#still very much upset about losing him，but it's kind of faded for numbness now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

that-blue-vault-dweller · 3 years

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We've had so much happy sappy things lately. How about some angst? Companions react to sole getting super pissed at them and just leaving forever?

Oh, no..... I knew this was going to come soon enough... All good things must come to an end, after all 😔💙💛

All jokes aside, this literally broke my heart to write, but I very much enjoyed your suggestion for the new perspective it gave and the opportunity to write some good, old-fashioned angst 🥰 I didn't provide an explanation for what they said or what they did to make F!Sole mad, which I hope is okay! (I couldn't picture my F!Sole leaving any of them for any reason but I'm sure everyone's Sole varies in that respect)

Warnings: Light mentions of suicide, heavy mentions of drug and alcohol use.

Cait - Falls back into chems and will likely drug and drink herself to the grave. She can't believe that she went and screwed everything up again. She let down and upset the one person she vowed to never do that to, and now she's alone. Again. She's managed to run off the one person in her whole lifetime that actually cared about her and all she knows is that life is not even really worth living sober if she has to endure pain like this.

Piper - Cries herself to sleep for many nights after and sometimes finds herself crying during the day while she's typing an article or doing small mundane things, her guilt and sadness consuming her. (If F!Sole let her interview her back when she first came to Diamond City) Piper keeps a copy of the View from the Vault articles beside her bed and numbly reads them sometimes before going to sleep just to remind her of the only best friend she had ever had in her life. The only person that had stuck by her and tried to look out for her since her dad. Eventually she stops crying, but it takes a long time for her to rebound and her smile to come back. It never is as bright as it used to be when F!Sole was there, though.

Curie - Breaks her heart and completely destroys her. She cries for days, weeks, forever. All she knows is that there is a huge hole in her heart and she thinks of F!Sole every day. Her humanity is a constant reminder of the great person that she had lost and she will forever blame and kick herself for being so horrible that F!Sole would leave her. Curie will always care about F!Sole even if F!Sole doesn't care about her and Curie will forever miss her.

MacCready - Ends up heading back to go be with Duncan permanently. F!Sole was the only thing keeping him in the Commonwealth but now that he screwed that up, there is no reason left to stay. He was originally going to have his son brought to him as soon as possible, but he decides that they're better off away from where all of the sad memories are lingering. When he returns to his son, he is very happy, but he soon falls into a basic routine, trying to get through his grief of losing a true friend because of his own stupidity. He will eventually come out of the depression, but he will always carry the intense guilt of driving her away for good.

Deacon - Despite the fact that he just continues on with that constant mask of looking like he's just as calm and happy as anyone else, he is hurting deeply on the inside. It is easy to tell because of how he seems even more distant than usual and he very rarely ever comes back to the Railroad HQ. Guilt turns him into someone even more detached than he used to be before she left. However, he sometimes goes undercover just to watch her at a safe enough distance to keep her from recognizing him. After all, he has not changed his face since she left, preferring to keep some souvenir from his time with her. Unfortunately, his face is all he has left of those days.

Codsworth - Is broken-hearted and is at the epitome of guilt because he cannot believe he has made her so mad that she will have nothing more to do with him. He has absolutely no one left to serve and there is no one left who cares about him at all. He ends up falling into a state of denial, somehow glitching and convincing himself that she, sir, and young Shaun are simply away and will come back eventually. He sadly remains in this deluded state for the remainder of his days.

Hancock - Somehow does even more chems than before, knowing it cannot kill him but needing the rush to distract him from the complete and utter pain after sending away one of the few people that actually stood by him through thick and thin. He goes back to being the full-time mayor of Goodneighbor, but when he falls so deeply into the chems, the citizens begin thinking that it would be best to overthrow him. When he figures this out, he knows he has to stop doing the chems quite so much. He cuts back just enough to be coherent and make speeches to inspire people, but anyone can see that he is by no means doing as well as he used to before F!Sole left. At some point he is completely numb and he takes the chems to just feel something besides this deadness inside.

Danse - Is devastated. She is all he had left after being kicked out of the Brotherhood. He can't believe that he drove away the person that convinced him to see his own worth despite his true identity. He finds himself in deep, inescapable depression, and he eventually loses sight of why he should even keep going on at all. After all, he is just an instrument of evil that breaks friendship, families, and all good things. Why would the world need something like that?

Preston - Despite the fact that he does not believe he can do it, he forces himself to take up the mantel of General. He tries to lead and maintain a brave face even though he feels like he is falling apart. He knows the Minutemen are depending on him, and he feels so helpless. Eventually, he hands leadership over to Ronnie Shaw, returning to a second-in-command position as he throws himself into duties and work to try not to think about the loss of one of the few people that actually saw his vision and tried to help him achieve his dream. However, he can't quite forget the fact that it's all his fault that it ended up like this.

Valentine - Honestly cannot believe it and is in pure shock and devastation for several days before the grief and depression finally sets in. He throws himself into his work and becomes even more self-endangering, caring very little about himself and what happens to him. He knows he still has Ellie and the agency, but it just kind of seems to fade in importance as he thinks of F!Sole and how he drove her away. If he doesn't manage to get himself killed during this period, Ellie has a stern talk with him, and he actually does start being a little more careful. Not quite the level of careful he was when he had both F!Sole and Ellie on his back about it, but he tries for Ellie's sake if not his own.

X6-88 - Is quite angry at himself for angering and isolating such a vital and valuable asset of the Institute, but there is something else inside of him that pricks and pokes at his mind and gut. It is something he cannot identify and something he has never experienced before. It frequently brings her face to the forefront of his mind, homing in on just how angry that she looked and how she looked like she would rather be looking upon a pile of Brahmin dung than to be staring into his face. It bothers him for some reason, and when he returns to the Institute and expresses his thoughts, it is the last thing on his mind before they wipe his memory of her and reset him entirely.

Dogmeat - Tries to follow her even though she does not want him to. When she screams and throws things at him, he lowers his ears and tucks his tail, confused at what in the world he did wrong. He just wants her to love him again like she used to. He could be a better boy. He could stop pooping in Cait's shoes and stop chewing holes in things. Eventually, after weeks of following her and being rejected, he finally leaves her alone, heading back to Red Rocket Truck Stop where he decides to wait for her in hopes she will one day come back and give him all the pets or at least one pet. He ends up living his days waiting for her and pacing the place, waking up every morning with hopes that the sunrise will bring her back to him until he doesn't see the sunrise again.

Strong - Stays mad at her forever. However, he sometimes does wish that he had tiny human to help him with some things like fighting or cooking, but he quickly remembers that he's mad at her and tells himself that super mutants don't need puny humans. But there is something strange in his stomach when he thinks of her, but he usually smashes something to try to make himself feel better. The feeling never goes away quickly, though.

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morkleemelon · 3 years

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off the ice || chapter 4: don’t look back

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x fem. college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, sports au, college au

word count: 6.5k

warnings: blood, mention of surgery, description of injuries, swearing, financial struggle

author’s note: huge thanks again to my beta readers @writing-frog and @skiimmiilk for being a great help to making this story better! the slow burn fire is finally burning in this chapter and I’m so excited :) if you haven’t been listening already, I highly recommend the playlist for this chapter! enjoy~

“What do you mean ‘it’s fine’?,” you sobbed, gripping the side of her hospital bed. You wanted to give your best friend a hug, but you didn’t want to risk hurting her more. Yuna’s right leg was pinned into an apparatus, the intricate metal carefully holding together the broken bones, her usual perfect skin marred by scratches of red and patches of blue.

