect Ciri from everything out to take her away from him; in the last few years where Geralt came into possession of a villa tucked away in the Toussaint valleys, the pain stayed and festered and crippled him.

When they settle in Toussaint, an estate gifted to Geralt for all he’s done for the kingdom and its people, Jaskier can at least think of somewhere safe he could corral the Witcher should the cramps come back.

On their travels, when they could wander past Nenneke’s temple, she gifted him glass vials and clay pots of all sorts of things; oils and salves to seep through the Witcher’s skin and try and work out the worst of the pain, should it flare up. With all the years that have drifted past, they’ve both learned what can set the pain off. Sometimes it’s random. Sometimes they’ll be strolling around the vineyards or through the streets of a neighbouring town, and it will flare up; a niggling pain at the back of his mind, poking and prodding at him to get his attention. The only thing Jaskier can do is get them both back to the villa as quickly as he can before bones groan and muscles seize.

Jaskier’s ears twitch at the sound of metal clattering to the ground. He pauses, his quill’s tip hovering over the page. Blots of ink fall, staining the paper, but he doesn’t care at all. The house is quiet, just for a moment, before Jaskier hears it. A grunt and a rumbling curse underneath the Witcher’s breath.

His quill and notebook are pushed to the side, entirely forgotten about, as soon as he stands from his desk. The villa itself is sprawling, with more land than they know what to do with. Grapevines occupy most of it, tended to by the staff living down in the main courtyard. The presence of staff, people who bow their heads slightly whenever he passes, and the paved cobblestones that wind through the estate, it all reminds him of home. But this place is nothing like Lettenhove. This place has love and warmth seeping out of the walls.

Jaskier’s office is upstairs, alongside his and Geralt’s bedroom, a guest’s room, and the Witcher’s own study. Jaskier doesn’t have to think about where the Witcher could be – he just follows the sound of grunting curses, all bitten off in an attempt to stay quiet.

He finds Geralt in his study, leaning against a dresser with his good arm braced on it. Two short swords sit sprawled on the ground, long forgotten about. Jaskier doesn’t bother with knocking on the wooden portal of the door. From how pinched the Witcher’s face is, how he’s curled in one himself and his weight is pressed down on one side, he knows exactly what’s wrong.

Winter can crawl in, even this far south. In a place scorched by the sun, where wine flows out of vineyards and the frosty, howling winds of Kaer Morhen are long forgotten about, the weather can still change. Nipping winds can tumble down from the mountains, chilling the valleys and those in them. And with the weather steadily changing in the past couple of weeks, Jaskier spent his days waiting for this to happen.

He clicks his tongue. “Come here,” he says, walking to the Witcher with one hand outstretched to set on his back.

Geralt can’t help the small flinch that darts through him, trying to get away from Jaskier’s touch. Some self-preservation that had been embedded into the Witcher’s bones; something Jaskier still can’t unravel even after decades spent together. He doesn’t think any badly of Geralt for it. He can only imagine the pain that scorches through him.

Geralt’s arm is bent at the elbow, curled in and nestled against his chest. It’s going to take a while to get it relaxed enough to pull away and straighten out. But they have all the time in the world now, nestled away in a place like Corvo Bianco. Jaskier glances down. Geralt’s knee fairs that bit better, though it’s still not great. Even though he can’t see anything, no kneecap swollen or muscles twitching, he can see how Geralt is loath to put any weight on the leg.

Jaskier gentles a hand on to the small of Geralt’s back. The muscle underneath his palm is taught and tight. “Geralt, my love,” he murmurs, “come with me. We’ll get you sorted.”

If he had more time, he might have moved them to their room. He could have peeled Geralt’s loose shirt off and discarded his boots and breeches and lain him down on their bed, and set about his work there. But Geralt’s study will have to do. A room with a desk and chair, bookcases lined with worn-leather tomes, and walls decorated with weapons long retired.

Geralt levels his breathing as much as he can. One golden eye meets his as he looks sideways. His jaw is tight, almost bulging, and he swallows and nods. Jaskier has spent years softening the edges of the Witcher, but being wrung through with pain will only bring back the wolf’s bite.

The desk is nearby, just a few short shuffling steps away. Jaskier nods to the chair. He doesn’t have to say anything, but the order is perched on the tip of his tongue. Sit.

Geralt sighs, knowing that trying to argue with the bard is pointless. Moving is slow and methodical. He drops with the chair with a pained huff, most of the groan swallowed back down as he tries to settle himself. Jaskier won’t touch him just yet, not until he’s relaxed somewhat. But with the ripple of pains tensing and straining through him, he isn’t quite sure how long the bard will wait until he sets his hands on him.

Jaskier leaves him for a moment, darting back to their room to gather a small leather-entombed box. Nenneke’s last gift to them before they dug roots into the estate. Everything they will ever need for Geralt’s pains is in here, alongside Nenneke’s own recipes for more should they run out. Everything is easily available; herbs that Jaskier has seen to growing in one of their gardens. Anything else, like extracts and oils, Yennefer had offered to fetch for them. Being only a portal’s call away, it’s handy. And though she’ll always have an air of being put out by the requests, asking her to halt whatever it is that she’s doing and go and fetch something for them, she’ll always do it.

When Jaskier steps back into the study, he’s met with the sight of Geralt trying, and failing, to pick apart the laces of his shirt. His bad arm is still curled against himself, and his other hand trembles with frustration and pain. The look spread across his face only shows his struggle.

Jaskier’s voice is nothing more than a gentle murmur. “Here,” he says, crossing the room in a matter of strides. He sets the box on the table and sets about deftly undoing the laces.

Geralt glances up. Jaskier stands close by him, with the bard standing in the gap of his spread legs. His fingers twitch. If his hand wasn’t doing such a wonderful job of bracing his own elbow to himself, he would reach out, curl an arm around Jaskier’s waist, and hold him close.

Jaskier arches an eyebrow at him, probably reading everything on the Witcher’s face. “Let’s get this off, hmm?” he rasps. Wrangling the shirt up and over himself takes longer than it should, and some small part of Geralt scoffs at how difficult something like disrobing himself has become. He snaps back at it, a low growl caught in his throat. With the shirt over his head, and his arm freed, Jaskier drops it on to the table. It’s forgotten about as soon as it’s out of sight.

Jaskier will deal with Geralt’s knee later. His elbow seems to be giving him the worst trouble. Nothing needs to be said. Sometimes they’ll talk – though it would be mostly Jaskier, rambling on like always about something or other. On other occasions, like now, silence will settle over them and stay.

Jaskier wets his hands with oil, eyeing where he’ll need to work first. Geralt’s arm is cradled against him, with his elbow and forearm already tight. He breathes for a moment, reaching up to dust his fingers over the round of Geralt’s shoulder. They’ve done this hundreds of times, out on the road and in their home. Geralt knows what to do. He still looks away, his interest caught by some small framed picture of Ciri perched on his desk.

When Jaskier smoothes his palms over Geralt’s muscle, he can feel the Witcher biting down on a groan of pain.

Nenneke gave them everything they could ever need. Pungent, sharp smelling lotions and oils and salves, all of them wrinkling Geralt’s nose. They sour the roof of Jaskier’s mouth, so he can only assume what an onslaught of scent it is to the Witcher. But they work, one way or another. He spends a few minutes slowly working the worst of the tension out of Geralt’s shoulder, just enough to try and pry his elbow away from his chest. Geralt focuses on his breathing, biting down on every whine of pain that threatens to slip out of his throat. It’s just the two of them here. If he wanted to show how cracked and vulnerable he’s become, he would. But the Witcher is a stubborn old bastard and will insist everything is absolutely fine.

