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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

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Going Home (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Going Home Rating: PG-13 Length: 2400 Warnings: Angst and discussion of pregnancy complications, allusions to post-partum depression. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set June 1997. I call this chapter, Javier finally having an emotional breakdown. Summary: Reader gets discharged from the hospital and Javier finally snaps.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @longitud-de-onda @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @seeking-a-great--perhaps @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066

“Bruno says he was a little scared.” Josie explained as she pretended to walk the dog up the blanket between them.

“He was scared?” You questioned as you ran your hand down her back, tilting your head to look down at her. “There’s nothing to be scared of, babydoll.”

Javier had been wise to keep Josie out of the hospital with you until after they’d taken you off oxygen and no longer had sensors attached to your head. She didn’t need to see any of that shit. She was still too young to fully understand the situation.

All she knew was that she had a new baby sister.

“Uh-hu.” Josie nodded her little head. “But then he remembered that daddy was big and strong and he didn’t need to be scared.”

Javier was across the room, passing Sofía off to her grandfather. “What was that about daddy?” He questioned, hands on his hips as he approached your bed.

“Bruno was scared, but you’re strong daddy!”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Your mommy is much stronger than I am. If Bruno had something to be afraid of, she’s the one who comforted him.”

“Oh.” Josie said, whispering to Bruno. “Did mommy help too?” She pretended to bark his answer and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Javier reached out and brushed his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb brushing over the rise of your cheekbone. “You look better today.”

“Yeah?” You leaned into his touch, sighing heavily. “I feel better today.”

“You’ve got color in your cheeks.” Javier tilted his head as he studied your face. “And your eyes… still glad to see them.”

Your heart clenched at his words and you lowered your gaze to Josie who was currently walking Bruno up your arm. There was a part of you that was dreading the fact that you were going home. Going home meant having conversations you weren’t ready to have.

Life in the hospital sucked. Monitors beeping, nurses walking in — no one could rest in a hospital. No matter how many times they told you to get some sleep. Javier wasn’t sleeping. The recliner that Chucho was sitting in, feeding Sofía from a bottle, had been left untouched.

It was June third and you were fairly certain Javier had only gotten five hours of sleep since you went into labor. And it showed. There were dark bags under his eyes, his scruff had transformed into a patchy beard, and he looked like the experience had aged him five years. But it wasn’t just this experience weighing on him, you knew the heaviest weight was the guilt he tried to shield you from.

“This is my fault.”

You had heard him.

But the hospital wasn’t the place to confront him about his guilt. Hell, you doubted he’d even humor the conversation once you got home. He looked at you like a man who feared sending the woman he loved to an early grave.

Tomorrow you would be going home. The doctor was pleased with the results of your MRI and the PET scan. The seizure didn’t seem to have caused any lesions or long term issues for you to be worried about. Your blood pressure had stabilized nicely and you had a whole bag full of medicines that would be going home with you.

The doctor had even assured you that you’d likely be able to breastfeed by the end of next week. You just had to keep pumping to keep yourself from drying up. That was one of the many things that was keeping you going. You had breastfed Josie for almost two years and you had been looking forward to having that experience with Sofía too. If she didn’t decide she prefered her father feeding her from a bottle over you.

Not that you could blame her. You hadn’t been there for her.

You clenched your eyes closed, trying to will yourself not to cry. It was stupid. So fucking stupid. What were you supposed to do? You had had a seizure, they had sedated you… It wasn’t something you could just choose to ignore. But still, you felt like you’d failed her.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Javier questioned, taking your hand into his. “Are you hurting?”

You blinked, hastily wiping at your eyes. “I’m fine.” You lied and you knew that he knew that you were lying. You exhaled shakily, glancing around the room. “Where’s the go-bag? You remembered to pack the camera, right?”

Javier frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

“We didn’t take any pictures after Sofía was born.” You reminded him. “Get the camera and my hairbrush out. I’m sure this,” You gestured to your head. “Looks like a rat’s nest.”

“A bit.” He chuckled, reluctantly moving from your bedside to grab the go-bag. It was meant to be everything the two of you would need after Sofía was born, but it had gone largely unused given how things turned out.

“You are very pretty mommy.” Josie told you, reaching up to pat your cheeks with both hands.

“I’ll take your word for it, sweetpea.” You tapped her nose, making her giggle. “I’m going to need you to get up for just a few minutes, okay? You can go help your abuelito feed your sister.”

Javier picked Josie up off the bed. “You sure you don’t want to wait until we get home?” He questioned, brows furrowed as he looked back to you.

“No. I want to do it here.” You insisted as you pulled your covers off and pressed the button to make the bed sit upright. You inhaled and exhaled slowly, before you moved to get out of the bed. You were a little unsteady on your feet at first, but you focused on your center of gravity just like they’d practiced with you in PT.

“Do you need—“

“Nope.” You helped your hand to stop Javier from trying to help. “I’ve got it.” You assured him, reaching for your IV pole and rolling it with you towards the wheelchair. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but you still weren’t completely stable on your feet.

You looked towards him then, offering him a small smile. “You can brush my hair, if you want to.” You offered, pushing your fingers through the mess on top of your head.

“You sure?”

“It’s just like doing Josie’s hair.” You rolled the wheelchair forward, giving him space to wheel the rolling stool over to you.

Javier was gentle as he went to work brushing your hair, and he carefully picked out knots he encountered. It was nice — relaxing. Strangely intimate. But he was still treating you like you were breakable… which you hated, even if it was true.

“How does that feel?” He questioned, curling his hands around your shoulders. He squeezed gently, three little squeezes that reminded you of his love for you.

“Like I’m going to make you do that when we get home.” You quipped, turning your head to look back at him. “But do you know what the first thing I’m going to do when I get home?”

“Take a bath?”

“Very tempting.” You smiled a little. “But no. I’m going to make you go to bed.”

Javier leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “There’s so much to do when we get home.” He whispered as you played your fingers through his dark hair.

“Your dad’s staying with us to help with Sofía.” You reminded him, tracing your fingers over the hair at the nape of his neck. “We’ve got Monica to help with Josie.” Your brows drew together as he tilted his head to look at you. “You look rough.”

“I feel rough.” He admitted with a sigh, pulling back then. “Right. We were going to take a picture.” Javier didn’t look back at you as he got up and went back to the go-bag to dig out the camera. “Do you want to hold Sofía?”

“You can hold her. Josie can sit in my lap.”

“The lighting is good by the window,” Chucho supplied as he got up from the recliner to put Sofía back in her bassinet. Your eyes followed him across the room, until you caught Javier staring at you.

There was a lot that needed to be discussed.

Tracking down narcos was easy. Going after Pablo Escobar. Grappling with sexism in the workplace. Getting fucking shot. All of that was easy. Telling your partner that you felt like you had failed your daughter before she was even a day old? That wasn’t something that was easily confessed.

You didn’t even want to hold her, even when you did. You were afraid she’d somehow know, innately, that you had done something wrong. That you had failed her. And it sucked that you couldn’t get it out of your head. That your self doubt was overshadowing something that should’ve been good.

It didn’t help knowing that Javier felt guilty. You had wanted this to go right this time. To have an experience that wasn’t marred with stress and pain. But somehow the DEA had managed to overshadow everything again. And they’d keep overshadowing your life until you put the spotlight on them.