“I mean what I said”. Even with a sore voice and her current situation, Yuna managed to speak with dignity.

“And Ms. Kim is right,” the doctor agreed, jotting down a prescription on her clipboard, “the surgeries went well and she is in stable condition. The good news is that with proper rest and physical therapy, she will be able to walk again. Now, it’s my duty to be honest with you. You said you’re a figure skater?”.

“Yes”. Yuna uncurled her fingers, inviting you to hold her hand. You accepted it, bracing both of you for the bad news. Ten sat at the other side of the bed pressing her other hand to his lips.

“While we cannot rule out the possibility, the likelihood of you being able to skate again is very low. Especially for the next few years”.

Yuna’s tough façade started to crumble at the shocking reality and her lips trembled as she choked back tears. You pressed your forehead to her hand as you hid your own tears from her.

“God damn it!”. Ten yelled, getting up and kicking away the stool he was sitting on. The loud bang was followed by the sound of quiet weeping. “I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I shouldn’t have told you to go to the car first. None of this should’ve happened, god damn it”. The older boy cried into his palms as he placed the blame on himself.

“Please settle down and refrain from disturbing the patient,” the doctor warned, “but we would like to talk to you about the details of the accident, Ms. Kim, now that you’re awake and stable”.

Yuna nodded, a few tears escaping and rolling down her scraped-up cheeks.

“Your right leg is broken in three places upon impact with the vehicle: two in the femur and one major area in the tibia. You then sustained minor external injury as you fell to the pavement, scraping your arms and face. We will run additional tests later on to determine if you also have a concussion. If you can remember any details of how this accident happened, please describe them to me and we can notify the police to help find the suspect”, the doctor continued.

“I,” Yuna cleared her throat, “I was at a party last night and I had a bit to drink. We stayed pretty late and Ten is close with the host, so we just decided to sleep over. Then this morning, I woke up early and I wanted to go on a drive to clear my head. Ten had to get something so I left the house first. I- I checked both ways before I crossed the street to his car, but before I knew it… it came out of nowhere and I was on the ground. I don’t… I can’t remember anything about it. The next thing I remember was being in the ambulance with Ten”.

“I heard the whole thing happen,” Ten added softly, “I was inside the house at the time and I heard the screeching tires and Yuna screamed. By the time I ran outside, the car was gone and Yuna was bleeding on the ground”. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. “All I could do was call an ambulance. I- I didn’t see the car or the bastard driving it. All I could do was sit with her in the street while we waited. She wasn’t waking up and all I could do was sit with her. I couldn’t even move her because I was afraid it would make it worse and she was bleeding everywhere. All I could do was sit there”.

Tears stream down your face as you listen to Ten break down. The normally bright and optimistic man now had his face in his hands, hiccupping uncontrollably at the thought of how close he came to losing the love of his life.

“Hey,” Yuna groaned, struggling to keep her own voice steady, “baby, I’m okay. When we met, you were hurt and struggling, but you got through it because we were together. We’re still together and we can get through this too”. She touched her fingers through his hair gently.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kim, and both of your friends. The police are currently asking for witnesses for your hit-and-run case and will update you with any findings. These are your prescriptions”, the doctor slid the piece of paper onto the counter, “the nurse will come find you later to talk about your treatment. For now, I’ll leave you all alone”.

The room fell silent, only interrupted by the occasional sniffle as the doctor shut the door behind her.

“Hey y/n?”. Yuna turned her head gingerly to you.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do the competition with you now. I promised I would but…”

“Don’t even… how could you worry about that right now?”, you sobbed, “don’t you worry about it, Yuna, the competition doesn’t matter at all. I’m just glad you’re okay right now. You should focus on getting better, not worry about me of all things”.

“Y/n is right,” Ten agreed, “you were there for me when I got hurt. And when I thought there was no way out, you held my hand and pulled me up from the darkness. Doctor says you have a good chance of walking, so let’s get you there first. Then we’ll work on beating the odds and getting you back on the ice again”.

“You guys…” Yuna smiled slightly, careful not to strain her bruised jaw.

“I’ll come visit you as much as I can,” you promised, “I can bring my sleeping bag, clothes, and a jar of peanut butter. We can just be roommates here instead. There’s free AC and disney band aids too, it’ll be great”. Your attempt to lighten the mood was well received as the couple chuckles together.

“By the way, I called your parents while you were in surgery and they’re on their way over now. They should actually be here soon,” Ten noted.

“I’ll leave you guys then,” you offered. There was a two visitor limit and you didn’t want to intrude on Ten and Yuna’s chance to have some private time before her parents bombarded her with concern. Not to mention Mark has been sitting in the waiting room for a few hours now and you wanted to be respectful of his time too.

Offering your last words of support to Yuna, you shut the door quietly behind you. Dabbing at your watery eyes with the edge of your sleeve, you attempt to fix your run-off makeup using your phone camera. Everything felt kind of numb. The events of the last 24 hours were surreal and staying up the whole night with Mark certainly did not help as the tiredness was catching up to you. Concern, upset, worry, and frustration formed a thick cloud in your thoughts. Your brain was like a jammed printer and the thoughts were not processing. You were in shock to say the least.

You shuffle your way down the hall to the waiting area and look for Mark’s familiar blonde hair. You spot him fast asleep in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his head back against the wall. His mouth is slightly agape, forming a soft ‘o’ as he breathed steadily in and out. Seeing him sleep so peacefully made you relax a little.

At least there was something good about today.

“Hey,” you whisper, shaking him gently. His eyes blink open slowly, wincing at the bright hospital lights.

“Hey,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes as he sits up straight. “How’s Yuna? Did you get to see her?”.

“She’s…,” you pause, “she’s okay. She said she was okay when I saw her just now and the doctor said she’s stable but…,” your voice trails off.

“But what?,” Mark asked gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. You look around to make sure there was nobody around who could overhear. A few people sat around the waiting room a ways away, texting on their phones or flipping through the free health magazines. The receptionist’s monotonous voice droned on as she answered a phone call.

“The doctor says that Yuna might not be able to skate again,” you murmured. Even though the doctor made it clear before, saying the words out loud felt extremely surreal. You imagined if it were you lying on the hospital bed hearing this news. To not be able to skate again… it was too awful to comprehend. Tears roll down your cheeks before you could help it, dangling from the point of your chin before falling onto your green volunteer shirt.

Mark thought about what he could say in reply to the devastating news, but decided it was best to not say anything at all. Pulling you in for a hug, you cry silently into the crook of his neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and hold on for dear life.

The next few weeks pass by rather uneventfully after the incident, at least comparatively. Police were still on the case of Yuna’s hit-and-run perpetrator, but they struggled to find witnesses when the crime occurred so early in the morning. Even the local CCTV didn’t cover the area where it happened and the driver was still ultimately at large.