Jaskier sets one hand to Geralt’s shoulder while his other catches his forearm, just underneath the point of his elbow. His muscles there are so tight already, trembling in Jaskier’s palm. He levels his breathing with Geralt’s, trying his best to ease the worst of the tension out of him. “I’m going to move it now,” he mumbles, “alright?”

Geralt’s jaw tightens. He nods.

It’s slow, and he doesn’t stretch Geralt’s arm further than it needs to go. But he needs it away from the Witcher’s chest to massage the pain out. Geralt’s breath hitches as Jaskier stretches his arm towards him. Geralt’s other hand, resting on the lacquered surface of his desk, curls into a white-knuckled fist.

Jaskier’s tongue sours. He hates his Witcher being in so much pain. He hates the fact that to ease it, he has to cause him pain. The sharp citrus scent of the oil doesn’t help, but he can already feel it warming underneath his palm. He’ll massage as much as he can out of Geralt’s arm before he brings him to bed.

When he’s pulled the arm away from Geralt’s chest, Jaskier’s hands move. One catches the back of Geralt’s upper arm while the other sets about spilling a sliver of more oil on to his forearm. He knows what to do. Nenneke took him aside and showed him everything she could about how muscles work. The bones themselves were shattered and beyond repair – until the dryads poured forest water on to him, at least. The bones knitted back together, as best as they knew how to, while muscles and skin tried to do the same. The dull ache always remained.

Jaskier catches Geralt’s eye. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, like he always does whenever he’s about to touch the Witcher’s elbow. It’s painful and the sounds that wring out of Geralt’s throat are awful, but it needs to be done.

Geralt grunts, turning away again. Get on with it.

The worst of the tension sits along his upper forearm, where the muscle twitches and bulges in some attempt to keep the worst of the pressure away from his elbow. When Jaskier sets his oil-slickened fingers to the muscle, it tenses underneath him. Geralt’s breath hitches, but he bites down on whatever groan threatened to slip out of his lips. Jaskier glances up at him, frowning at how tightly the Witcher’s brows are pinched together. He hates this. He hates this so much.

Another apology mumbles out of him. It’s entirely lost on Geralt – the Witcher digs himself so far into his own mind, trying to distract himself and dull the pain. But Jaskier has made a habit of it. He apologises for every twinge of pain he causes Geralt in an effort to help him feel better.

His digs his fingers in.

Geralt grunts, sucking in a harsh breath.

Jaskier’s fingers smooth out where he dug in, working the muscles as firmly as he can in some effort to try and get them to relax. It used to take what seemed like hours. He would wince and almost cry at every sound of hurt that choked out of Geralt in those first few days at Nenneke’s tower. The priestess, normally so brash and brave with her words and quips with them both, only encouraged him to keep going. He can’t do this by himself, bard. He can still remember the warm tone she used with him; one that he probably would never hear again, and if he s much as mentioned her softness to him, she would cosh him silly.

Jaskier smoothes his palms up and down Geralt’s forearm. He’ll have to look at the Witcher’s knee at some point. Glancing down at it, he notes how Geralt hasn’t even bent the knee. His leg is splayed out straight in front of him. Jaskier clicks his tongue, but says nothing.

His work is quicker now. He knows what muscles and tendons cause the worst of the pain, and just how stubborn they can be. Pouring a trickle of more oil on to Geralt’s arm, Jaskier digs the heels of his hands into the muscle, working out the last irritating bit of tension.

Geralt’s breathing has levelled out. Jaskier watches him out of the corner of his eye. The worst of his grunting and hitching breath has stopped, thank the gods. Tremors still rattle through him, but he’ll deal with them when he can.

Jaskier hums. “That’s most of it,” he mumbles, mindful of the quiet that has fallen over both of them. He grabs a dry strip of cloth and wipes most of the excess oil off of his hands.

A low rumbling sound slips out of Geralt’s chest. Before Jaskier can glance down, one good arm coils around his waist, drawing him close. Geralt’s head falls forward, his forehead pressed against the middle of Jaskier’s chest.

“Silly man,” the bard admonishes, a small smile tilting the corner of his lip. He bends down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Geralt’s head. He lingers, scenting the faint scent of himself on the Witcher. It’s hard to know where one of them ends and the other begins these days. They wake up and go to sleep entangled in each other, a mess of limbs that neither of them knows how to get out of. Even in the days, when they would pass each other out in the estate’s trails on walks or in their own home, shoulders brush and fingers hook together.

His chest tightens. One last kiss is pressed to Geralt’s head before the bard leans away, reaching to the desk to root through the box. He caps the vials, putting them away and taking a mental note of how much he has left. Maybe enough for two more bouts of pain, but that’s it. He’ll have to take a trip down to the gardens where he can gather more herbs.

He pats Geralt’s good shoulder. “Come on,” he says, “off to bed with you. For an hour, at least.”

Geralt peers up at him. The look the bard levels him with makes his point stand firm. I’m looking after you and you have no say in this whatsoever.

Not that Geralt would argue with the bard anyway. He gathers what he can of his breath.

When he’s ready to move, he nods, sluggish and letting Jaskier help him up from the chair. His knee still twinges and a whorl of pain digs deeper. Jaskier threads Geralt’s good arm over his shoulder, bracing Geralt’s weight on him. “Let’s go,” he mumbles, guiding his Witcher back to their room. It’s not much of a journey. Though the estate sprawls out in all directions, seemingly reaching for the horizon, their house is small. Perched on the biggest hill, it catches the morning and evening sunlight. Glancing outside, Jaskier spots the sun. Some thick, rain-heavy clouds have rolled in from the neighbouring hills, but for the most part, midday sunlight still streams through, desperate to reach the valleys underneath.

Geralt hates wasting daylight. Jaskier could argue with him; he wasn’t going to be much help around the estate anyway with his pain flaring up. And even then, he’s sure that Barnabas and the other tenants would have glowered at him if he tried to set one foot into the vineyard. Either way, Geralt is going to rest.

The Witcher perches at the edge of their bed, huffing out a sharp breath. He reaches out, catching the bottom of Jaskier’s shirt with his good hand. He tugs the bard over. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling Jaskier until he’s gathered against Geralt again.

Jaskier huffs a short laugh, curling his arms around Geralt’s neck. He’s mindful of the man’s shoulder, giving it as wide of a berth as he can while he’s ensnared. Geralt hugs him to him for a short, quiet moment, letting their breathing and heartbeat match. The quieter moments are Jaskier’s favourites. He can recall most of the nights spent in rowdy taverns, luring smiles out of his Witcher while he leads a chorus of crowing singing, or lain out underneath the stars, huffing short laughs at Geralt’s stories about the constellations, stories he remembered Vesemir telling him when he was a boy. But he’ll take every quiet and still moment he can get with Geralt; swaddled away from the world, gentled in his arms and where Geralt can actually relax.

The Witcher’s stretched out leg catches his eye. “Do you want me to see to your leg?” Jaskier mumbles into Geralt’s hair, kissing where he can.

“Elbow was worse,” Geralt grunts. Sleep starts to tug at him, luring him further down. He’s growing heavy in Jaskier’s arms. He helps the Witcher down on to the pillows. A collection of them are bundled up by the headboard of their bed; Jaskier grabs what he can and makes a support of sorts for Geralt’s arm. Geralt lets him work, keeping his gaze on the rafters above them.

And Jaskier knows what’s swirling around in that head of his.

Before it can fester, Jaskier cuts in. “You were injured,” he says lowly, mindful of the way sleep seems to be stalking in from the shadows, ready to pounce. “A terrible thing happened to you. But your life isn’t over.”

Whispers brush the shell of his ear.

I feel useless.

I can’t do anything anymore.

What’s the point?

You shouldn't have to coddle me.