——

Monica and Connie had made a ‘WELCOME HOME’ banner for you. They had it strung across the front door of the house and inside they’d decorated with pink and green balloons — matching the colors you and Javier had painted Sofía’s room.

You put on a happy smile about the pseudo-celebration, but you knew Javier could see straight through it. Not that he seemed particularly thrilled about the surprise either.

He’d torn the banner down the second Connie and Monica left for the night.

“I missed this the most.” You remarked as you sank back onto the bed, sprawled out in the center. The hospital bed had been a fucking nightmare on your back and hips.

Javier was just standing there. Staring at you. Hands on his hips and his expression entirely unreadable.

You sat up on your elbows, brows furrowed as you met his gaze. “Babe, what’s wrong?” You questioned, swallowing thickly around the lump of emotion in your throat. “Javi.”

Something snapped.

His expression crumpled and his knees gave out on him. The weight of it all was too much for him to carry now that you were both together behind a closed door.

The sound of a sob rising up from somewhere deep within his chest made your stomach turn. It was raw, primal… true pain.

Javier had buried his emotions for so many years. Emotions left to fester, grief allowed to bore its hooks into him. Sure, he’d let out little bursts of what he felt, but it was never all of it.

It was never all of the anguish he’d held onto.

You forced yourself off the bed, despite how heavy your limbs felt. You sank down onto the floor beside him, taking him into your arms.

There was nothing to be said. Not yet. Not while his hot tears fell against the skin that the crook of your neck. His hands gripped at you, hard enough to leave bruise — bruises you’d relish over the tapestry of bruises on your hands and arms from IVs and drawn blood.

You had never seen Javier sob like this before. You had seen tears, you had seen him cry, you had seen the aftermath of nightmares… but you had never seen him like this. Inconsolable was the only word for it.

“It’s okay, Javi.” You whispered, running your fingers through his hair as you tried to soothe him. “I love you.” You pressed your lips to his shoulder, fingers balling up the fabric of his shirt at his back. “I have you.”

“I almost… I almost…”

“I know.” You ran your hand down the length of his back, “But you didn’t. And it isn’t your fault, Javi.”

Javier stiffened in your arms. “Baby—“

“No, Javier.” You pulled back, shaking his shoulders. “You have to fucking stop. You can’t keep doing this.” Your hands cupped his cheeks then, your eyes pleading with him. “This guilt is going to fucking kill you.”

“You almost died!”

“But I didn’t.” You snapped. “I didn’t die, Javier. And it wasn’t your fault! This could’ve happened to me, stress or not. My physical therapist had two healthy pregnancies and had preeclampsia with her third. It happens and it’s not your fault.”

Javier took your hands off his face, pulling away from you. “But it is my fault. If I hadn’t stirred up this shit with the DEA—“

“We have a four-year-old. I work for the police department.” You reminded him. “My life is already stressful.” You dragged your hands over your face. “But I can’t keep doing this Javier. I can’t handle knowing that you think you’re responsible for everything that goes wrong in my life.”

Javier stared at you.

You swallowed thickly, wringing your hands together. “I can’t handle it, okay?”

“Okay.” Javier nodded slowly.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” You questioned, reaching out to brush your fingers over his forehead. “None of this is your fault.”

“I feel guilty.”

“I know.” You grimaced a little as you shifted how you were sitting. “The floor is not kind to a body that just gave birth.” You explained with a strained laugh. “We both need to sleep, Javi. It’s been a long fucking week.”

“Longest week of my life.” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, before he hauled himself onto his feet.

Javier held his hands out to help you up, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Javi.” You shook your head as you looked up at him. “We’re both tired.” You brought his hands up to kiss his them, lips pressing to each knuckle. “No one is at fault for any of this. But I am tired and barely holding it together right now.”

“I know.” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “It’s just hard to accept it…” Javier sat down at the foot of the bed, sinking backwards. “That someone isn’t at fault. If it’s me… I can blame myself.”

“That’s not good for your health.” You reminded him, laying down beside him. You shifted close, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “We aren’t as young as we used to be, Javi.”

“No fucking shit.” He huffed, curling his arm around you. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” You whispered.

There was so much you wanted to discuss. So many emotions you wanted to process but you didn’t know how. There was no amount of research you could do to handle this.

All you could do was sleep and hope that tomorrow would be one more better day.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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lajulie24 · 4 years

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D for hanleia pre esb!! ❤️

Thank you kindly for the prompt, and for your extreme patience with the long time I took to finally fulfill it! This idea ended up racing past drabble and well into fic rather than ficlet territory, so think of this as part 1 of a two-part fic. Also, this will be a long post since Tumblr seems to deal poorly with “read more” links in asks these days. Title is a reference to a line in Abra Moore’s “Four Leaf Clover.”

D. Subtle kindnesses.

Let go of all the big deals

Damn it. Leia really wished Evaan were still here.

I wish Mama were here, her thoughts continued, before she could stop them. Or Winter, or Aria. Papa. Memily. Even Aunt Rouge, Aunt Celly.

It was easier when she didn’t let herself go there at all, but apparently she’d opened the floodgates simply by thinking of Evaan—who was still alive, just elsewhere with the rest of her people, keeping them safe, leading them in the way Leia couldn’t right now.

Evaan would know what to do with this, this mess that had become of Leia’s hair. She would’ve laughed, wielded the comb, helped her work out the little bits of resin that lingered in the strands. A few washings with Chewie’s shampoo had actually done a brilliant job at getting out most of the sticky sap that had exploded all over them, but it couldn’t work miracles.

Leia worked the comb through her hair slowly, wincing as she hit another tangle.

“How’s the grooming goin’, Your Worship?” Han called from outside the door. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t sent out a search party for her, given how much time she’d been at this already, but perhaps he had enough experience with Chewie to understand that this was no simple job.

“Fine,” she called back. “Just great.” She took up another section and began working the comb through it, gradually, carefully. This was honestly the longest her hair had spent fully down in quite some time; normally she took it down, brushed it, and put it into her sleeping braid, or pulled it out of the sleeping braid long enough to put it back up in her familiar crown braids. Now that she had spent so much time with it, she noticed not only the tangles and remaining bits of sap, but the split ends.

She hadn’t cut it since Alderaan. She’d been neglecting it, frankly; it had been this length for years, but regular trims helped maintain its health and texture. When she was home, she and Winter would trim one another’s hair. Or she’d get Memily to do it. TooVee could do it in a pinch, but normally cutting hair wasn’t a task you would give to a droid. It was too personal, too intimate for that.

TooVee would’ve claimed it contrary to her programming, anyway. A stickler for protocol, that one.

“Need anything?” Han called. He was actually being surprisingly considerate about this whole thing; somehow he seemed to have caught on to hair = private and had made sure to keep everyone else out of the crew quarters while she tended to this.

There was one tangle that didn’t want to come out. A little nest of hair that defied her, no matter how carefully she worked to unwind it, her efforts achieving nothing but a sore scalp. Such a sad little knot, she thought. A little snarl of hair and resin twisted all within itself, about two inches from the bottom.

She tried again. Nope. It wasn’t coming out.

Surely Han had something she could use. What did Chewie trim his fur with, anyway?

“Han?” she called. “You still there?”

“Yeah, you need something?”

“Do you have a scissors? I’m going to have to cut this bit out.”

“Sure thing.” Footsteps left down the hall, and Leia busied herself trying the knot again. Just like her, continuing to work at something even while it was hopeless. Optimism? Stubbornness? A little of both?