The Lee’s and your other friends texted in the group chat plenty and you grew much more comfortable with having them around. Mark drives you to the hospital to visit Yuna a couple times a week and the three of you would eat lunch together in her room for a small sense of normalcy. It was a tough transition for you nonetheless- your best friend and roommate who you were used to seeing every day now was now seemingly so far away and your time together was reduced to a few hours a week. However, the initial shock of the situation eventually faded and the two of you came to terms with how things were. Yuna and you agreed to not cry about it anymore until she got started on physical therapy and gave recovery her best shot. Thankfully, Ten was there with her everyday and night, so it was bearable for her.

Mark’s always been sweet about your comfort zone, too, never pushing you to talk about your feelings yet at the same time, always there for you when you needed him. Neither one of you brought up the almost-kisses, the first reason being you weren’t ready to remind yourself of the horrible things that happened afterwards and the second being that Mark wanted to respect that you needed time to process it.

So the days tick by and seeing Mark became part of your daily routine. It was something you looked forward to when you got ready in the morning and although you didn’t really know it, it was something you needed to make your day feel complete. His good heart shined more and more to you everyday as you chose to continue to accompany him to Sunday volunteering. You got to witness how Mark’s eyes glowed whenever he talked to the people he served. He treated everyone there as if they were his own family and even though many of the people he helps are much older, he continues every conversation with sincerity and maturity.

In addition to walking you to class everyday, Mark now has a special seat next to you in the front row of your economics lecture, leaving Jeno and Ten snickering behind you as they watch your close interactions. You ate lunch at the willow tree by the basketball court on the days you weren’t visiting Yuna. After a while, you grew used to the dirty looks from the girls across the court, even glaring back when you met Hillary’s fiery stare. Nonetheless, you developed a comfortable social routine and everything was going quite well, except for one abundant issue weighing heavily on your shoulders.

The middle of October rolls by and you grind your way through your evening shift at Frankie’s. Thankfully, it was a Tuesday, so late-night stragglers weren’t an issue. You finish scrubbing down the counters in the kitchen and wipe your hands on your waitress apron. Unfortunately, it was your turn to close so you were the only one left working tonight. Your back ached from the hours of waiting tables and your cheeks hurt from the wide smile you offered all of your customers, rude or not. Sighing, you count your tips for the day.

A bell chimes from the door.

“Sorry we’re closed-,” you stop your words as you see the figure illuminated by the low diner lights.

“Is it too late for me to talk with the pretty waitress?” Mark grins, unzipping and taking off his wind breaker. You roll your eyes but your smile tells him you aren’t actually annoyed.

“The pretty waitress is covered in barbeque sauce and all purpose cleaner. Proceed?”

“Oh no, not barbeque sauce! Cancel request! Cancel Request!”

You laugh, throwing a nickel at his dramatic show.

“Wait, give that back to me. I need every tip I can get,” you say, holding out your hand to receive the coin. Mark obediently picks it up, handing it to you as he takes a seat at the bar. You thank him, flipping through the crinkled, greasy bills from the tip jar. The creeping disappointment must have shown on your face because Mark broke the silence.

“Not a good night?” His words were careful. He understood you were under a lot of stress recently, but he didn’t have the heart to pry further and make you tell him why, which you appreciated. Mark assumed it was about Yuna or grades, but you never confided the real reason of how much your financial situation really scared you.

“Not a good…” you debate telling him everything. On one hand, you didn’t want to come off as needy or desperate. You were infamously bad at sharing your burdens with others. On the other, you wanted to tell Mark because you know he would listen and it would make you feel better. “Not a good anything,” you finally admit, setting the scraggly bills down on the clean counter between you.

Only $26.84 for the whole night.

Mark’s soft brows were creased in concern as he waited for you to elaborate. He rested his chin on his knuckle, watching you pensate your feelings carefully. You meet his soft gaze, his eyes telling you that it’s okay. You let your shoulders relax, not even realizing the tension they were carrying.

“I…,” you start, letting out a small sigh as you walk your way around the counter to sit on the stool next to him. He spun his stool so he was sitting facing you. You pick at the mysterious stain on your apron.

How do I even tell him about this? Hey Mark, I’m broke! I might drop out because I don’t have money for school, thus ruining everything my parents and I have worked for.

“I guess I’m just worried,” you resolve after a minute, “I’m worried because, well, because of money”. You wince at hearing the words out loud but continue before you could take it back, “my parents are working really hard to get the money for my tuition, but things aren’t looking good for next semester”. You continue to tell him about how you’ve been picking up extra shifts to try to save up, but skating fees and money for basic necessities eats whatever you earn right up. The thought of quitting skating to save money came to your mind, but you never followed through because that was as much of a necessity as anything. A miracle occurred with the skating competition, only for some sick bastard to hurt Yuna. You asked around but everyone already had a partner or were too busy to participate in the competition. So now you could either go rob a bank or take a gap year and hope you’ll be able to return. Mark listened to your qualms quietly until you finished.

“The competition, did you ask people who aren’t on your team?,” Mark inquired, resting a reassuring hand on yours.

“Yeah, I even asked the girls on JV, but nobody wants to do it since they think they can’t win,” you confirm with a sad nod.

“That’s so dumb,” Mark stated, “you’re like, the best skater ever. Even the worst girl on JV could win if they did it with you”.

You look at him in surprise. His thumb ran comfortingly across your knuckles, sending tingles down your arm. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you look back down at your joined hands. To be honest, you weren’t really sure what you guys were: officially, you were just friends at the moment, but anyone could see that there was something there. As of late, too much has been on your mind for you to possibly sit down and ponder it. Neither one of you has confessed feelings of any sort, but the night at the lake couldn’t just be ignored. And do normal friends hold hands like this?

“Right, tell that to them. Nobody wanted to be my partner, so yeah, I’m kind of in a pickle with tuition right now”

“Well can anyone be your partner?,” Mark asked.

“What do you mean? Like, just ask random strangers to skate with me?”

“No I mean like… I could do it”. His expression was serious, alluding that he meant every word of his ridiculous proposition.

“You could-” you stop to consider, “I mean I guess? I don’t think Coach Tanya said anything about the participants needing to be on the team… or be a girl. But there’s a big problem we’re not considering.”

“What problem?”

“You don’t know how to figure skate”. You free your hand from his and punch him lightly in the arm.

“But I play hockey and I’ve skated all my life,” Mark bargained, pointing to himself smugly and shrugging, “how hard can it be?”

“How hard-” you wheeze. You laugh out loud as the serious boy looked on indignantly. “Figure skating is miles different from what you guys do. Y’all go, what, forwards and backwards? Can you do a jump?”.

“I can too do a jump,” Mark defended.

“Okay, what about a single axel jump?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggle, grabbing the counter and spinning your stool around. Mark watches you endearingly.

“Y/n” the sound of your name stops your childish break and you look at him expectantly. “What if I practiced every day. I can learn your uh- single axis”

“Axel,” you correct.

“Axel. I can learn this axel jump and I can practice it and whatever else you need so you can do the competition”. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but your heart skipped a beat nonetheless.

“Deadass?”

“Deadass,” Mark nodded.

“Why… why…”. You struggled to find the right words.

“Because I like you,” Mark interrupted, “and I want to do this for you because it would make you happy. I’d streak across campus fully nude and screaming if it made you happy”.

Did he just...confess?

“It would,” you nod seriously.

“It would? Which part? The competition or-”

“No, the streaking,” you shake your head, ignoring the steady increase of your heart rate. You press your lips into a flat line and nod to feign seriousness. Mark paused before getting up. He reached for the hem of his shirt, sighing before lifting it up over his head.