I'm not made of glass.

Geralt is a stubborn old bastard. Jaskier has watched him clench his jaw and go out on hunts while they were still trekking through the wilds; taking contract after contract while his muscles and joints screech at him to stop. Even when adjustments were made to his armours, metal supports bound to his thigh and arm to stop the strain of swinging a sword around too much. He adjusted everything around the fact that he was hurt. His fighting style had to change. He couldn’t turn and weave through opponents like he used to. But he kept going.

Jaskier thins his lips. The argument already festered between them. It was a long time ago. He couldn’t stand aside and let Geralt’s own mind rip him apart. And while he’s better now, still frustrated but not as angry, he can stumble.

All Jaskier can do is lend support to get him back on his feet.

Geralt watches him, a small smile ghosting his lips. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his eyelids slipping closed. It’s a struggle to try and open them again, but before he can, Jaskier leans over and pecks a kiss to his forehead.

“Get some rest,” he mumbles against Geralt’s skin, palming a gentle hand over Geralt’s chest. Within seconds, the Witcher is gone – lured under by sleep. It’s a strange feeling, being left alone in the room once sleep has claimed the other man. But Jaskier catches the blankets and draws them over Geralt, mindful of his arm. He covers what he can, staving off the worst of the chill that will ultimately try its best to slip through the cracks in the walls. He’ll get B.B to see to the last of the upkeeps before the winds grow too harsh. Too many nights spent in Kaer Morhen’s halls, huddled with a Witcher under the sheets for warmth, have left him with a not so favourable impression of winter. Though maybe, being as far south as they are, the weather might be kinder. He hopes so.

Glancing up at the slumbering Witcher swaddled in a sea of blankets and furs and sheets, Jaskier's chest tightens. He loves Geralt. He loves him so much it hurts. He pads back over to his side of the bed, parting with a gentle kiss to the Witcher's forehead. Geralt barely twitches. Trying to pull himself away is agony. He could call on the staff to pick up his last remaining duties. They would be glad to help the master Witcher and Jaskier in any way that they can - something they keep telling the pair of them. But his mouth sours at the thought. It's midday, leaning more into the afternoon. Geralt will sleep for an hour, or however long he wants to, and then they'll have dinner. The house will be warmed by the hearths and all remnants of pain wringing through the Witcher will hopefully have been wrung away.

Jaskier's chest lightens at the thought.

105 notes · View notes

thefunkao3 · 2 years

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I'm Always Hungry For You || 18+

Pairing: Lee Donghun/Kang Yuchan | Chan

Group: A.C.E

Rating: E (Explicit)

Word Count: 1.9K

Key Words: Vampire, Fluff and Smut, Clothed Sex

Date Originally Posted: January 3, 2021

Link:

It was later than Yuchan would like to be out walking alone, but he had missed the last bus home and his phone was dead, so this was his only option. He shivered as a cold breeze blew and pulled his coat tighter around himself. All of his scarves had mysteriously disappeared, so he was Ieft with a frozen neck every time he went outside in the winter.

He hiked his backpack higher on his shoulders, looked both ways down the road, and crossed the street. As soon as he was safely on the sidewalk, a new chill crept up his spine. But this wasn't a shiver of cold, no. Someone was watching him. He could feel eyes on him. He walked a bit faster and heard footsteps behind him. He walked even faster and so did the footsteps. His breath caught in his throat and his pulse began to race.

Strong arms latched around his waist, “Baby, why are you running away from me?"

Yuchan spun around and slapped at a warm chest, "You asshole, you scared me!"

His boyfriend grinned, cheeky smile lighting up the dark night. Donghun pulled him in close and nosed along his cold neck, then kissed Yuchan's cheek.

"I'm sorry, baby. But you weren't home and wouldn't answer your phone," Donghun said.

"My phone died and Byeongkwan hyung and I worked really late on our project. I didn't realize how late it was, and by the time I did the last bus was already gone. Forgive me?" Yuchan asked.

He made sure to pout at Donghun and batted his eyelashes. Donghun sighed and kissed Yuchan. Yuchan sighed into the kiss, savoring the warmth of lips on his. Donghun nipped at his lips and Yuchan giggled at the sharp sting.

"Are you hungry, hyung?" Yuchan asked.

Donghun nodded, "But not if you're tired. I can wait till tomorrow. I can handle it."

Yuchan sighed and pecked Donghun on the lips, "Silly boy. If you're hungry you should eat. Come on, let's go home."

Yuchan slid his hand into Donghun's and began to lead him home. Donghun lifted their hands and kissed the back of Yuchan's. Yuchan smiled. Donghun was always so worried about Yuchan's health, and it was sweet, but not when it came at the expense of his own health. Yuchan needed his boyfriend in tip-top shape. He could handle being a little sleepy if it kept his boyfriend at 100%.

The walk to their house was cold and slow, but not unpleasant. It was like the long walks they would take in the spring under the shade of Donghun's favorite umbrella, except during winter. Yuchan pointed out a dog sitting in a window and Donghun stopped to coo at it, only stopping when Yuchan managed to drag him away.

Yuchan loved their home. It was a large, Victorian-style home on the outskirts of Seoul that had been in Donghun's family for thousands of years. When he and Donghun had gotten serious, Yuchan had moved in. Luckily, it coincided with when his lease ran out so he could move in, no strings attached. Jun hyung and Sehyoon hyung had been sad to lose his portion of the rent (and him too, probably they were friends after all), there was just something different about coming home to the love of your life.

He stepped into the house and immediately sighed at the warmth that washed over him. He dropped his backpack to the ground and put his coat on the rack, closing his eyes and stretching his limbs.

Donghun laughed, “Were you cold, baby?”

Yuchan frowned and turned to his boyfriend, “Yeah, I wonder why. It could have something to do with all of my scarves going missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“What, no, what would I do with your scarves?”

Yuchan gripped Donghun by the collar and pulled their bodies close together, “You didn’t take them and hide them somewhere so you could see my neck?”

Donghun chuckled and pressed a kiss to Yuchan’s neck, grinning as he shivered at the touch, “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

Yuchan allowed Donghun to mouth and kiss at his neck for a little while before he pulled away. Donghun pouted and Yuchan kissed his lips, pulling Donghun away from the doorway. Donghun followed him, arms wrapped around Yuchan’s waist.

“Come on now, hyung, didn’t you say you were hungry?” Yuchan asked.

“Are you sure?” Donghun asked.

“Yes hyung, I’m sure.”

Yuchan wished his boyfriend would be a little more assertive when he was hungry. He knew that it was because Donghun loved him and didn’t want him to get hurt, but it was dangerous for Donghun if he was hungry for too long. Yuchan wanted his boyfriend happy and healthy, and with him for a long time. He could handle a little light-headedness and lethargy for that to happen.

Yuchan pulled away from the hug and grabbed Donghun by the hand. Yuchan pulled him up the stairs, holding tight so that Donghun wouldn’t try to pull away. Yuchan knew that his boyfriend was much stronger than him and would have been able to pick Chan up and throw him down the stairs if he wanted, but Chan knew that would never happen. Donghun was always so careful with him, so gentle as if he was made of porcelain, something to be cherished and protected.

“Did you eat? Are you hungry?” Donghun asked.

“Byeongkwannie hyung fed me tteokbokki, you have nothing to worry about,“ Yuchan answered.

Yuchan stopped climbing the stairs and turned to lean his face close to Donghun’s. He rested his arms on Donghun’s shoulders and leaned close to whisper in his ear, “You know, the sooner you eat the sooner we can have dessert, right?”