The footsteps came back, and then the hatch opened enough for Han’s arm to slip in, a beard- and pelt-trimming scissors in his outstretched hand. Leia took it. “Perfect, thank you.”

The door closed again, and after a slight pause—

“Ah, you need any help with that?” Han’s voice sounded tentative.

Leia considered that for a moment. She’d figured she would probably have to just cut out the offending knot for now and figure out how to fix it later, because she definitely was not going to be able to even it out all the way around by herself. But she also knew from experience that having one bit of hair that didn’t match the others would be a real pain. And it did desperately need a trim—

You could ask Han to do it.

“Uh, maybe?” she answered, stalling for time while she thought this through.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so weird about asking Han to help trim her hair; she respected her culture’s hair traditions, but she’d never thought she was personally all that attached to them. Certainly she’d had it down in front of others before. She’d even had it down in front of a man before.

Yeah, a man you were involved with. And it was kind of a big deal when you did that. And that had been before, when her planet and her culture were not in danger of extinction.

But also, that had been before. She had been doing a lot of things lately that she hadn’t done in her life before.

Like asking random men to cut your hair for you?

Except Han wasn’t some random man, not at all, as much as some of her colleagues on High Command might think of him that way. As casual and as brash and as infuriating as he could be sometimes, he was her friend. And he had seen her at some of her worst already—narrowly escaping death by being crushed in a wet trash compactor could do a lot to help you bond, right?

Then she remembered the other thing he’d done that day, the thing that told Leia that there was more to the man than swagger and bravado and a frequently professed love of money. The thing he’d done quietly, and without ceremony.

It was after they’d escaped the TIEs, after he’d scoffed at her assertion that the Imperials were surely tracking the Falcon to Yavin IV, after she’d dismissed him as a mercenary and strode off, leaving him and Luke to gossip or whatever it was men did. They’d all stunk of garbage, so later Han had offered use of the real water showers and the autovalet.

After Han had gotten Luke set up in the ‘fresher (with Luke still both fascinated and terrified by the newness of cleaning with a continuous spray of water), Han had quietly approached Leia.

“Hey,” he’d said, “you’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Yes.” That was an understatement, one she was trying not to think too much about.

He’d beckoned toward the corridor. “We got a medbunk. I c’n help you get fixed up. Might not be much time for that once we land.”

“I’m all right,” she’d said.

“Yeah, I know,” he’d agreed. “But who knows what was in that garbage. Don’t want those wounds to get infected. Really drag down your revolution.”

She’d stared at him for a moment.

“If you want, I can get Chewie to, uh, chaperone or whatever,” he’d said, obviously misunderstanding her silence as mistrust of his intentions. Honestly, she’d just been surprised at his mention of the wounds hidden by her white dress—how did he even know they were there?

“No, that’s all right,” she’d said. “This way?”

It was unexpected, how gentle he’d been as he’d cleaned and applied bacta to her injuries, somehow knowing exactly which spots would have been hit by the droid and other devices. At the same time, she’d been relieved to find him casual and matter-of-fact about the whole thing. No pity or patronizing, just care, like they were comrades in battle. And when she’d asked him—how did you know? he’d answered simply. Used to be one of ‘em. Long time ago. Another life.

“Another life,” she’d repeated.

If she could trust him with the wounds from the worst day of her life, when they barely knew each other, she could certainly trust him with this.

“Uh, yeah, could you come help?�� she called, and a moment later, the door slid open.

Thank you for the ask!

#ask lajulie #myfic #quarantine drabbles #han x leia #hanleia #star wars #leia organa #han solo #anonymous #thank you for the ask!

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

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ten and two (part iv)

Previous installments here: [https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538759/chapters/43940245]

Steve said that in his younger days, Tony had been a terror: parties every night and armfuls of beautiful women, too much drink and too much sex--a life carefully designed to make Stark the elder crazy. And it’d worked; boy howdy, had it. By the time Steve had met him in 1941, Tony and his father hadn’t spoken in almost ten years.

But in that intervening decade, Tony had changed. He’d gotten bored with spending money and more interested in making it and figured out that he had a knack. The same cleverness that had helped him talk his way out of every speakeasy raid, he now applied to the family business and in the high-power circles where Stark Technologies ran, Tony’s charm proved almost as lucrative as his head. He stopped fucking around and got on with his life and reshaped the family name in his image. When war broke out in Europe, nobody who mattered gave a damn about Howard Stark; the Stark they knew, the one they called when the generals in the War Department started getting itchy, was Tony. The Super Soldier project, it turned out, was one in a series of efforts Uncle Sam had brought Tony on, and it was the one that had stuck.

“Of course it was,” Bucky said to Steve over watery coffee and burned toast. “Because none of those other ones had you.”

It was hard to square Steve’s secondhand stories of Tony the wild man, the womanizer, with the man who lived in the big house on the cliff. Yeah, he was older--more gray in his beard now than black--and presumably wiser, but there was also a sadness to him, a kind of shadow melancholy, that had crept in around his bright, darting eyes. Sometimes, when he invited them for supper, there were other people there, colleagues from the East Coast who were in California for meetings, maybe, or Stark Tech officials from London or Milan who he wanted to keep on a short leash. But so far as Bucky could tell, none of those people seemed to be Tony’s friends. There was a sheen to him when he interacted with them, a kind of glib hardness that Bucky hadn’t seen him wear before. Oh, he was still convivial and funny as hell, but he wasn’t the same Tony that Bucky had met that first night, the one who sat across the table when it was just the three of them and watched Steve talk and gesture and knock over the salt cellar with such fucking obvious delight.

They lit up around each other. That was the god’s honest truth. How the hell they didn’t see it and do something about it, flummoxed Bucky more and more every day. But then, that kind of behavior went against all his instincts, the ones that had always told him do it now, don’t count on a chance later which was how, he figured, he’d spent so much of his life getting laid--and, on the battlefield, not getting dead.

In this instance, of course, he couldn’t make either of the them do shit. Maybe, though, he could poke the old hornets’ nest.

“Have we ever told you about how me and Steve got together?”

They were halfway through a fucking glorious dinner and farther through a bottle of wine. Outside, the sky had darkened since they’d arrived and it was already raining; looked like a hell of a storm was on its way in.

Tony squinted over at him, fork hanging in the air. “Ah, no. I don’t think so.” His lips lifted. “And your face tells me it’s a story I’d remember it, huh?”

“Damn right.” He glanced at Steve, who was studious examining his plate. “You ok with me telling this, babe?”

Steve cleared his throat and reached for his water. “Sure. I mean, if Tony wants to hear it.”

Tony laughed. “Ok, if it’s making him look like that, now I have to.”

“Well,” Bucky said, aiming for nonchalant, “we were in the middle of nowhere, France. Camped out in this pretty apple orchard right in the heart of spring and all the trees were blooming right over our tents. Best place that we’d slept in days.”

“Weeks,” Steve said. There was a little smile on his face now. “It was like a postcard, wasn’t it? And it smelled like absolute heaven.”

“So one night, I’m lying there on my bedroll listen to two other guys snore and I think, I’m never gonna have a day like this again, am I? I’m never gonna fall asleep watching pink and white petals ghost over the top of my tent. Hell, in this man’s war, I may not ever get a chance to sleep again.”