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, reaching for his belt buckle. You shriek, shielding your eyes from his half-nude appearance. Although you didn’t want to admit it, you let your eyes linger on his lean torso through your fingers.

Damn, maybe hockey does have some benefits.

“I was kidding! Please put your clothes back on!,” you cry. You heard him laugh as he pulled the fabric back on.

“Okay I’m decent. I’m decent,” Mark assured, taking his seat next to you again. “But seriously, I meant what I said and you don’t have to reply until you’re ready. I completely understand if you don’t know yet. Just know that I am here for you and I,” he grabbed the edge of your stool and pulled it firmly so you were facing him, “really like you. As more than friends”.

You felt surprisingly confident; the stress of life always went away when Mark was around and you forgot all about the scattered pennies and nickels on the counter. Although his confession was so sudden, you had a feeling it was coming eventually. It didn’t feel shocking, but more like… finally. That being said, you were unsure of what to say. You weren’t sure you were ready for a relationship and most of all, you weren’t sure about your feelings for him. The last thing you wanted was to say you like him back and have it end up not being true.

Like always, the understanding, patient look in Mark’s eyes told you that he would wait for you to reply when you’re ready.

“Okay”. You smile.

“Okay”. He mirrors.

“Let’s do it, the competition,” you decide.

“Really?”

“Yeah, let’s give it our best shot! After all, it’s a crowd vote and your popularity might gain us favor,” you tease, poking his chest. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:48pm, why?,” Mark replied, checking his lock screen. You hopped off your stool and began untying your apron.

“You drove here right?”. He nods. “Then there’s somewhere I wanna go if you’re willing to drive”. You shove your tips for the night into your bag.

“You know I’m always down for you,” Mark smiled, grabbing your jacket off the rack and helping you into it. He stood in front of you and zipped you up without you asking, fixing the hood so it was proper. You watch him in silence and awe as he smooths down the wrinkles by your collar carefully and slings the strap of your bag over his shoulder without a word. It’s always these things, the little things, that leave you speechless.

The drive was pleasant. Mark put on your favorite radio channel and the two of you vibed comfortably to the acoustic music, the only interruptions were your quiet directions to the desired destination. You examined Mark’s face as he focused on the road, tipping his head back and forth to the beat with one hand on the wheel. It was dark, but the passing street lights illuminated his features in mesmerizing flashes, almost as if they were afraid to show his face for too long, the beauty would be too much to handle. His cheekbones were especially accentuated by the small smile on his lips. Looking at him made you feel… calm.

You pulled into the familiar parking lot. The blue neon lights above the building reading “Skate City” buzzed with electricity as the two of you got out of the car.

“You wanted to come here? To a kid’s roller rink?”. Mark chuckled as he shut the driver side door.

“Make fun of me now but you’ll see why” you rolled your eyes, walking through the building door which Mark held open for you.

The interior of the building was just like you remembered: the dark, ragged carpet was covered in colorful squiggles and dots resembling an abstract representation of worms and confetti. If that wasn’t bad enough, the matching wallpaper and UV lights topped off the hallucinogenic nightmare of a roller rink. Usually, it was also filled with the screams of children. Due to the lateness in the day, the rink was empty and usual disco funk was turned off. You would think it was closed if it weren’t for the man watching TV behind the counter.

“Mr. Joseph,” you call out with a wave. The man grunted, pulling his feet from off of the counter and shuffling through the mess of papers to find his glasses. He was an unassuming man in about his early forties, balding, pot-bellied, and proud. Nobody would guess that he was the man who taught you to skate all those years ago.

“Why, is that Miss y/n?,” Mr. Joseph exclaimed, rounding the counter to hug you.

“How have you been, Joe?”

“Well, you know me. I’m gettin’ by. Who’s this fella over here?”. Joe adjusted his specs and squinted at Mark.

“This,” you nudge the shy boy forward slightly, “is my friend, Mark. Mark, this is my family friend and former coach, Mr. Joseph. Also known as Joe,” you introduce.

The two men exchange a firm handshake.

“Nice meeting you, Mark. You treating her right?” Joe narrowed his eyes.

“Um so,” you cough, saving Mark from the awkward question, “Joe, we need skates for Mark”.

“Wait but I already have skates, y/n-,”

“No, you have hockey skates, Mark. You’re gonna need proper figure skates if we’re gonna do this competition right,” you explain.

“Competition, huh,” Joe gruffed, waddling into the back room and motioning for you to follow.

“Yeah, I don’t know if my parents told you, but Yuna was in an accident and now she can’t do the pair skate with me. Mark’s a hockey player but,” you glance at him with a smile, “he offered to pick up some skills and be my partner”.

“Here,” Joe smacked a pair of skates into Mark’s arms, “try these, boy”.

“Thank you, sir”. Mark bowed and went out to the bench to try them on.

Once he was out of sight, Joe leaned down to you, “you like this boy?”.

“Stop!,” you cry, covering your reddening ears with your hands.

“I’m just saying,” Joe held up his hands innocently, “I can tell he likes you by the way he looks at you. Even from meeting him just now”.

“Yeah… I just,” you stop to think about it. Well it’s true he likes you...

Do you like him?

You look to the door where you could see his shadow lacing up the new skates. You wish he would hurry back. Being without him felt like something was missing. Even if he was right around the corner, it didn’t feel good that you couldn’t see him and feel his reassuring presence. Realization began creeping in and you turn to look back at Joe’s I-told-you-so expression. He gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Make sure he’s good to you”.

Mark’s figure reappeared at the doorway, oblivious to your pounding heart and emotions which were becoming slowly more apparent. You watch endearingly as he stepped awkwardly into the room wearing the skates, stretching out his arms to maintain his balance.

“I think they fit!,” Mark beamed at you, causing the butterflies in your stomach to migrate all around.

“That’s good, boy. Take them on the house,” Joe guided him back out to take them off before he could hurt himself.

“Oh no, sir-”

“Please, they were collecting dust in that storage room. Nobody wants men’s figure skates anymore these days and I’m glad to help y/n out” Joe dismissed.

“Joe,” you stop him, wrapping your arms around Joe’s neck to give him a big hug, “thank you,” you whisper.

“Of course, kiddo” he pat your back, “you make me proud”.

After chatting for a bit longer, you bid your goodbyes to Joe as he locked up Skate City for the night. In the car, you hold your breath and turn towards Mark. Strangely, your head was in the clouds as you examined his face, a face you’ve grown so familiar with in the past few weeks, yet seemed brand new. Suddenly, he leaned in close, close enough to count his pretty eyelashes, warranting your breath to hitch in your throat. Unaware of your, Mark places the box of skates in the backseat and sits up straight again to buckle his seatbelt. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Right, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

“So, are you tired or do you wanna do some skating today?,” you finally ask.

Mark flashed you a crooked smile, starting the car, “Y/n, I’m always down for you. School rink?”.

You nod.

The whole drive back to the school was noticeably more awkward, at least to you. You tensed at every word he said and felt your heart clench when he hummed along to the soft radio tune. Saying nothing or giving short, one word replies, you didn’t trust your voice to say more. Instead, you opted to look out the window at the passing scenery for the fear of Mark noticing your flushed expression. You tug uncomfortably at your jacket collar, beginning to regret asking him to skate tonight. Ironically, and perhaps foolishly of you, you’ve received his confession yet you’re unwilling to admit the good news of mutual feelings to yourself. What should you do or say? Surely it’s not right to just say ‘I like you! I figured it out haha let’s date!” out of the blue.