Donghun gathered Yuchan in his arms and carried him up the stairs, moving at a quick pace. Chan laughed at the familiar feeling of weightlessness and held on tight to Donghun’s shoulders. Donghun thundered up the stairs as Yuchan giggled, strong arms holding tight under his thighs. Yuchan kissed wherever his lips would reach, cold skin delicious under his tongue. Donghun growled, fingers digging harshly into the meat of Yuchan’s thighs.

“Hurry hyung,” Yuchan said.

Donghun reached the top of the stairs, raced down the hallway, throwing open their bedroom door when he reached it, Yuchan giggling all the while. Donghun threw Yuchan onto the bed, and he bounced when he landed. Donghun crawled onto the bed and fell beside Chan onto the pillows. Yuchan climbed onto Donghun’s lap and smiled as Donghun’s strong hands gripped his waist. Donghun’s eyes were dilated as he looked up at Chan and Chan licked his lips at the hungry look in his eyes. Yuchan pulled his shirt over his head, goosebumps erupting all over his skin as Donghun dragged his hands along his sides.

Yuchan shook his body and leaned down to whisper in Donghun’s ear, “Eat up hyung.”

Donghun grinned and with a sharp noise, large fangs grew from his mouth. Yuchan shivered as the sharp bone glinted in the light. Yuchan let his head fall back and Donghun kissed along his neck, slowly. And then, those sharp fangs sunk into Yuchan’s neck. Yuchan gasped at the sharp sting.

“I’m good hyung, keep going, I’m okay,” Yuchan whispered.

Donghun hummed in response and began to suck the blood from Yuchan’s neck. Soon, Donghun’s cold skin began to warm under Yuchan’s skin, the result of finally feeding after so long without. He placed a hand on Donghun’s head and pet his hair, letting out a groan at a particularly hard suck.

“There you go hyung, you were so hungry weren’t you? But you’re doing so good for me, eating so well,” Yuchan murmured.

With each suck, Yuchan became a little more light-headed, a haze clouding his mind. Donghun pulled him tighter onto his lap, and Yuchan felt his pants begin to tighten. Yuchan whined and rolled his hips against Donghun’s and hissed at the delicious friction.

Donghun grabbed his hips and grinded up against him harder. Yuchan whined again and Donghun finally pulled away from Yuchan’s neck. His lips were covered in blood and Yuchan could feel the red liquid dripping down the side of his neck. Donghun leaned back in and licked along the puncture wounds, helping to heal them quicker.

When Donghun was finally done, Yuchan pulled Donghun by the neck of his shirt and kissed him. His mouth tasted like iron but Yuchan didn’t care, too used to the taste of his own blood for it to bother him anymore. He pressed their hips together, grinding against Donghun with abandon. His pants were unbearably tight and his skin was on fire, and nothing felt so good as Donghun rutting up against him.

“Hyung please, more please, please,” Yuchan whined.

Donghun gripped his hips tight and controlled Yuchan’s wild thrusting, “There you go baby, hyung’s got you. I’m so close, are you close baby?”

Yuchan could only nod, his ability to form words having finally left his mind. Donghun reached his hand up and gripped Yuchan’s hair, yanking on the strands and punching a whine out of Yuchan. He came hard with a whine, whimpering as Donghun groaned under him.

Yuchan collapsed onto Donghun’s chest who stroked a comforting hand down his flushed and sweaty back, “There you go sweet boy. You were such a good boy for hyung, so delicious.”

Yuchan blushed at his words and rolled over onto his back. He pouted up at Donghun, “Dirty.”

Donghun smiled and leaned down to peck him on the lips, “I know baby, I’ll get you all cleaned up.”

Donghun turned to get tissues and Yuchan began to unbutton his jeans. HIs fingers were nearly jelly but he managed to unbutton them, though he couldn’t get them down his legs. Donghun laughed as he saw him.

“Need help, honey?” Donghun asked.

Yuchan tried to pull his jeans off again before he let his arms flop down to his sides and nodded. Donghun smiled and pulled the jeans from his legs, only struggling momentarily at the ankles. After he had successfully helped Yuchan, he undressed himself. Yuchan had to force himself to look away, too tired to do anything else. Donghun began to clean them up, and despite Yuchan’s plans, his cock twitched when Donghun ran the tissue over his sensitive head.

Donghun laughed, “Are you ready again?”

Yuchan flopped his head to the side to look at Donghun, glaring at his boyfriend’s cheeky smile, “No. Too sleepy.”

Donghun threw the tissues away, “I know baby, I’m just messing with you.”

He grabbed two pairs of boxers from their dresser and dressed himself, before manhandling a pair onto Yuchan. Donghun crawled onto the covers and pulled Yuchan under with him, wrapping Yuchan in his arms. Yuchan snuggled close into Donghun’s warm skin, sighing at the kiss Donghun pressed to the side of his head.

“How do you feel sweetheart, you okay? Do you need anything? Hungry? Thirsty?” Donghun asked.

Yuchan shook his head, “Just tired. Feel good.”

Donghun nuzzled along Chan’s neck, “Thank you, baby, I love you.”

Yuchan smiled, “I love you too hyung.”

Yuchan shut his eyes and tucked his face into Donghun’s chest, allowing himself to breathe in the scent of his cologne. Donghun’s arms were wrapped around his waist, strong and sure, and he knew that the safest place for Yuchan in the world was here, in this bed, with this man. And so, he fell asleep.

#fanfic #fanfiction #a.c.e #a.c.e fanfiction #dongchan #donghun #chan #kang yuchan #lee donghun

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astoldbygingersnaps · 3 years

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#wip wednesday

it’s me, ya boy, back with Yet Another New Project!

this time, i bring you the beginnings of a oneshot dreamt up by alexa continuing to fan the flames of my shiita brainrot. enjoy!

There are very few moments in Itachi’s life that he can point to and say that he felt truly content. Many of them are from his childhood, small snatches of memory that involve his mother’s cooking or his brother’s laugh. One or two even contain his father, tiny blips of interaction where the man’s unbearable expectations and slavish dedication to duty had slipped away to reveal the human heart beating deep within him. But Itachi would be lying if he tried to claim that the majority of those moments did not include the friend that is currently sitting beside him.

This, however, is not one of those moments.

Currently they’re on the outskirts of Konoha’s vast forests, the coverage against the afternoon sun thinning as the leaves wither in the crisp, autumn air. A gentle breeze rolls through, not harsh enough to chill but the current rakes its way through Shisui’s hair, making it even more unkempt than usual. Itachi’s keenly aware of this fact, and of Shisui’s general presence, as the man has himself wedged close to Itachi, his head resting on Itachi’s knees as he prattles on about Itachi’s least favorite subject: his love life.

It’s a fascinating contrast, the image of Shisui thoughtlessly draped over Itachi as he drives the knife that is his sexual history deeper and deeper between Itachi’s ribs. But it’s not a wound that Itachi holds Shisui accountable for, not really. Painful though it may be, it’s not as if Shisui is thoughtless or intentionally cruel; it’s merely a side-effect of Itachi’s most closely guarded--and frankly most terrifying--secret.

Often, Itachi has considered telling Shisui the truth, fantasized about what the various outcomes of such an action would be. Still, each time he’s come close to confessing, the words sitting precariously on the very tip of his tongue, Itachi swallows them down like a bitter taste. After all, there’s just no neat and tidy way to say, “I’ve loved you since we were children.” So, Itachi says nothing at all, day after day, month after month, year after year.

“Are you even listening to me?” Shisui asks, in the whiny tone of voice he always gets when Itachi isn’t giving him his full attention. On any other person, it would be an annoying affectation, but Shisui has a way of making even his worst traits charming.

Yet another truth Itachi refuses to tell him. “I’m riveted,” he replies dryly, never taking his eyes off the book in his hand, fighting a smile as Shisui groans in frustration.