He had Tony’s full attention now. Their host had leaned back from his plate and was cradling his wine glass, the stem set delicate between his long fingers, the bowl resting flush in his palm.

“And then," Bucky said, "I thought about Steve. I’d had a thing for him forever, since Ike first stuck me in Easy. Here’s me, a skinny dumb kid from Brooklyn who’s barely learned to hold a gun and they hand me over to a walking recruiting poster. And there he is at HQ, standing there looking beautiful and he’s got all the guys laughing and I walk up and he smiles at me. Holds out his hand. ‘Fellas,’ he says, ‘this is Sergeant Bucky Barnes, best shot to walk out of snipe school. And lucky us, he’s ours.’”

He felt Steve’s shoe tap his calf under the table; a warm, familiar bump. “Lucky us was right,” Steve said. “How many times did you save our bacon again?”

“26,” Bucky said without missing a beat. “But that’s not the point of the story, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, chuckling. “I suspect it’s gonna end with you getting your man.”

Bucky smirked into the last of his wine. “So I’m lying there and I think about Steve and I then I think, what the hell. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh,” Tony said. “A whole goddamn lot.”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. But I didn’t let my head dwell on that.”

“So what did you do?”

“I get up as quiet as I can and I creep over to the cap’s tent, where lo and behold, the lamplight’s still burning. I knew him good enough by then to know he wouldn’t have turned in yet. Not until he figured all of us except the night watch were asleep.” He took a breath, breathed in the smell of Tony’s cigar and for a moment, sensed the scent of apple blossoms again. “And sure enough, there he was. Wide awake, studying some damn document or other.”

“It was a map.” Steve’s mouth was turned up now, his eyes fond. “I was reading a map.”

Bucky met his eyes, remembered: one minute, Steve’s head had been dipped over a piece of paper, tiny lines in dull lamplight, and the next, it had been in Bucky’s hands, blond balanced in his palms, those blue eyes raking over his, startled.

“Bucky?” As long as he lived, he’d never forget it: the thin scratch of hope in Steve’s voice. A question in all of that petal soft dark.

“Yeah,” Bucky had said. The only answer he had. “Yes, sir.”

The map was crushed between them and then it fell to the floor, Bucky said all those years later, and then they were twisted on Steve’s rickety cot, rutting, kissing faster than they could breathe. Bucky could remember that feeling, like he was falling, tumbling end over end, a leap without a parachute in the still of the night and when he’d come, Steve’s fist tight around him and his mouth sweet on Bucky’s neck, it had felt like a ripcord, a sharp, perfect snap back into a reality where there was no war, no impending fucking crisis: just Steve’s hands and the sound of flowers falling and the smell of sweat and seed.

“Jesus,” Tony said. There was a flush on his face and his grip on his glass wasn’t so steady. “You took a hell of a risk. Both of you.”

“Wasn’t the first time,” Bucky said with more bravado than he’d felt then, lying back spent, his captain’s tongue hot in his mouth.

“No,” Steve said, “but risk felt different then.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Different enough to risk your stripes for a quick fuck?”

“Who said anything about quick?” Bucky grinned and reached for the bottle. “There might have been another few rounds that night. No way to know that we’d ever get another chance.”

Steve’s fingers found his on the table; bless him, he looked pleased as punch and still somehow abashed. “But we did.”

Tony cleared his throat and raised his glass. “Well, fellas, all I can say is, from the bottom of my heart: lucky you.”

The words were heartfelt, Bucky got that, but there was a tension inside them that was just as real, felt just as true. The air at the table seemed to rise like a thunderhead. For a long, weird moment, nobody said anything.

Ok, genius, Bucky thought, looking at Steve, flipping his eyes back to Tony. This is it. Take your shot.

“So,” he said, his tongue thick with red, “let’s get it all on the table, shall we? What the hell is it that happened between the two of you?”

#stucky #1950s au #pining #shades of unrequited stony

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belost-the-watcher · 5 years

Text

Infestation

An orange haze settled throughout the halls of the derelict ship. The airlock groaned and struggled against jammed machinery, finally giving up and sticking half-open. Muffled voices from behind swore and chattered to one another briefly before a metal bar slid through the gap and wrenched the airlock open with a loud grunt. Rust burst out from the seams and joints and a handful of galra stepped through.

Two of them wore heavy armor and were more equipment than person. Known commonly as Raiders. The third was much more lightly geared. A tracker on loan from the Empire's army. All wore gas masks strapped around their heads.

"Alright. Well that's the hard part done," the lead said flatly and stuck the bar to a magnetic mount on his backpack. "Your turn, Windor."

Belost squeezed his way passed the armored giants. The hallways were tight and the two raiders could barely stand side by side without scraping the dust from the walls. He took the lead and knelt to the floor, swiping a finger across the paneling. "Rust. Dust. Motes. We'll probably start seeing eggs soon. Either this ship is smaller on the inside or its more infested than we thought," he forced his words out to be heard through his mask.

"So there's a few more crawlers. So?" A voice from the back spoke up, shotgun strung across his shoulders. The name Noht scratched into his armor.

"So it means there's hardly any ship left that's worth salvaging."

Their commander spoke up again, "We're not here for the ship. Command's looking for a manifest from the ship's old captain. Records for who he sold to and more importantly where he got his supplies from." He hefted a large metal cylinder in one hand, "This is just to make our job shorter. Gas the place, get out, let the tech support come in and do the rest."

Belost stood. With as small as the hallways were, it was still mind boggling how a smuggler could afford a ship this size. It was nothing compared to the Empire's fleet ships, but it was still nearly the size of a light carrier. And those didn't come cheap even to the Navy.

The tracker started off and their commander, Stros, waved on the back to follow along.

____________

"I meant to ask, why not send the entire squad in? Instead of just you two," Belost asked over his shoulder as they moved through. Breaking the silence of his own footsteps was hardly an issue with the clunking raiders behind him.

"With as narrow as these hallways are, what'd be the point?" Noht said from the back.

"I guess so," Belost answered. He was no stranger to being outnumbered and raiders were originally trained as boarding parties. But infestations made him uneasy. Especially on ships where there was usually only one way out. It was new territory for him, he'd only been through one infestation before. But apparently that made him enough of an expert to be brought along. He'd have to remember to thank Sendak later.

Belost slowed to a stop after a few minutes when he noticed rocky looking scales fused to the wall. They resembled the shells some seafood was still served in. He took the lip of one between two fingers and gave it a light twist. The hard tip snapped off then crumbled between his fingers.

"These things are dried out. A lot of matured crawlers. Let's hope the nest is far away from the circulation room. They'll be in hybernation, assuming there wasn't a few years' worth of food on board, but I doubt even they'd be able to sleep through two tanks walking passed them."

"We'll play it by ear, then," Stros replied.

____________

The three walked in relative silence for a few mintues, Belost checking the occasional biological sign along the way. Stros kept an eye on what crude blueprints they could manage for the ship and mapped out their path on his datapad. Noht, who towered over Belost, watched the hallways and junctions over the tracker's head, shotgun ready. A heavy belt ran from his weapon and to a large cannister on his back. An iconic weapon of the raiders.

"So what's up with all the rust?" Noht asked. "This ship was still active two years ago. It can't have gotten into this bad of shape on its own."