Pulling into the sports center parking lot, you notice the locks on the front door.

“Oh crap, I forgot it’s a weekday. The rink is closed after 11,” you mutter, slightly relieved at the thought of heading home to sort out your feelings alone.

“Don’t worry, we can sneak in through the side door,” Mark answers nonchalantly, getting out to open the car door for you. You don’t disregard the kind gesture and instead feel the familiar pressure in your chest again.

And sneak in you did.

Mark had clearly done this a few times judging based on the way he led you confidently to the obscured side door which was propped slightly open with a rock.

You went your separate ways in the eerily empty stadium to your respective locker rooms. Splashing your face with cool water, you attempt to rein in your fiery flush.

How should I bring it up? Or do I wait? He already said he likes me, but what if he didn’t mean it?

After changing into your skates, you take a deep breath and head out to the ice.

He was already there waiting for you by the railing. Mark must have heard your footsteps approaching and he turned to give you a warm smile.

“You’re right, y/n, these skates are kinda different”. He tapped the toe pick into the padded floor.

“Yeah… right,” you mumbled, struggling to meet his bright eyes.

He’s so cute.

Pale moonlight streamed through the glass ceiling panels and illuminated your surroundings. Mark’s hair made his face glow silver and his eyes sparkled with the reflection of the moon. His face fell at your weak response, reading it as disinterest.

You open the gate and skate out onto the ice in front of him. Mark tentatively skated out to follow you, wobbling slightly at the different sensation. You reach out to grab his arms and steady him, meeting his gaze briefly before blinking away. You loosen your grip on his sleeves, the contact making your feelings go wild.

For a few moments, the two of you silently glided across the ice. For the first time ever, it seems, you weren’t sure what to say to him.

“Listen,” Mark finally spoke, struggling to a stop. He looked down at his skates thoughtfully, “If it’s about what I said earlier, if it’s about me liking you and that made you uncomfortable, I- I take it back. I feel like I didn’t give you a chance to say no if you wanted to-”

“No it’s-,” you interrupt, skating slightly ahead, “It’s not that”.

“Then why are you acting so strange?,” Mark asked, struggling to keep up.

“I just,” you circle to a stop at the middle of the rink. How do you even begin to explain how you feel? Never in your life have you felt like this about anybody. Never in your life have you felt so special and so cared for than when you were with Mark. You would have been lucky enough just being able to know him, but he even likes you. Out of all of the people he could have chosen, he chose you.

Mark careened to a halt behind you, waiting for you to finish. You take a deep breath.

Now or never.

You turn around to face him.

“What you told me in the diner, tell it to me again”. Your voice came out weaker than you had intended.

Mark’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and worry that you were upset with him. He wanted to pull you into a hug, tuck that piece of hair back behind your ear and tell you it’s okay if you didn’t love him back.

“I-,” Mark cleared his throat from his emotions, “I said that I like you, y/n. I like you as more than friends”. He looked down towards his feet but before he could blink, he was crushed in between your arms as you jumped to hug him. Your face fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and you breathed in his familiar, warm scent as he wrapped his arms delicately around your waist. The force from your impact caused both of you to drift slightly, but you kept steady. Not brave enough to look him in the face, you whisper your confession to his ear.

“I’m ready to answer you. I… I like you too. As more than friends”

Mark’s grip tightened around your waist as he lifted you slightly off the ice. Spinning around, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your sweatshirt as if he never wanted to let you go. Your heart swelled at the feeling as you held onto his sturdy shoulders. Neither of you needed to say anything more. He pulled you close so there was no space left and you listened to the gentle rhythm of his heart beating for you.

Pulling away at last, you rest your forehead against his. Your eyes fluttered closed but you could feel the tip of his nose brush gently across yours, his warm exhalation fanning across your lips.

“You don’t happen to have your phone on you, do you?” Mark mumbled deeply, savoring the moment.

You let out a small giggle, “no, do you?”.

“Nope”

And with that, you tilted your head up ever so slightly and Mark cupped your cheek to bring your lips together. You melt into his kiss and touch, allowing the way his soft lips moved against yours to express his silent affections. Exhaling through your nose, you sigh into the kiss, moving your hand to rest at the back of his head to pull him in deeper.

Finally.

Mark ran his thumb affectionately across your cheek, his lips speaking of all the times he’s wanted to do this. Your fingers lace their way through his soft hair, loving the way he reacts as you tug against the strands slightly.

A loud bang from a closing door causes you to pull apart finally. The bright beam of the security guard’s flashlight flashes across the ice as the two of you look on like deer caught in headlights.

“Hey, you two! Get out of there!,” the guard shouted, pointing a finger at your embracing form.

“Run!,” you whisper yell, pulling him quickly towards the gate. The two of you run as quickly as you can in your skates, pulling them off before you enter the hallway.

“Hey! Stop right there!,” the guard yelled, stumbling down the stadium stairs.

“Quick! In here!” Mark tugged you into the boys locker room, shutting the door before the guard could see and ushering you quickly to hide in the gap between two lockers. You squeezed in with him, panting softly as the adrenaline pumped through your body. Mark’s arms wrap around your body to pull you closer as the guard opens the door. The flashlight flicked menacingly across the dark room. You hold your breath as it comes particularly close. Finally, seconds that feel like hours pass and the security guard grunts before deciding to move on. You exhale in relief.

Mark rests his chin on top of your head and you realize how closely you’re pressed together. You giggle into his chest, loving how warm he felt.

“I can’t believe that I get to hold you,” Mark whispers. His fingers draw invisible shapes across your back.

You nuzzle your face into his tee shirt. “Well I can’t believe we’re doing this in the boy’s locker room after being chased down by security,” you mumble against the fabric. His chest sounded a low vibration as he chuckled back, moving his hand up to stroke your hair.

“You are so, so beautiful, y/n,” he moves to kiss the top of your head, “I don’t know the words to express how beautiful you are to me”.

You press deeper into his body at the words you’ve always wanted to hear. Lifting your face up from his chest, you press a small kiss to his lips, heart jumping at the still-new sensation. It was sweet, his lips ghosting over yours breathlessly as you nestle your nose gently against his in a slow eskimo kiss.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Mark whispers in between kisses, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long”.

You answer by gripping the fabric of his collar to pull him in deeper, moving your lips rhythmically against his.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while too,” you admit as you catch your breath, “I just didn’t understand it. Or some part of me wasn’t ready to admit it”.

“That makes sense” Mark rests his forehead on yours, smiling, “I would have waited a thousand years if that’s what you needed”.

Again and again, he captivated you with his words. He was so good to you and never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect. Day after day, his patience with you never faded and slowly, you let him break down your walls. His comforting smile and optimism always filled you with reassurance and peace.

So standing there, making out in the boy’s locker room, illegally, in the dead of night on a Tuesday, you became sure. You were sure that you wanted him in your life. You were sure you wanted to try to be a part of his. As you pressed your lips to his and as he ran his fingers through your hair, there was no turning back.

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refinedbuffoonery · 3 years

Text

Broken Like Me (1)

masterlist.