“You’re a terrible friend,” Shisui says, his faux-offended expression lingering on the edge of Itachi’s vision, and in response Itachi lifts his book to block out the sight of Shisui completely.

“The worst,” Itachi hums in agreement, finally giving into a laugh when Shisui grabs the novel he’s been only mildly interested in and chucks it out of Itachi’s reach. Raising an eyebrow, Itachi looks at the discarded tome, its pagings rustling in the breeze, before glancing back at Shisui. “A bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How come we never have these conversations about your romantic woes?” Shisui retorts, and the question is so unexpected and uncomfortable Itachi feels the neutral mask of his features start to crack.

“What?”

Watching him critically, Shisui sits up, resting his cheek in his palm as he leans more of his weight across Itachi’s body. “I’m serious. All the times you’ve had to listen to me bitch and moan about this stuff, and not once have you ever chimed in with problems of your own. What gives?”

“Perhaps I don’t believe in kissing and telling,” Itachi replies, tone more clipped than he means it to be. Though he doesn’t resent Shisui for his curiosity, a part of him can’t help but be annoyed that somehow such a finely trained officer doesn’t realize he’s stepped on top of a massive landmine.

Rather than take a moment to read the metaphorical room, however, Shisui presses on with his typical single-minded focus. “Oh, come on,” he argues. “It’s just us, Itachi. You know you can tell me anything.”

Despite his best efforts, Itachi can feel his stomach clenching at the proclamation. For a moment, he weighs the pros and cons of what admitting the truth would be, and is displeased to discover what the best option is. “There’s nothing to tell,” he says, shrugging as if the words don’t mean a thing, and carefully keeps his eyes off Shisui’s face.

The funny thing about Shisui is that, for all his gifts with the Sharingan’s manipulations and illusions, he’s a shockingly open book outside of his profession. Surprise paints itself across his face, all wide eyes and an open mouth, and against his will Itachi feels a flush burning at the base of his throat. “Wait, seriously?” he asks, voice low as if they’re trading secrets of national security rather than engaging in petty gossip.

In response Itachi tugs his legs out from under Shisui, taking an unkind satisfaction in his friend’s grunt as he hits the ground. Still, the movement is, in Itachi’s mind, a tactical retreat; there’s no need to feel physically trapped when Shisui already has his metaphorically pinned down. “I’m gonna kick you.”

“Don’t,” Shisui mutters, whiny again, as he grabs Itachi’s leg with his trademark speed. The touch burns against the bare skin of his ankle, and Itachi shakes him off with a scowl. “I’m not being an asshole--”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Itachi cuts in, annoyed.

Graciously Shisui ignores that and continues, “It’s just surprising, you know? Because you’re… Well, you.”

Itachi feels his stomach twist. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shisui looks at him, and absurdly Itachi feels like an opponent on the wrong side of Shisui’s kunai. “Nothing, I guess,” he eventually offers, quietly, and the statement is so outside of Shisui’s typical cheerful, confident persona that Itachi can’t help but feel profoundly unsettled.

The truth is he’s kept himself guarded in this fashion for a variety of reasons, some he can admit to Shisui and others he’d rather be disemboweled than confess to another living soul. Part of his reluctance stems from the plain fact that he’s simply too busy with other matters to commit to dating of all things. Between his obligation to his village, his devotion to his brother, and his own ambitions at eventually securing the Hokage’s chair, he doesn’t have time to waste on a frivolous matter like courtship.

He also knows that, somewhere down the line, his father will no doubt want to marry him off, eager to pass on the talent and promise of the esteemed Uchiha prodigy. Frankly, the man would have probably done it sooner if he hadn’t felt some gratitude towards his son for working with Shisui to end the feud between their clan and the village, thus granting the Uchiha a much higher standing in Konoha. But at twenty-three, Itachi knows he can’t count on his father’s good graces much longer, meaning the inevitable grows that much closer with each passing day.

The other issue is… a bit more delicate. Itachi’s far too pragmatic to invest in the concept of virginity as something sacred, something special to be shared with exactly the right person at exactly the right time. But it does strike him as unfair to go to bed with a person and offer them a lie instead of himself, knowing that for every moment spent together his thoughts will be firmly locked onto someone he can never have.

Rather than reveal any of that, however, Itachi simply says, “Sex has never been a very high priority of mine.”

“That’s kind of depressing,” Shisui replies. “You should get out there. Play the field, have fun.”

Itachi’s just irritated enough at his continued cross-examination of his personal life that he asks the unthinkable: “Why, are you offering?”

In hindsight, Itachi supposes that after carrying the burden of his feelings for so long such a slip-up was inevitable. But it feels less like an understandable mistake and more like a battlefield miscalculation, one dangerous enough to leave him wide-open to a counterstrike.

That in mind, perhaps it should come as no surprise when Shisui counters, ”Do you want me to?”

to be continued.

#my fic #this is uh. very different than what i usually write #so i'll be v interested in what the feedback will be when it's posted in full #until then!

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 272: (Directed by Michael Bay)

Previously on BnHA: The My Child Soldiers Academia arc finally started to live up to its name as Tokoyami became the first (but I assure you not the last) victim of traumatic mental scarring courtesy of Horikoshi’s sick games! So he and Dark Shadow showed up to stop Dabi from murdering Hawks and were all “please don’t kill our mentor.” Dabi was all “AH BUT YOUR MENTOR KILLED SOMEONE ELSE, AND ISN’T THAT JUST LIKE THE HEROES THOUGH, THEIR HANDS ARE SO STAINED WITH BLOOD” and then he tried to set both of them on fire several times in succession. Hawks was all “Tokoyami just run away while he’s in the middle of his five-hour sermon” and so they tried but Dabi followed them! But then Geten was all “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE... CHILL” and fucking froze everything for no discernible reason, and Tokoyami fled the building with an unconscious Hawks in tow as the battle raged on. The chapter then ended with Gigantomachia being all “I smell my master!” and standing up, hahaha oh fuck.

Today on BnHA: Well you guys are not going to believe this, but it turns out that Tomura waking up is actually a very bad thing. A “worst case scenario” if you will! Because, get this, he has a quirk that can destroy anything, which spreads from whatever he touches to fucking everything and everywhere else. Gosh, if only we’d known about this since like 35 chapters ago. If only we’d had a spy among the villains who could have warned us, and three entire months to plan our attack, and literally every single hero in Japan on call to help us when the time came. Anyway so you’re really going to be shocked by this I’m telling you, but it turns out that when a crazy powerful person who wants to destroy everything finally wakes up, he immediately starts destroying everything with his crazy power. So X-Less dies and Crust dies and everyone else runs, and meanwhile the kids, who are on the outskirts of the city finishing up the evacuation, stand there in shock as the plot rampages toward them ready to swallow them whole. The chapter ends with Deku powering up to FORTY-FIVE PERCENT YEAHHHHH, and oh shit. Finally we’re doing this.

I am not even remotely done with all the shit I’m supposed to be finishing up, but fuck it, I need a break and reading the new chapter is by far the funnest thing on my current to-do list, so!