"The eggs eat through the coating on the metal and leech chemicals from it. It makes the eggs strong but the metal brittle. Oxidizes it given enough time and enough eggs. Coincidentally, the shit it puts in the air too? Really bad for your lungs," Belost answered. Despite hardly being an expert, he did at least read up on the creatures inside the ship before deployment. "It's why these things are prohibited from transport. They'll wreck a ship in just a few months. Sometimes not even that long. Then you end up with floating hives like this, they get pulled into orbit, some eggs make it out planetside and then it's Tharaon IV all over again. No more machinery, a lot of dead people and pretty much no more planet."

"Banning these things from transport didn't really stop them from making it here, did it?"

"Idiots will smuggle anything as long as the money's good enough," Stros commented.

"But if there's this many eggs, how haven't we seen any yet?" Noht asked.

"They're hybernating. Chances are that if we see one, we'll see all of them. And there's not actually one for every egg. They hatch in a swarm, but these things get cannibalistic when they're in a low food environment. At least up until a certain point. They won't eat another crawler the same size as them, just the smaller ones. Then when they run out of food they stop breeding and hybernate for a while. It's good for us since all of them are probably asleep. But if they wake up..."

Noht began to ask a follow up before Stros cut him off, "Ventilation should be this next turn up ahead. Get ready." He holstered his datapad and drew his submachine gun from a sling on his chest.

Belost saw the hallway diverge into a turn.

____________

"Fuck!" Belost could have spit were it not for the mask. Stros stopped arming the bomb and looked to him.

"What do you see?" Noht asked, hands laced together and holding Belost's boot steady.

"The intake is loaded with eggs and the fan's been rusted through," he said as he dropped back down to the floor.

"A ship like this won't have a secondary ventilation room, either," Stros said mostly to himself.

"So what's there to do now?" Noht asked, shaking his hands out where the treads had dug into his fingers.

"If we can't gas the place out then we'll just need to get the manifest ourselves. My first guess would be to look in the captain's quarters. I doubt he would keep it stored in the ship's intranet."

Belost pat the orange dust from his hands, "Great. Do we know where that is?"

"Not too far. We'll need to backtrack a bit and head in the opposite direction of here."

"Opposite direction, huh? We haven't seen a crawler yet and now we need to go in the opposite direction? You know what that probably means, right?"

Stros hoisted the bomb back into his hand. "That's why I'm keeping this on me."

____________

Heavy breathing surrounded Belost on all sides. If the manifest was not in the Captain's Quarters, he was going to kill Stros himself. 'Like you said, we would just wake them up,' their charismatic leader had told him right before suggesting Belost walk into the veritable horde of sleeping crawlers alone. Even Noht looked uncertain about the plan. Maybe the raider simply disliked having to stay back and let somebody else do all the work. Or maybe sending somebody into a nest of sleeping monsters just did not sit well with him.

The tracker twisted his ankle awkwardly to avoid stepping on a bundle of dark spines sticking from one crawler's back. The creatures themselves looked like what Earth dwellers might know as tailess whip scorpions. Something that had no business being the size of a cow. Their legs were spindly and barbed with thick claws anchored in front of clacking maws.

One infestation had been plenty for Belost. And his experience then had been unfortunately similar to his current. But at least then he had been on a planet. Somewhere with any number of places to run or hide.

A thick limb brushed the back of his calf and he spun, hand already half-drawing The Bell before he found the creature to have only twitched in its sleep.

Some were piled on top of one another, their legs curled up to fit in the tight hallways. Belost could not be sure but he would bet there were some even in the ship's ventilation above him. Who knew where else they could squeeze into?

He came to the door he was looking for, one labeled CQ in bold. He pressed the button beside it which lit up. The mechanism of the door ground audibly, making a wide-eyed Belost check all around him for signs of stirring, and the light faded offline. A one way mirror was beside the door. If only he could have looked through it somehow, see if there was anything even worthwhile inside. He sucked in a deep breath through the filter of his mask and gripped the handle of the door. The galra flexed and pushed, trying to slide it into the wall panel as quietly as he could. Eventually there came a thud and the door slide aside.

More of the orange dust, a mixture of rust and molting residue, flowed out from the now open doorway. Chunks of one of the crawlers lay strewn about the room and the shredded belongings of the captain's quarters were among them. Belost lift a datapad from the ground, the display cracked and sprayed with old blood. It was crushed beyond salvaging, but maybe the datachip inside was still good.

He checked the port, it was empty.

Belost set the datapad down and walked to the terminal on top of the captain's work bench. He stepped around and checked the console. Somehow it was still running. He wiped the orange dust from its display and looked through the system. Eventually, he came across a series of files which detailed various transfers. Names, dates, amounts, product. Everything they needed. And no way to transfer it. Of course. Why would a smuggler want to let anybody get a copy of something like this?

Belost looked around. No ports for datachips or linking devices. Just a display and the casing beside it. The data drive had to be in it. He looked to the terminal and powered it down.

Then silence was shattered by a cheery sounding chime blaring from the terminal's speakers.

This time there was no need to check. Belost heard them stirring immediately. He dug his claws into the tower of the terminal and ripped the brittle side panel off. The fans had just stopped spinning by the time he yanked the data drive from its port.

Heavy footfalls scuttled to the doorway and a crawler stood near eye-level, watching him for only a moment, chattering wildly and scuttered inside. He heard others outside, a domino effect of waking. Belost shuffled around the table, fingers clinging tight to the drive while the other drew The Bell. He pointed it at the crawler that scurted over the table, then to the second that had already taken its place in the doorway, and then to the window.

What few weren't awake already were jostled out of sleep by the gunfire.

Belost leaped through the window and fired another shot into the gathering crowd of clicking and chirping creatures. The explosive payload of The Bell shattered one into chunks of gorey shell. The clicking turned to hissing.

He ran through the halls, retracing his careful steps, firing into whatever crowds might block his way, not daring to look behind him. The distant sound of Noht's shotgun pounded rhythmically. Even in his outright panick, Belost noticed the lack of Stros' weapon in the commotion.

He fired again, scattering a crowd only briefly, but just enough for him to make it through. Dull fire rushed up his thigh. A familiar enough pain to know something somewhere had got a claw half-around his leg at some point.

Belost came across another blocked hallway and rose The Bell. Instead of the crack and kick of recoil, however, it was only a click. He tucked the data drive under his arm and broke the weapon open, an empty cylinder ejecting with its distinct ping. A crawler scuttled towards him and he could feel more near his back.

Then the ones before him exploded in a shower of shot. Noht covered in blackened gore rounded the corner, "Get down!"

Belost dropped, hearing the whoosh of a claw just overhead, and then suddenly the world around him vanished beyond the rumbling explosive roar of the raider's shotgun.

Something heavy rammed into the ground beside Belost and he was enveloped in grey smoke. It stung his eyes and he scrambled forward in the lull of gunfire and a hand grabbed his arm and hoisted him behind Noht. Practice took over and once he stood, Belost reloaded The Bell and took the drive in his hand once again.

Stros was pulling him back through the hallways, Noht following closely behind. Belost noticed the bomb missing from the commander.

____________

The floor shook beneath Belost's feet, his bandaged thigh pulsing painfully. The ship lit up in a bright, purple ball of plasma as it took the entire flagship's broadside. He let himself enjoy what he could. It was going to be an hour or two in quarantine after all that.

Stros was fast tracked through, the data drive's delivery too important to keep waiting for longer than necessary.