THIS FIC IS NOT INTENDED FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. Please see the masterlist for content warnings.

Here it is, the long-awaited dark!MacRiley AU! First, I want to thank my lovely beta readers and my life-saving brainstorming/workshop buddy. You all know who you are. ❤

This fic adheres to canon through 5x05 and then goes off the fucking rails. Backstory and other important tidbits of information revealed in the latter half of season 5 may be used, but timeline-wise anything after 5x05 does not exist in this fic. Also, Jack is dead and is staying dead, so don’t get your hopes up for a happy ending.

I will do my best to update this regularly, but hanging out in and writing such dark headspaces is HARD. I will definitely be taking breaks to write fluffier fic, because a big chunk of this story is all hurt and no comfort.

Without further adieu, let’s get this party started. (It’s not a party. In fact, it’s like...the opposite of a party.)

*****

They say he was a good man.

A good soldier.

A good father.

A good friend.

They say they are sorry for her loss, sorry he was taken from this world too soon.

They say Jack would be proud of the legacy he left behind, would be proud to have gone out in a blaze of glory.

Riley is sick of it.

It’s like she’s a teenager, and Jack is leaving her all over again. Only this time it’s worse. This time there’s no coming back.

The guests at the wake gaze at the folded up American flag on the fireplace mantle with deep respect, but Riley only feels anger every time she glimpses the piece of fabric the government sent back in his place. A flag and a life insurance claim feel like a mockery of the kind of man Jack Dalton was.

Was. Past tense.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

*****

Mac has never been afraid of Riley before.

He’s seen her angry and upset, but the rage-filled woman he stopped from killing Anya Vitez with her bare hands back in Croatia is someone he does not know.

The frightening part is that Riley isn’t a hot-headed person. In work mode, she is cold and calculating, so for her to go after Vitez like that...something inside her snapped.

Three weeks have passed since then, and every time he looks at Riley, Mac remembers holding her back, fingers digging sharply into her waist until she stopped fighting him. He sees the fury radiating off Riley’s body like heat waves off asphalt—sees the way she clings to it, finds purpose in it, letting it consume her so there’s no room for guilt or grief. Mac knows the feeling all too well. And he also knows there will be a very loud thud when she finally comes crashing back down.

But he also knows that the woman is like a loaded gun, safety off and desperate to fire at something.

Which is why he worries when Matty calls them in for an op and Riley isn’t there. She’s at Vitez’s trial, Matty informs them, but that doesn’t make Mac feel any better. Whenever there’s downtime during the mission, and Mac’s mind is free to wander, he can't stop thinking about her. This new Riley is becoming obsessively vengeful, and if someone doesn’t reel her back in soon, she might do something she can’t come back from.

The thought plagues Mac every second there aren’t bullets whizzing toward his head.

After the op, Mac drives to Riley’s apartment. Upon arrival, his ears are assaulted by Riley’s upstairs neighbor blasting Macklemore’s greatest hits. Mac hears the lyrics clear as day, even though both his truck windows and the apartment windows are closed.

Riley really shouldn’t have moved out of Mac’s house, not if this is her best option. He still doesn’t understand why she did.

It doesn’t take long to notice the GTO is missing. Riley should be back from the trial by now, but Mac has a sneaking suspicion where she is.

The drive to Jack’s apartment seems to take forever. The brick building is in an older neighborhood, one of few affordable ones with trees planted along the sidewalks—a luxury in LA. Sure enough, the GTO is parked on the curb, not far from the fire escape that connects to Jack’s living room.

Looking up, Mac spies a familiar body perched on the stairs.

Riley sits on the fire escape, soaking in the last rays of sunlight. Her eyes are closed, head resting against the brick wall. Mac doesn’t say anything as he sits beside her on the narrow metal stairs, their hips and thighs just touching.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug her? Hold her hand? Leave her alone? Riley isn’t a super touchy person. Mac decides on the latter, picking at his fingernails while his gaze drifts west to study the sunset.

Several minutes pass before Riley says, “Hey.” Her voice is low and scratchy, like she’s been crying.

“Hey,” Mac repeats. “How long have you been here?”

Riley shifts beside him, sitting up. “I don’t know. A while.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve come here, is it?”

A sigh. “No, it’s not.” Mac figures as much. Aside from the constant clamor of the city, Jack’s apartment is relatively quiet. It’s not in the greatest neighborhood, but it’s safe enough for Riley to sit alone and think. Or not think. Whatever she feels like doing.

Riley rests her head on Mac’s shoulder, and a wave of protectiveness floods his system. It’s new, this need to watch her back more than the others’. It came on so gradually that Mac doesn’t know when it started or what triggered it, only that he feels it all the time now. Especially after Jack’s…

He avoids examining the feeling too closely.

Without warning, Riley says, “If you hadn’t held me back, I would’ve killed her.”

Knowing exactly who she was talking about, Mac glances down at Riley in surprise. He knows it’s true—thinks so himself—but hearing it come out of her mouth makes his stomach turn. The last, and only, time Riley killed someone...it took her months to piece herself back together afterward. And that death was in self-defense.

This one would’ve been murder. Intentional and vindictive.

Mac isn’t sure Riley could come back from that, at least not as herself. The woman who would emerge from that would be a total stranger inside his best friend’s body. Mac suppresses a shiver. “I know,” he says.

“Thank you for stopping me.” Riley’s voice is quiet. So, so quiet.

“You would’ve done the same for me.” Gingerly, Mac wraps his arm around Riley’s shoulders, ready to let go at the first sign of her discomfort. When she doesn’t react, he relaxes and holds her more surely.

The sky is painted in vibrant oranges and reds, fading into deep blue overhead. Subtle strokes of pink outline the scattered clouds hanging above the horizon. Out of all the sunsets Mac has seen, all over the world, nothing quite compares to the ones here at home. He wishes Jack was here to see it.

Mac spends far too long debating whether to bring it up before asking, “Why did you go to the trial?” Agents, especially secret ones, don’t go to trials, mostly to keep their identities safe. Publicly tying oneself to a case is never a good idea, for more reasons that Mac can begin to name.

“I swore I’d be there every step of the way. I meant it.” Mac tries not to bristle at the snarling, defensive edge to Riley’s tone. “Eventually, she’ll make a mistake, and I will be there when she does. And then I’m going to rip out her entire organization from the roots up.”

Fear wraps its ugly hand around Mac’s heart. Until every single person associated with Tiberius Kovac is behind bars, there will be a target on Riley’s back, and Riley will have put it there herself. Losing one person to Kovac is more than enough; Mac refuses to lose Riley too.

“How can I help you?”

Riley looks up, eyes wide like she’s expecting him to try to talk her out of it, not offer to help. “You don’t have to do that.”

“And miss out on all the fun?” Mac almost smiles as he quotes her. Almost.

She sits up. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m going to hack Interpol first, to see which of her colleagues might also be dirty. So unless you secretly picked up hacking…”

Mac huffs. “Sorry, I only hack hardware.” He expects some insane, crackhead plan, not something so…reasonable. Maybe Riley isn’t as off-the-rails as he thought.

But only maybe.

A seagull perches on the railing below them, honking and squawking for seemingly no reason at all. Gulls are just like that. It glares at Mac, pinning him to his spot with a beady yellow eye, challenging Mac to shoo it away.