OH SNAPS MY BOY HAS FINALLY OPENED HIS EYES

IT ONLY TOOK HIM... OKAY LOOK I’M NOT GOING TO GO BACK AND COUNT ALL OF THE CHAPTERS, BUT LET’S SAY... FIFTEEN. ...HUNDRED. CHAPTERS TO FINALLY SNAP TO IT AND COME JOIN THE PARTY. BUT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT! PROBABLY. AHH LET’S JUST READ ON

-- ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohm --

[puts on glasses and unfolds map while poring through a mess of scribbles on post-it notes] -- hold up, if my calculations are correct, I’m pretty sure “somewhere a bit further from the hospital” is, in fact, where a certain THREE TROUBLE-PRONE DISASTERS ARE CURRENTLY HOLED UP. AHHH

can it really be true. are we finally rejoining our protagonist and his buddy cop friends after 97 years. how will everyone react to Deku reacting to Tomura waking up ahhhh

so Burnin’ is yelling at the civilians to let them know if they have any family or friends who need assistance evacuating

god I hate the fact that this is a fucking understatement

they’re not taking any chances after Kamino and Fukuoka huh. fool them once, shame on you. fool them twice, oh shit. but there will not be a third time! no one fucking destroys three cities in the span of six months on their watch, no sirree

(ETA: ...)

lol the kids are trying to get the elderly citizens on a bus to evacuate, but a lady is trying to give them candy and Kacchan and Ochako are of two different minds on whether or not to accept

Kacchan is absolutely right about Ochako’s motivations, but in her defense, who the fuck turns down free chocolate

IIDA!!

FUCKING CHRIST JAPAN IT’S 200 YEARS IN THE FUTURE AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T SWITCHED TO DIGITAL RECORD-KEEPING? WHY IS THIS THE MOST REALISTIC THING IN THE ENTIRE MANGA TO DATE. MY GOOD SIR, IIDA IS LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH, ALL RECORDS AND BUILDINGS ABSOLUTELY CAN AND WILL BE COMPLETELY OBLITERATED IN THE CARNAGE TO COME. I’M SORRY TO BE THE ONE TO INFORM YOU OF THIS, BUT DAMN IT SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

(ETA: I sure hope these poor bastards had good insurance.)

also. this man here who looks like Beaker from the Muppets, who presumably has the power of Doing Anything Those Wacky Flailing Inflatable Tube Men That You See Outside Of Car Dealerships Can Do. ...yes. that’s it. that’s an intentionally incomplete sentence with a subject but no predicate. I just feel like we should all sit and stare at him for a good thirty more seconds before continuing on with our lives

OH MY GOD

THEY’RE EVACUATING THE PETS TOO AHHHH. EXCUSE ME CERTAIN SOMEONES WHO THINK ALL HEROES ARE “DIRTY.” I SEE YOUR ARGUMENTS AND RAISE YOU THIS ONE SINGLE PANEL. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. NOW WHAT DABI. AT A LOSS FOR WORDS I SEE. YOU JUST SIT AND PONDER THAT FOR A WHILE

is... this... a space shuttle man

is this literally just a man with a Boeing for a head. FUCKING QUIRKS THOUGH!!!!! ~*~wild~*~

OH MY GOD AND WE’RE BACK

time for some HORCRUX SHENANIGANS!! IS YOUR LIGHTNING BOLT SCAR BURNING DEKU. I CAN’T BELIEVE HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED IS BACK AHHHH

so now he’s slightly hunching forward with his hands pressed together and Todoroki is immediately sensing that something is wrong ahhhhh

(ETA from like 5 days later: I had that as “Tokoyami” instead of “Todoroki” for the better part of a solid week you guys. SHOUTO YOU WERE GONE FOR SO LONG I FORGOT YOUR FUCKING NAME whoop.)

here come dat angst. here comes Horikoshi’s hand beckoning the trio closer and welcoming them to the pain parade ahhh. from now on that’s how I’m ending all my sentences btw. it just seems right. ahhh

OH MY LORD OH MY

ladies and gentlemen, YOU WERE SAYING DEKU DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LATELY? HE’S NOT INTERESTING ENOUGH AS A PROTAGONIST, IS HE? well maybe that’s because Horikoshi has been saving this one juiciest of plot nuggets for a rainy day precisely like this! BRING ON THAT CHOSEN ONE ANGST AHHHHH

anyway so yes it is indeed OFA speaking to him in the form of Lil Bro a.k.a. the first user

lol I’m trying to think of commentary but it’s difficult seeing as I’M ALREADY SCROLLING DOWN TO IMPATIENTLY READ THE NEXT PAGE

lmao the fuck

okay Princess Zelda. can you get any more flowery with those descriptions though. A TRANSCENDENT BEING. A SUPERLATIVE ENTITY. A SUBLIME, PREEMINENT ORGANISM. FREED FROM ITS SHACKLES. UNFETTERED BY ALL EARTHLY LIMITATIONS

OH MY GOD

it absolutely boggles my mind that this guy is somehow still alive. ??! how many chapters and panels has it been now. he’s like the goat in the t-rex pen in fucking Jurassic Park. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET EATEN ALREADY

...

do you... want a blanket. ...?

(ETA: do you ever just. wake up and you’re like “ah shit it’s cold”, and then you destroy an entire city. mm.)

do you all suppose X-Less is fully aware that he’s about to die though? he hasn’t even moved. I imagine that sitting next to Tomura actually is much like sitting next to a giant t-rex. like he has to know there is no getting out of this alive. poor guy

damn Mic isn’t even looking back he’s just running back into the main room where all the rest of them are

wow this fight is still going on

I don’t know why, I just expected it to all magically be over all of a sudden now that we have bigger things to worry about. do you guys remember when we were all worried about the High End Noumus being the biggest threat. hahahahaha

(ETA: moment of silence for ALL OF THE FUCKING HIGH ENDS lmao. that did not go how I expected that plotline to go AT ALL, but at least we got the best fucking battle in the entire manga out of it.)

jesus CHRIST ENOUGH WITH THIS

WE GET IT TOMURA IS DANGEROUS AND SCARY AND EVIL AND AWAKE!!! JUST PLEASE GET TO IT ALREADY GOD I’M BEGGING YOU

FINALLY

goddammit. my reaction to this should have been much more “!!!” and “OH SHIT”, but he dragged it out so much that my initial reaction was one more of relief than horror. maybe it’s because of the way I read the chapters, constantly pausing to do commentary as I go along, but whenever a chapter has a ton of panels of people just staring into the distance awash with dread, it really stands out to me lol. there’s only so much I can write about that kind of thing. ah well at least we’re finally getting to the action

I genuinely can’t tell if Ujiko is frightened that he’s about to be disintegrated by Tomura’s quirk, or excited that Tomura is awake

maybe both lol. well don’t worry you’re not gonna die that easily, much as you would not catch me complaining if you did

thanks Gran

lol where was all this speed throughout the rest of this arc though. “we’re only competent when the plot necessitates it” huh. is that right

oh shit it’s destroying the rest of the lab

those are all of Ujiko’s collected quirks, right? someone please tell me if this is a good or a bad thing. on the one hand if they’re all destroyed it means Tomura can’t get them and Ujiko can’t make any more Noumus. but on the other hand this means they won’t ever be able to give them back to the original users (if any of them are even still alive). and also that’s a lot of evidence that’s being wiped out as well

oh shit they didn’t know about this?!

even after Deika City, you didn’t put two and two together?? even with all of Hawk’s intel?? what the hell did you think happened there?

well this explains why everyone was so la-dee-da-no-rush about capturing him though. well that’s on you guys. next time maybe don’t waste 20 minutes uselessly battling redshirt Noumus while Mirko has to do everything herself

anyway so I feel like people other than X-Less are almost certainly going to die here, and fuck. I’m not ready for any of this

AHH THE KIDS

BIT SLOW ON THE UPTAKE THERE KACCHAN LOL. FOR A MOMENT YOU HAD ME WORRIED THERE WAS SOMEHOW A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THREAT APPROACHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE, BEFORE YOU TURNED AROUND TO LOOK WHERE THE OTHERS WERE LOOKING

ALSO JUST A FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT SHOUTO’S DAD IS IN THAT HOSPITAL, ALONG WITH THEIR TEACHER! HERE. COME. DAT. ANGST

LOOK AT THIS CONSPICUOUSLY INTACT BUILDING AS IT STANDS THERE ALL OMINOUSLY WITH THE NEARBY BIRDS AND CRITTERS FRANTICALLY FLYING AWAY

I want to see it crumble so bad. now this is the kind of foreboding cinematic disaster movie bullshit I can get into

FFFF WHY IS THIS PANEL SO HARD TO SEE

THERE’S TOO MUCH CHAOS AND TOO MANY PEOPLE LOST AMIDST ALL THESE SHATTERING AND FALLING TUBES, BUT I NEED TO MAKE SURE EVERYONE IS SAFE AHHH

...okay so I see Ryuukyuu in the top right, and I think that’s RockLockRock on her back. Thirteen is clearly there in the bottom center, but I don’t know who that is next to them. and then of course Gran and Mic on the left. and a bunch of others spread out in various other places, but... where the hell is Aizawa??