Noht and Belost, however, would have to wait for the full package. He just hoped they wouldn't burn his clothes.

#drabble #there #no more sad belost #read more for length

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sweetcatmintea · 6 years

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Atlas meets Ivan - Drabble

So, I haven’t got any new pictures for you guys, have a short drabble instead. It was a gift for @babydollneko but she said I could upload it here too :)

Moonlight filtered through the thin clouds overhead illuminating speckles drifting through the late-night air. Hard shingles stole the warmth through Atlas’ shirt, prompting shivers. He lazily took note of his leg dangling over the musty gutter pipe. A clean was long over due but the negligence was understandable, it was no simple task to clean the top of a three-story house. Hoisting himself into a sitting position, Atlas stretched his arms in front of him until there was a satisfying crack.

He wasn’t sure how long his nap had lasted but he felt refreshed enough. It was late afternoon when the summer heat left him lazing about, but that didn’t mean much to him. He had also been sprawled on Lady Clara’s ornate lounge, enjoying the firmness of the well-maintained upholstery and the gentle breeze tussling his bangs. To find himself waking on the roof of an unknown building in an unknown street was not how he expected the day to go. Surprising as it was, there was little mystery. Many an adventure in his youth was prompted by accidentally teleporting somewhere in his sleep. It was kind of like sleep walking, but with more stress for Lady Clara. He glanced at his wrist only to remember he had taken off his stylish purple gloves and accompanying compass cuff earlier in the day. This was going to make things more difficult. Oh well, no use sitting around worrying. Scaling down the building with relative ease, he decided to just explore for a little while. It’d be a shame to waste the opportunity. Lady Clara was forever scolding him for roaming around like some tom cat. ‘Come home straight away!’ she’d say. ‘You’re never where you’re supposed to be! Disappearing to who knows where whenever the fancy takes you! Honestly, it’s a wonder I haven’t locked the doors by now!’ Translated roughly, she meant ‘I worry when you disappear, so I want you to come straight back.’ Atlas grinned into his knuckles. She was a funny lady, but certainly good quality. He was an adult now – more or less – and she had relaxed some. It helped that he wasn’t under her constant care and supervision anymore. Still, he’d just have a little look around, then head back. Or, at least, a little look, then try to work out where he would be coming back from. His current location was less important than where he wanted to be, but knowing it would probably help. Music pulsed faintly in the distance, a faint throb indicative of a nightclub type place. Given the back-alley vibes he was getting and the apparent late hour, the club would probably be inhabited primarily by drunks. Atlas sighed. He didn’t want to go amongst drunk people. It was probably the best bet for finding someone to ask his location. Ambling away, he put his money on the opposite direction. Going for the easiest route? Where was the adventure in that?

He must have been a fair way away from Lady Clara’s house. The wind carried a bite more tenacious than that of a summer. Atlas lamented the absence of his favourite dark grey coat. The fur trim, purple of course, was luxuriously soft and oh so fluffy. He really couldn’t complain though, years of waking up in unusual places ensured he was always reasonably covered when he rested. As funny as it would have been, he would not have appreciated exploring in only his boxers.

It wasn’t until the music had faded entirely, replaced with a cricket orchestra more suited to the country than such a populated area, that Atlas finally saw another person. A man, not much older than himself, busied himself opening the large roller doors of a … warehouse, maybe? The mechanisms made such a racket he didn’t notice Atlas approaching him. It was at this point Atlas realised he probably should have tried reading one of the street signs, he had no idea what the common language was here. Hoping it was one he knew, he cleared his throat, immediately catching the other man’s attention. Fabric spun and metal flashed. The knife stopping a mere finger’s width from Atlas’ skin. The two men appraised one another momentarily. This man, decidedly less harmless then Atlas first assumed, was slightly taller than him. His dark hair spiked from his head in organised chaos, complimented by a dark hoody and calculated grin. His teeth were clearly sharp, more so than Atlas’ unusually animalistic ones. Offering a placating smile, Atlas raised his palms to the man. He meant no harm. The switchblade returned to it’s hiding place in one smooth movement but remained at hand. The man’s posture relaxed, replaced with an easy confidence. Most reasonable people would be put off, intimidated even, by a man exuding danger and standing in front of a gaping maw of black. Unfortunately, Atlas was not a terribly reasonable person at times. ‘Foolish’ was almost a nickname at this point. He wasn’t stupid, but, out in the open as they were, he had many escape routes should things go sour. He lowered his hands, resting one in the pocket of his tailored shorts, and waving a greeting with the other. “What are you doing out here?” Ah, English. He knew that one. Lucky~ “Hello,” More accent than he would like, but good enough, “I got a little lost. Would you mind helping me? My name is Atlas, Atlas Mao.” The man tilted his head, lips pursed. “You’ve got cat ears.” It was a question in the form of a statement. “Yep.” He wiggled his ears for emphasis. The man’s grin grew. “Tail too. It was a matching set situation.” Even though he had kept it politely low, he was pretty sure the man had already noticed. The man’s hazel (maybe? It was hard to tell in the dark) eye’s glittered with excitement. “You don’t have … cat people here?” A shake of a head said no. That was unusual, he’d never been to a place where there were no Tainted people. Maybe he was even further than he thought. “Can I touch them?” “P-pardon?” “Your ears. I want to touch them.” The man reached out eagerly. There was a child-like enthusiasm that dampened the automatic ‘no’. Sighing inwardly, Atlas relented and nodded. That’s how he ended up being pet softly in the middle of the night by a very strange man. The plan to wait until his novelty had run its course and then find out where he was, was a bust. The enjoyment the man got appeared to be endless. Being told he was adorable was something he had gotten used to, it becomes necessary when your face becomes a brand, however having someone coo at him in the middle of the night was a bit much. An embarrassed flush crept up his neck as he put some distance between himself and the man. Luckily, he didn’t seem too disappointed, instead pointing out another of Atlas’ peculiarities. “You’re floating.” “Yeah. I don’t want to walk. The floor is really dirty, and my shoes are at home.” He wasn’t that high. Maybe a few inches off the ground. The man narrowed his eyes, considering Atlas again. “You’re not from here, are you?” Finally. He didn’t mind this man, he didn’t know him well enough to decide that he liked him yet, but it felt like some kind of backwards Alice in Wonderland scenario. Given he was the floating cat and all. He really couldn’t stay much longer, he’d promised Lady Clara he’d be in her photoshoot tomorrow. “No. I’m lost. Do you have a map and a compass I could borrow, uh…” “Ivan. You can call me Ivan.” He leaned in closer “I mean it call me.” Atlas didn’t know how to respond to either the wink or the playful nudge. “I’ve got those back home, but I gotta do something first.” He entered the abys of the warehouse, calling over his shoulder. “My cat got out, so I’ve gotta find him before we go back.” Nothing else to do, Atlas followed him in, offering to help search.