Go find some tourists to harass, Mac wants to snark at it. Leave us alone.

The seagull cocks its head, as if to say, I know something you don’t.

Mac narrows his eyes. I bet you do.

He swears the seagull shrugs before taking off, flying low over the GTO before sailing over rooftops on its way back to the ocean. It passes a billboard advertising a new blockbuster spy thriller, the product of millions of dollars and Hollywood plot recycling. Mac saw the trailer. The movie is about a soldier who joined the CIA in a quest for retribution after his best friend came home in a box. Usually Mac likes watching spy movies—mostly to make fun of them—but this one hits a little too close to home.

It takes a monumental effort to tear his gaze away.

When his eyes finally meet Riley’s, Mac understands the silent ache in them—the ache that’s surely reflected in his own eyes. He and Riley are drowning, but at least they’re drowning together.

Mac frowns. That must be the dimmest “on the bright side” thought he’s ever had.

Riley doesn’t say anything more, so neither does Mac. They sit on the fire escape until long after the sun sets and the temperature drops, and the city's nightlife stretches its limbs as it wakes. Mac shivers, but Riley seems oddly unaffected by the cold. That or she’s too numb to notice.

He threads his still semi-warm fingers through her icy ones, letting their joined hands rest on his knee. It seems like his last tether to the Riley he knows and loves, one who’s slowly slipping away from him and being replaced by a woman who might very well bring the world to its knees as payback for all that it’s done to her.

Mac has no interest in ever meeting that woman. Mostly because he refuses to lose his Riley, but also because Mac knows he won’t be able to resist that other Riley. She will slash his restraint beyond repair, and Mac will follow her to the ends of the earth.

He will find a way to keep them both afloat. He has to.

Or else the Phoenix may very well be hunting him and Riley again, and this time, they’ll deserve it.

*****

Entering her apartment later that night, Riley realizes too late that it isn’t empty. Bozer is still there, and he’s making dinner. Locking the door behind her, she hears a rushed, “Got to go, Matty. She’s home.”

Bozer crashed on her couch the night they got the news and never left. I don't want you to be alone, Bozer keeps saying, despite her insistence she doesn’t need a babysitter. Other than that, they don’t speak to each other much. In fact, Riley wouldn't have noticed he said anything at all if not for the way he stares at her, standing at the stove and twirling a wooden spoon between his fingers.

"What?" she snaps.

Carefully, Bozer asks, "How was the trial?"

"Fine." Riley knows he cares, and that he’s hurting too, but nothing he says or does is going to help her. The sooner he figures that out the better. She drops her keys and jacket on a chair before heading for her bedroom.

“You hungry?” he calls after her.

Riley yanks off her boots, chucking them into the closet with too much force. “No.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Her fuse is running short these days, and she’s just about had it with his incessant smothering and questioning. Riley marches into the kitchen, rolling her shoulders back and bracing her hands on the counter. “Last I checked, I still have a mother, so if you’re just going to keep nagging me, then I think it’s time you get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Bozer’s eyes widen and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Get out,” Riley snarls.

Still struggling to regain his ability to speak, Bozer stammers, “At least let me finish making you dinner first.”

“Fine.” Cracking her knuckles, Riley retreats to her bedroom once more. “I’m taking a shower. You better be gone when I come out.” She doesn’t wait for a response.

When Riley emerges, her dinner is cold, and Bozer is long gone.

She doesn’t eat.

*****

On the second day of Vitez’s trial, Riley sits in the back of the room long after the trial adjourns for the day, thinking. She didn’t recognize the witnesses who testified today, and as the prosecutor called each one forward, Riley wished she had her laptop so she could look them up. Now, as she stares over the rows of empty wooden seats to the section where the jury sat, Riley can only hope that the witnesses’ testimonies are enough.

Riley knows there’s more than enough evidence to convict Vitez—especially since she recorded the confession herself—but obsessing over the trial is easier than facing the reality waiting outside the courthouse doors.

Her mom invited her to visit his grave today, after the trial, but Riley declined. Facing that slab of granite will make it real, make it…permanent.

She knows what it says. Jack Dalton. Beloved. Gone too soon. Someone asked for her approval before it was made. It doesn’t say nearly enough to encapsulate all that he was, but at the time Riley couldn’t think about it—couldn’t look at it—long enough to suggest any changes. She still can’t.

Chewing her lip, Riley anxiously toys with her rings, spinning them and moving them from finger to finger.

At the wake, one of his old Delta buddies joked that the gravestone should read “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfuckers,” but Riley didn’t laugh.

Riley hasn’t laughed since Matty broke the news. It’s like the part of her that knows how to feel joy died in that explosion too.

Instead, she wants to scream at the universe until her voice gives out, cursing it for taking her dad away too soon. Because that’s what he is. Her dad. Riley doesn’t even know when she started calling him that again, but if she has to guess, it was sometime between the first “I’m proud of you, honey” and him kicking her ass at skee-ball for the millionth time.

Tears leak from Riley’s eyes without her consent.

It feels like she failed him, in a way. By not being there. By not keeping him alive.

Now the best she can do is make sure his death means something.

Vitez will go to prison for the rest of her life, that Riley is sure of. But the rest of her organization is still out there, and Riley intends on putting every single member behind bars. No amount of justice will even begin to heal the Jack-shaped wound in her heart, but at least the world will be better for it. Safer.

But she’d rather live in a more dangerous world with him still in it than a safer one without. That way they could save the world together, like they always did.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Anger rumbles through her body, like a Texas thunderstorm in her veins. It’s the only emotion Riley feels anymore, ever since the sadness gave way to numbness.

A woman in a security uniform pokes her head in the room. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to lock up for the night.” When Riley doesn’t respond, the woman adds, “Are you okay?”

Are you okay? Riley hates that question more than all the others. How are you? Have you eaten today? What can I do to help?

She feels like she’s dying. She can’t eat. Nothing will help.

But that isn’t what people want to hear. Even Mac asked that last question, yesterday on the fire escape, although Riley didn’t automatically despise the question like she usually did. It’s different coming from him than anyone else; his offer was genuine, not coming from pity or obligation.

She isn’t surprised Mac recognized her need to do something. After all, he had been the same way after his dad was killed.

Coldly, Riley finally says,“I will be.” The woman doesn’t deserve her abrupt answer, but Riley can’t quite bring herself to care. She lets the anger the questions bring up fuel her, lets it hold her together.

The anger is all she has left.

Riley stands, her heels clicking on the floor as she exits the courthouse.

She’s coming for all the monsters who hurt him. She’s coming for the ones who rendered him nothing more than ashes on the wind, the ones who turned her life into a nightmare she can’t wake up from.

Because she doesn’t need to wake up to become theirs.

Want to be tagged in future chapters? Send me an ask.

#beth writes #dark!MacRiley #macriley #macgyver #angus macgyver #riley davis #mac x riley #macgyver fanfiction

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

Paper Cut | Edmund Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Mentions of injury/blood, describing pain, seemingly near-death experience and talk about death, probably some cussing

Time/Era: Modern AU but the Pevensies have been to Narnia.

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Every injury your soulmate receives, you also receive. When you finally meet your soulmate, you have a few bones to pick.