OH THANK GOD

FUCK YOU HORIKOSHI, I KNOW FULL WELL YOU’RE NOT JUST GOING TO KILL OFF THE WORLD’S PREEMINENT DAD STRAIGHT UP OUT OF THE BLUE HERE, AND YET I STILL FELT ANXIETY AT THIS LAST PANEL. HOW DID YOU EVEN

BITCH YOU BETTER LET THE FUCK GO BEFORE I --

!!!

oh my god I gasped in real life. stop making me fear for the lives of main characters!!

he. he --. crust. he. ...

I literally stopped reading and had to stop and cover my mouth with both of my hands I’m

silence. no screaming. no flailing. no freaking out. just silence

shit. rest in peace you old sedimentary bastard. respect to you for saving the father of my children in your last fleeting moments. I still have not the slightest idea how you rose through the ranks to somehow become the sixth fucking highest rated hero (HERO BILLBOARD CHART, IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT. ARE YOU FEELING OKAY), but you sure did go out with style though

also this may be tacky of me to point out during such an emotionally charged moment, but one second Aizawa is wearing his goggles like normal, and the next they’re suddenly pushed up onto his forehead so we can see the anguish in his bloodshot eyes. there was no reason to do that other than angst and we all know it. so yes Shouta you dramatic bitch, I am calling you out. why Horikoshi felt he had to add to your many accumulated traumas is beyond me. you don’t deserve this and I am so, so sorry

OH GOOD I WAS JUST ABOUT TO ASK WHERE THE FUCK ENDEAVOR WAS

seeing as we just went over this with Gran, I will take the high road here and won’t ask why you’re only this fast now and couldn’t have been this useful this ages ago back before Tomura woke up. oh wait does sarcastically saying I won’t bring it up count as bringing it up. well whatever. middle road, then

sob I’m getting flashbacks to the end of Return of the Jedi when they’re all frantically flying out of the Death Star as it explodes

friendly reminder that Ryuukyuu, clearly the fastest one here despite carrying like 20 people, was number 10 in the rankings for some unknown reason. again, r.i.p. Crust you well-meaning geriatric soul

also just a stray thought, I hope it’s clear now why it was so important to give Deku those additional quirks. at a minimum he needs Blackwhip and Float just so he doesn’t instantly die the moment he’s in Tomura’s general vicinity. sob I’ve joked so much about flying quirks and here they are becoming fucking prerequisites now

anyway so Ujiko is mourning the loss of his lab, which again, good riddance mostly. but r.i.p. that evidence though

(ETA: nah the “total loss” part is referring to how the heroes fucked up so soundly and thoroughly. anyway no one would blame Mic if he accidentally dropped Ujiko in the midst of all this chaos, I’m just saying. I guess they need any intel he could still provide now more than ever though.)

OH MY GOD!!

LAUNDRY HERO WASH?! THIS SUDSY BOI CAN ACTUALLY KICK ASS WHAAAAT

oh my god oh my god it’s still spreading??!

fuck fuck fuck at this rate it’ll reach the kids

(ETA: that happened really fast actually.)

-- oh FUCK NO you had better NOT FUCKING TOUCH FUCKING PIXIE BOB, I WILL MAIL MYSELF TO JAPAN PANDEMIC OR NO PANDEMIC. DO YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN THAT SAYS “OFF-LIMITS.” RESPECT THE SIGN

SOB SHE’S SO BADASS BUT IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S STILL DISINTEGRATING FUCCCCCK. FUCK MY LIFE, FUCK EVERYTHING

AHHHHH

I can’t tell if her earthbending was able to stop it or not?? god help us all if it didn’t, I’m not even sure what else could stop it at this point

SHUT UP UJIKO!!

they really did. only to fuck it up completely at the finish line. well, the man most singularly responsible for it is dead now, again r.i.p. Crust you useless old legend

lmao despite myself

“by a miracle, or maybe through sheer will” even he acknowledges that Tomura waking up was basically complete bullshit. yes blah blah yadda yadda got zapped by some exposed wires explanation science. because we all know that getting electrocuted will fix you right up when your heart has stopped and you have completely flatlined. you can definitely trust Horikoshi on this and there’s absolutely no need to google how defibrillators actually work

also is he somehow wearing a cape now. again by a miracle or maybe through sheer will

YESSSSSSS

(ETA: one has to wonder what Ujiko’s plan was, assuming this scheme had actually played out. were they just banking on Tomura not waking up cranky and disoriented and wanting to test out his power. his quirk doesn’t exactly distinguish friend from foe here I’m just saying.)

the part of me that goes all “ooh ahh” when all the buildings explode in Independence Day is singing inside. but never fear, the rest of me is appropriately horrified though. what was that Burnin’ was saying about the city becoming a large-scale battle zone? sob

also this page sure serves as a nice refresher for exactly why Tomura Waking Up Was Bad, which was inexplicably a topic of some debate in recent weeks. yes in spite of everything the villains are still the bad guys who’d have thought. almost as if the purpose of humanizing a character is to show that they’re human, not that they’re right

WHAT’S THIS NOW???

WELL I’LL BE. IT’S BEEN AN EVENTFUL THREE MONTHS, APPARENTLY!??

HOOAHHHHHHHH

IT’S A BIRD IT’S A PLANE IT’S A BADASS OH SHIIIIITTTTTT

finally finally finally!!!!!!

THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN, REPEAT, THE SHIT HAS HIT THE PROVERBIAL FAN. THE PLOT IS FINALLY HAPPENING, REPEAT, THE PLOT IS FINALLY FUCKING HAPPENING AHHHHHH

and there is no one coming to save them this time. no one to arrive at the last second and say “it’s all right now because I am here.” they have to save themselves. they have to save everyone. the training wheels are finally coming off. the safety net has been removed. after 272 chapters, the story has finally reached a point where these kids, these children, who in spite of all they’ve been through have been protected and shielded from the worst of it up till now, will finally have to be the ones to save the day all on their own

and they are not ready. but also maybe they kind of are??! but they definitely are not. and oh god oh god oh god, FINALLY WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS. TIME TO FIX THE MESS THOSE SILLY GROWN-UPS MADE, CHILDREN. YOU GOT THIS

#bnha 272 #shigaraki tomura #midoriya izuku #aizawa shouta #ujiko daruma #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #if the next few chapters don't feature some kind of avengers-style epic team up pose I will sue #what has this all even been building up to if not that #remember that the kids are not allowed to die though horikoshi #remember what we agreed upon #you remember right #right #horikoshi???

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spinchip · 3 years

Note

i personally think u should write about the AU where Five was completed before the lab was destroyed. maybe a few moments where the ninja see how much Five truly cares for her brother?