The deceptively small light on Ivan’s phone lit up a large chunk of the building. How did the phone have a light in it to begin with? Atlas knew there were some technological leaps lately, but wow! Debris was scattered all over the place. Leaves piled wherever the broken roof permitted. A dry, dusty smell filled the air, clinging to the backs of their throats. With all of the shadows and hidey holes, the chances of finding a cat were slim. Even with his sensitive ears, Atlas couldn’t detect anything other than the scuttling of bugs avoiding Ivan’s light. He strained his eyes but there was neither hide nor hair of any mammal. He was about to tell Ivan that he might want to look else where, but the man cut him off, bellowing “KING CRUNCH!” Evidently, Atlas wasn’t the only one to jump out of their skin. The boxes in the far corner began to rustle in response. Ivan ran over, letting out a proclamation of triumph. “I found my cat!” He dragged an angry, hissing creature from it’s nest, returning to Atlas with a massive smile. Beady eyes glared venomous hatred at Atlas. Little round ears were slicked back and grabby hands scrambled in the air, desperate for a victim. The grey-brown fur bristled like needles. That wasn’t a cat. The raccoon seemed to accept its fate, slumping in Ivan’s arms and chattering murder under its breath. Ivan was positively beaming. “Alright, I got my cat, we can go back. Somehow, he always get’s out when the Bae’s there. It’s weird, I know he likes King Crunch. Who wouldn’t?” Atlas couldn’t help but find Ivan’s clear affection towards his ‘cat’ very sweet. “Why’s he in a jacket?” The fact that the studded leather suited the raccoon was as undeniable as the ridiculousness of addressing raccoon fashion. What an interesting night it was turning out to be. “Oh, that. I tried to put a collar on him, so no one steals him, y’know, but he just kept getting it off. Neal got the jacket made for him so I would” he air quoted “stop moaning about the stupid collar. Good thing King Crunch is so fat, he can’t get his jacket off. No one’s going to mistake him for a stray cat now. I’d have ta kill them if they did though.” He laughed jovially.

If you’re curious -> Atlas Ivan

Ivan was created by, and belongs to, @babydollneko

Atlas is my character

Feedback is appreciated!

#Writing #story #drabble #original story #original character #not my character #Atlas #Ivan #nekomimi #cat boy #More at my deviantArt SweetCatMint

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waveswordswhispers · 6 years

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Joker Game Secret Santa

@marrylissa I was your secret santa! I hope you like this ^_^

Prompts: Gender bender/Modern AU

Summary: The woes of being the girlfriend of a veterinarian technician.

Otherwise known as: in which Tazaki keeps bringing home animals from work and Kaminaga suffers

I. Spring

“It’s hatching season,” Tazaki calls hurriedly over her shoulder as Kaminaga shuts the door behind herself, hunched over a small ball of fluff she’s carefully feeding with a syringe. “The shelter is overrun at this time of year.”

“So are we,” Kaminaga murmured, eyeing the other two small birds shrieking angrily in the makeshift nest sitting beside Tazaki. It means uninterrupted screeching for weeks to come, and Kaminaga thinks she should’ve bought earplugs in preparation since in hindsight, she should’ve known Tazaki had been bound to pick up on some fosters eventually. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to be-“

“Up all night?” Tazaki finishes for her. “I mean maybe not all night but most of it? They need frequent feeding.”

“I’m going to die, and so are you,” Kaminaga tells her bluntly. She has no idea how Tazaki’s going to handle her shifts at the shelter on top of the new chicks, Kaminaga herself personally cannot function properly without a decent amount of sleep. Then again, Tazaki’s always found a way. Sometimes it’s not through entirely healthy and human ways, but she finds a way. Somehow.

“We are not going to die.”

“That’s what you always say,” Kaminaga grumbles as she strides over to drop a kiss onto Tazaki’s forehead while Tazaki gently sets the chick down next to its siblings, picking up the next one, reaching for the next syringe.

“Shush,” Tazaki murmurs, gently cradling the baby pigeon (Kaminaga calls them naked birds to annoy her), “and go check on Tatsumaki and Kage for me? Please?”

Kaminaga balks at the thought of checking on Tazaki’s two pet pigeons that she’s certain have a stupid grudge against her for no good reason.

“They’re going to poop on me. And bite my toes. And yank out my hair.” She lost at least nine strands of hair last time and she still hasn’t yet managed to scrub out the stain of poo out of her favourite sweater.

Tazaki shoots her an incredulous look.

“They wouldn’t do that. They’re angels.”

“They are not.”

Tazaki is biased and the pigeons are demons waiting for the perfect opportunities to strike.

“We’re going to die,” Tazaki rasps as she rolls out of bed, her alarm for six a.m. signalling her two hour reprieve is over. “I’m going to die.”

“Do they ever stop… Making that atrocious noise?” Kaminaga buries her head under her pillow, biting back a ‘I told you so’ as the pigeons scream for food, a migraine coming up as she realizes she’s going to have to deal with screaming kids with less than four hours of uninterrupted sleep.. “Why pigeons? You couldn’t pick anything else?”

She knows she’s made a mistake when Tazaki pauses, her grin only serving to make her look slightly insane with her tired face and dark eye bags. Maybe she is insane.

Kaminaga herself is already halfway there.

“Well I mean… I could’ve picked the skunks.”

Kaminaga chokes on air.

“What?”

“I’ll keep that in mind when we go for the next round of fosters-”

“KEEP THE PIGEONS!”

II. Summer

“I thought I told you to keep the pigeons,” Kaminaga hisses through the barely cracked open door, warily eyeing the thing in Tazaki’s hands. “That’s a rat.”

“I’ve told you, it’s an opossum,” Tazaki corrects offhandedly, using a dropper to feed the ra-opossum water. “And it’s just dehydrated. It’ll only be a few days.”

“It’s a rodent. I hate rodents.”

“You hate cats more. To think of it, there was a very nice tabby up for fostering too-”

Kaminaga throws the door open, nearly shrieking. She dislikes rodents, but she hates cats even more, thanks to Hatano’s demon cat that has left more than its fair share of scars on her. Both physically and mentally.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Tazaki laughs a bit evilly, cocking an eyebrow and goddamn, she looks hot, hair thrown carelessly into a messy bun, bright (and evil) smile dazzling but-

“I’m allergic! You know I’ll die!” Tazaki looks unconcerned, lifting a shoulder in a careless shrug.

“Psh, don’t be dramatic, that’s Miyoshi’s job. You’ll live.”

“You’re evil.” Kaminaga tries her best to look intimidating, immediately retreating when Tazaki holds the ra-opossum, up, making a move towards her.

Tazaki blows her a kiss, winking.

“I’m magical, you mean.”

Kaminaga can’t argue with that.

III. Fall

“Another… Another rat?”

“If you can’t tell the difference between a rat and squirrel, we need to book you an eye appointment as soon as possible.”

Kaminaga facepalms, taking Tazaki’s bag from her, holding the plastic bag containing Tazaki’s scrubs as far away from herself as possible. God knows what Tazaki’s gotten covered in today.

As she reaches over to ruffle Tazaki’s hair, Tazaki shifts away, ducking her head, shaking it.

“You might want to wait until after I shower, I don’t think I’ve gotten all the dog pee out yet.”

Kaminaga immediately clasps her hand back to her chest, grimacing as the scrubs brush against her pants. She’s burning those pants, she’s heard of the horrors that Tazaki often carries on her scrubs and there’s no way she’s touching clothing contaminated with anyone remotely from the inside of an animal.

“How in the name of God did you get-”

Tazaki’s smile is innocent but holds a sense of foreboding, and Kaminaga immediately cuts off her question because she’s heard more than enough horror stories.

“If you really want to-”

“I don’t. Go shower.”

As Tazaki relaxes, the squirrel (a rodent so it being called a rat isn’t far off) tucked in for the night, Kaminaga tries to braid the mess Tazaki calls her hair. The raven black locks are long and constantly tangled into each other, the knots that Kaminaga encounters enough to give her nightmares.

“Your hair is a disaster.”

Tazaki hums softly, leaning into Kaminaga’s touch, eyes shut.

“You should get a haircut. Or, you know, comb it?”

“No and no.”

“Then let me comb it.”

“Absolutely not.”

When Kaminaga makes a desperate noise, Tazaki bats her hands away from the comb.

“You posses the fineness of a turtle, actually no, that’s an insult to turtles. I will not have you yank out my hair.” Kaminaga makes another undecipherable noise that Tazaki can only interpret as offended.

“Please?” Kaminaga tries again.

“Hands away from the comb, Kaminaga.”

IV. Winter

Winter means sitting in a car at the edge of the woods in freezing cold temperature, praying that frostbite stays away while juggling cups of scalding hot coffee in an attempt to warm frozen fingers.

Kaminaga jumps and screams, nearly spilling the coffee when someone taps the window.

Tazaki snickers tiredly as she slides in, cheeks rosy red, eyes bright with exhaustion, the strands of hair that have managed to escape her hood tipped with frost.

“Fox in a trap,” she murmurs without Kaminaga prompting. “It’s pretty nasty, and it might lose a leg but it should pull through. It’s a fighter.”

Kaminaga shoves a coffee into Tazaki’s hands, starting the car while cranking up the heat. She’s still dying because it’s too cold, too cold and she needs to warm her hands or else someone is going to get into a car accident.

“That’s great but why am I here?” She curses as cold air shoots out of the vents because she forgets that the car needs to warm up first.

“Because I left my car back at the shelter and you love me.”

Kaminaga yelps as Tazaki shoves her hands down the back of her neck, ice cold hands making her squirm. By the time she’s managed to wrestle Tazaki’s hands away, Tazaki’s gloating as she flexes somewhat warmed up fingers again.

“I really wonder about that sometimes,” Kaminaga grumbles.

“You are the worse,” Kaminaga groans, shaking Tazaki weakly. “When did you replace Miyoshi to become the fox?”

Tazaki is holding two pigeons, doing her best to look innocent.

“We are not getting two more. You have seven of them already.” Kaminaga tries to be firm but Tazaki’s puppy look is really getting to her.

“But Kaminaga, Yoshi and Hinoka have been here for months.”

Kaminaga blinks.

Names.

“No,” she tries again, knowing it’s futile because if Tazaki’s already named them, the pigeons are going to end up at her house within the next week one way or another.

“Please?”

“Only if…” Kaminaga tries to get something out of this hopeless situation. “Only if you cut your hair to a more manageable length.”

Tazaki balks for a second.

“Absolutely not.”

“You can take home the other two pigeons I see hiding in your sleeves,” Kaminaga cajoles, and Tazaki snickers, the two lumps in her sleeves wriggling guiltily.

Tazaki brightens up, seeming to consider while the deal while the two pigeons that she’s been hiding in her sleeves poke their heads out, cooing softly.

She still looks unsure and Kaminaga leans forwards, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Think of the birds, Tazaki.”

A couple of Tazaki’s coworkers walk by, rolling their eyes knowingly and Kaminaga hides a smirk.

She has her weak spots, Tazaki has hers.

“Okay,” Tazaki chirps, nodding her head. “Deal.”

Kaminaga feels like she’s finally gotten a victory, however small.

“I thought. I said. Four. Pigeons. Only.”

Tazaki freezes, five pigeons tumbling from her hands, hair cut up to her chin, looking tame for once, a guilty expression pasted onto her face.

“But Kaminaga,” she starts in a pleading tone. “This one has always been bullied and I couldn’t just leave her.”

“You see her everyday,” Kaminaga deadpans, already knowing the pigeon is staying. What comes in doesn’t go out. A thing she’s learned after a couple hard lessons.

“She’s so small. And cute. She holds my heart in her cute little feet.”

Kaminaga resists the urge to facepalm. “You say that every time,” she shoots back desperately, eyeing the little black pigeon with splashes of white hopping around at her feet. It is kind of pretty. And cute.

“Please?”

Tazaki pulls another puppy face and Kaminaga feels like she’s been suckerpunched because the short hair makes it ten times as effective-

“I suppose, you’ve already signed the adoption papers. And you’ve bought the necessary supplies. And you’ve also spent months bonding with her already,” she sighs defeatedly. Tazaki nods so Kaminaga deflates, running a hand through her hair tiredly.

“Fine. What’s her name?”

Tazaki shakes her head, bending down to scoop the pigeon up, holding it up to Kaminaga’s eye level.

“I was hoping you would name her.” Tazaki sounds hopeful and gleeful, nearly bouncing up and down with excitement.

Kaminaga grins. There’s no way she’s going to let such an opportunity go to waste.

“Then… Tsundere.”

Tazaki chokes on air.

“I ta-”

“No take backs,” Kaminaga teases, ruffling Tazaki’s hair. “I’M JOKING, I’M JOKING!” she quickly amends as Tazaki’s left hand slams into her ribs, delivering a painful jab.

“Another name,” Tazaki demands.

Kaminaga clutches her side, shooting Tazaki a dirty look before looking at the pigeon again.

“Well, you are a very pretty girl, just like the woman who brought you back,” she winks at Tazaki as Tazaki rolls her eyes. “How about… Miyoshi?”

Tazaki chokes again and nearly drops the pigeon.

V. Aftermath

Sakuma is shaking with laughter as Miyoshi puffs up, eyes narrowed into slits.

“I am better than a bird.”

“Actually, I think the bird is smarter than you,” Tazaki shoots back, petting pigeon Miyoshi. “Aren’t you,” she coos, and pigeon Miyoshi bobs her head up and down.

“She’s married to the pigeons, not me,” Kaminaga complains, scratching pigeon Miyoshi’s back gently. “She talks with them more than she does with me.”

“Jealous?” Tazaki taunts, placing a kiss on pigeon Miyoshi’s beak.

“Where’s my kiss?” Kaminaga bypasses the question completely, Tazaki ignoring him in favour of placing a kiss on Yoshi’s head. “Tazakiiiiiii.”

Fukumoto and Odagiri look up from where they’re feeding the other pigeons as Hatano and Jitsui struggle to keep a hold of their cat.

“I hope you’re not getting any more birds,” Fukumoto comments offhandedly, eyeing the half empty coop. “These are quite a handful already.”

“We’re not!” Kaminaga announces confidently. “Right, Tazaki?”

Tazaki refuses to look at Kaminaga.

“Right?” Kaminaga presses. “Right???” Her voice gets higher and more desperate as Tazaki shifts, suddenly very interested in pigeon Miyoshi’s feathers.

“Um… Right,” Tazaki answers unconvincingly.

“TAZAKI!”

VI. Epilogue

“This. Makes. Thirty. Five. Pigeons.” Kaminaga eyes the gray pigeons Tazaki has in a firm grip, shaking her head resignedly.

Kaminaga doesn’t even bother complaining too much anymore. It’s a cycle that’s bound to happen.

“This one is a little sadist. Takes pleasure hopping onto people’s head to yank out hair. Loves biting until you bleed.”

“I’m calling this one Jitsui.”

#joker game #tazaki #kaminaga #hatano #jitsui #miyoshi #sakuma #odagiri #fukumoto

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