A/n: this ended up being not what you asked at all akljnasdjlas sorry, I literally stopped it right before we see her interact more with the Ninja. 1500 words

When she’s turned back on, it’s to wreckage and loss. Her siblings are gone, the mechanics and programmers too scared to venture back into a lab that’s one gentle breeze from collapsing in the roof. Her home is a death trap- or a grave, the bodies of her siblings laid to rest in their docking stations.

Her creator, with her salt and pepper hair and her laugh lines and her brown eyes, is the only one brave enough to risk the carnage.

“There you are.” She says, taking Fives hands. The world is thick and soupy around her limbs and her head, she's not quite sure where she begins and ends, her start-up rushed and shoddy, “Come on, Five, come on.” she says it like a plea, the support beams around them creak ominously.

She is supposed to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Her creator is trembling, paper and salvaged hard drives and folders clutched under one arm, the other held fast to fives palm.

Five moves.

____

“What did you say your name was?” He asks, there’s a spark of something in his eyes that she cannot decipher.

“I didn’t.” She shoves her hands into her pockets, settling down next to him on the bench. It’s a secluded little thing, on the outskirts of the park near a walking trail, half-hidden in the shade of the forest closing in on them, “It’s Five.”

On her HUD, there’s a blinking warning.

Ice detected.

“It’s a unique name.” He remarks, pinning her with a calculating look.

She shrugs one shoulder, meeting him eye for eye, “I didn’t like any other names I’ve tried on.”

He’s right to be suspicious, of course, it’s not every day a random person came right up to an elemental master and made themselves at home. She isn’t scared of him, and he doesn’t seem to want to hurt her- or anyone, for that matter. He’s got a book in his lap and he’s holding a pen, and he doesn’t seem inclined to share what he’s been doing. He’s drawing. One day she’ll be lucky enough to see his sketches.

“Can I sit with you, Rudolph?” She asks.

“Of course, Five.” He nods, closing his book and putting it away. They sit in silence and watch the morning tick by.

She will watch him, just to be sure he isn’t a threat, and then she will move on. This is temporary.

___

“You are my longest friend, Five.” Rudolph says one day. They haven't seen any of the other Elemental Masters in awhile, not since her friend had stood up one day, from his home that was quaint and small and just big enough for the two of them, and walked out the door without ever planning to return. She had followed him, out onto his journey, dreading the destination with each step.

“And you are mine.” She tells him quietly, the snow crunches beneath their feet quietly.

“You have never lied to me, and in turn I have never asked you anything that would require it.” He stops walking, his old and wrinkled hands clutching at his walking stick as he turns to face her fully, “But I have always wondered what you really are. Do you think you could satisfy an old man's curiosity?”

She is as young as the day he met her, “You would be angry with me.” She tells him honestly.

“I won’t be, I promise.” His eyes twinkle, “As long as you promise to forgive my secret, too.”

“You’re hiding something from me?” Old protocols flare, suspicions she hasn’t indulged in years. She firmly clamps down on those feelings.

Rudolph chuckles, “You first, me last.” He resumes his trek, the snow soaking chill into his pant legs, and he shivers at the touch.

She hesitates, and then she follows.

And then she talks.

When she is done, he says, “I knew you stuck around because of my element, from the first moment we met.”

“i’m glad you allowed me to stay.”

___

“I will miss you.” She says honestly, sitting as his side in the little camp they’ve made. Silence stretches into the forest, the snow pausing it’s gentle travel to give them their peace.

He’s dying.

“Part of me will always be here, in Ninjago.” He nods to the snow around them, “You are not alone.”

the fire crackles and spits.

“I have been selfish.” he admits suddenly, “I promised you if you told me your secret, I would tell you mine- but when I heard about your programming, I withheld my truth because I was afraid you would leave me.”

She frowns, “I don’t understand.”

“I am not the Master of Ice. I have given my power away to a boy in birchwood forest, when you had gone to town to get us food.” He folds his hands over his chest, clutching his fingers together, “I never told you because I did not want to be alone. I’m Sorry, Five.”

Her HUD flickers to life, and she runs a scan she hasn’t had to run in years.

No Element Detected.

He hums in her silence, it’s a quiet sound in the dead of the night, the dying fire casting odd flickering shapes across his skin, “But your purpose has been evolving, you are not a machine like you think. I knew you were watching me, but I was watching you too. Somewhere along the line, you came to care for me, dear, and I care for you too.” He reaches out to take her hand, and he trembles from the cold, “I love you, my friend.”

She adds wood to the fire to hide the wet of her eyes, “I love you too, you know this.”

“I do. I understand now I would not have been alone.” His eyes close, “We are not alone.”

Five feeds the fire, and breaks camp in the morning, and doesn’t know what to do.

No Element Detected.

She needs to go to Birchwood forest.

___

She knows loss, and how much it hurts. She’s survived it once, she can survive it again.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves.

There’s a boy in birchwood forest who needs guidance.

Five moves.

___

She’d never been here, Rudolph and her having split up for a handful of days while Five resupplied in town. The snow is thick and deep here, she struggles to trudge through it.

Halfway into the forest, with the threat of Treehorns hanging around her head, Five feels a program that was never supposed to run ping gently in the back of her mind.

The world stops, and then kickstarts back as she races through the snow with fervor.

___

This is her first time waking up.

She’s been awake before, inside the computer, with people asking her questions and fixing her when her code hurts and breaks. This is her first time in her body. Her skin is silver, there are wires poking through, metal plates shifter and out of place. Her inner mechanisms in her chest are exposed, the blue glow from her core fascinating and welcoming.

She feels connections branching out from her mind, pings filling up her head, and she knows- it’s One, it’s two, it’s Three and Four-

It’s Zero, all of her siblings, she can feel their presence in her mind- it’s a basic thing, something that was maybe supposed to be developed into a wireless radio, but it doesn’t get that far before the lab is destroyed.

What's the use of it then, when she's the last one left?

___

She finds him sitting on his knees in the snow, on the outskirts of the forest. She’d nearly missed him in her desperation, he’s dressed in all white. It’s clear he’s been walking for a long while, his pants soaked through. He’s clenching and unclenching his hands, his eyes are wet.

He looks up at her, wide eyed and surprised, and she falls to her knees too, her strength leaving in one shocked rush- it’s him. It’s her brother, it can’t be anyone else, it’s Zero.

“I know you.” He says plainly, the familiar and comforting connection in his coding flaring to life.

She nearly can’t keep from crying, clapping her hand over her mouth to hold it in. she has to be strong, she has to be.

His eyebrows knit together, “I- I am Zane.” He tells her gently, clenching his fists on his thighs, unsure how to approach her emotional state, “I… I don’t remember anything else, i’m sorry.”

“You’re- it’s fine.” She sloshes through the snow to take his hands, holding them like a lifeline. She smiles and it’s the most genuine smile she thinks she’s ever had, if a little watery around the edges, “You don’t remember me, but I’m your sister, Zero. I’ll protect you. You’re not alone.”

He looks up at her with big doe eyes, and she nods, all determination and strength, “I promise.”

Her HUD flashes.

Ice Detected.

Thank you, Rudolph, She pulls her brother into a tight hug.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Protect him.

Her purpose is evolving.

___

When Wu comes, as she knew he would, he doesn’t recognize her. She didn’t think he would, he had been awfully self absorbed around the time she had been hanging around, too caught up in his own drama to pay attention to others. He asks politely to speak to her brother, she refuses, far less polite.

Zane has a nightmare about his own death that night, and Five wonders if she can survive it again.

In the backyard she used to share with Rudolph, she teaches her brother Spinjitzu, and hopes it will be enough.

___

A year later, three boys show up on her doorstep, and she knows she cannot keep him from destiny any longer.

But she sure can tag along.

#ninjago oc five #spinchip fic #ninjago au #AUAUAUAUUA #benniechu

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