A/N: Hello! This is the first imagine I’ve written on this blog, so I decided to do something a little more light-hearted for our favorite just king. I’m also a sucker for soulmate aus. There will be a part 2 for this story :D Feel free to leave requests :) Also, I’ve never been to Cambridge University so please take everything I say about it with a grain of salt lol

Part 2 | Part 3 | masterlist | read on ao3

It’s a common courtesy to try and be as careful as you can when it comes to your body. Not for your sake, but for your soulmate’s. Every papercut, cramp, broken bone, and even every itch you feel, your other half does as well. So, it was common sense to try to be as careful as you could to not inflict pain on them. Or at least that’s what Y/N thought. She spent her whole life dodging anything she felt could cause her harm. This included “normal kid” things like playing on the playground, rolling down hills, jumping off things, or playing sports. Her heart was always in the right place, even if her friends and family called her a stick in the mud for declining their “fun” requests. She could not, and will not, injure her person. When she was around 8, she had been playing with a paper airplane and it just barely sliced her finger. It left behind a pesky papercut that stung. Bad. The small injury left Y/N guilty for days afterward. She has assumed that her soulmate was on the same page as her for the longest time. Aside from a few skinned knees (they were kids after all,) Y/N was left unscathed. She went on her days carefree until she was about fifteen.

It seemed as though Y/N’s soulmate had completely changed their deminer overnight. It started with a bit of road rash on her palms. Y/N assumed they had fallen accidentally. Annoying, sure, but it was more than manageable. Then, her lip split open and bled for almost 15 minutes.

As the week went on, large bruises started appearing on her legs and hips. Maybe the road rash fall was worse than she initially thought. Again, she just rode it off as clumsiness. It wasn’t long until her fingertips started to turn purple. This made Y/N panic.

“Ma’am?” Y/N interrupted her science teacher in the middle of her lecture, “I think there’s something wrong with my hands.” The purple started to spread down her fingers towards her knuckles. They also proved to be getting harder to move.

“Oh, dear, you’re freezing.” Ms. Adamson remarks, taking Y/N’s hands into her own.

“What’s happening? Am I dying?” Her entire hand was now numb.

“I don’t think so, Miss L/N, but, it’ll help you and them out if we warm you up.”

Her toes suffered the same fate, she discovered during a visit to the school’s infirmary. (Which wasn’t even worth visiting in Y/N’s opinion.) The nurse at Y/N’s school didn’t have the “jurisdiction” to help Y/N properly, so she had to settle for a wet paper towel that was warmed in the microwave. Y/N just wished to be sent home instead. By the time she was finally set free, the purple had faded but her skin tone was not back to normal. Hopefully, the paper towel did something for her soulmate cause this sure as hell wasn’t Y/N’s fault. Her parents were flabbergasted when she got home, mostly upset that they made her miss so many of her classes. Neither had any explanation but tried to offer unhelpful comforting all the same.

When Y/N awoke the next morning, all of the fingers in her hand had gone back to normal and she regained feeling. Finally, her soulmate was finally safe.

She spent the day coming up with ridiculous reasons as to why they had almost given her frostbite. Maybe they got locked in a freezer at an ice cream store and had to wait for the store to reopen to let them out. Maybe they live in Antarctica and they got locked out of their house in their underwear. Maybe they were trying to win a bet to see who could stay in ice water the longest. The daydreams were cut short as she was harshly awoken by a searing pain in her abdomen.

Ms. Adamson dropped her whiteboard marker and panicked when she heard Y/N scream. It wasn’t a normal teenage girl scream either. No, this scream was filled with pure agony and distress. It echoed against the walls and vibrated the desks. It sounded as if she was getting murdered. Y/N fell to the floor and landed in a big heap. The scientist hurriedly ran towards Y/N and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the teen’s blood pooling on the linoleum floor. It appeared she had been stabbed, by the looks of it.

Pointing at various other students to do various tasks, call an ambulance, call the office, and to go get another teacher, she took hold of Y/N’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” She whispered, “You’re going to be fine. Keep your eyes open for me.”

Y/N felt very odd. Was this what dying felt like? She felt as though she was underwater; she could hear Ms. Adamson but her voice was muffled and she couldn’t make anything out. Y/N felt dizzy and sick at the same time, all she wanted to do was shut her eyes. So she did. Relief filled her as quickly as the pain. Her wound felt cold as if someone was pushing a damp cloth onto it. The pain lessened and lessened until there was none at all.

Five years later she had almost forgotten about what had happened. Almost. In the years that followed the incident, severe gashes and bruises had become a normal occurrence. Her body was riddled with what seemed like battle scars, and she was almost always on edge. She had no way of knowing what was going to happen to her, nor when it was going to happen. This felt really unfair. She had been so careful for them, but they treated themself like a rag doll.

Much to her delight, when she hit eighteen all of the injuries suddenly stopped. The last injury she had received was a dark black bruise that covered her entire side, then nothing. It had been two years and all she got were papercuts and burned tongues.

“Take a break,” Y/N’s roommate grabs the pen out of her hand and places it on the desk. “You’ve been working on that for ages, come get coffee with me.”

Y/N was currently in her third year at Cambridge University, working on her undergraduate biology degree. For her degree, she had to take organic chemistry and it was, in simple terms, kicking her ass. Her professor is shitty, the work was hard and Y/N was losing motivation.

“I can’t. If I stop I’ll fail the final, then fail the class then never graduate.” Y/N mumbles, picking up her pen again and scribbling something down.

“That’s not true, just come with me. Please?” “I said no, Y/B/F/N.”

“What if you take your books with you? A change of environment might help you study.”

Y/N leans back in her chair and looks up at her roommate. Maybe she had a point, it might do her good to get out a little bit. She packs her things and the two make their way to the coffee shop.

The coffee shop on campus was small and always packed. The school preferred to call it “cozy,” but still, it’s small. Surprisingly, there weren’t many people inside.

“Most people must’ve already left campus for break,” Y/B/F/N said, seemingly reading your mind.

Only three of the tables had students sitting at them. One in the far corner had a girl who looked to be a very frustrated first year, huddled over a croissant and an English textbook. A few tables down sat four boys and one girl. Each had books open and pens in their hands, but by picking up snippets of their conversation, they were talking about whether Voldemort or Darth Vader would win in a fight. Finally, near the window, sat a boy who was staring straight at her. She recognized him from a few of her general education classes. Y/N had never talked to this boy, but he was rather cute. He was wearing a crimson sweater and ripped jeans with converse, hair messily tossed to the side. Y/N couldn’t decide whether or not he was staring at her or was in a very deep thought so she waved. No wave back.

The two girls get their coffee and sit down a few tables away from the boy.

“Do you know that guy?” Y/B/F/N asks, moving her head towards crimson sweater.

“Not officially, I recognize him. Oh, what’s his name? I knew it at one point…” Y/N reaches into her bag and pulls out her books again, placing them on the table. As if it were a habit, she immediately starts studying again. She glances past her friend; the guy was still staring at that one spot.

Time passes fast for Y/N but slow for Y/B/F/N. She tried to speak with you but ultimately gave up. So, bidding you goodbye, she left to go find her boyfriend. Y/N was kind of relieved, she can finally study in peace. The big group also left, after fighting about whether a time turner should be illegal or not, so the cafe was left with an almost eery silence. So silent that you can hear every pencil scratch, every tap of a keyboard, and every gulp of coffee.

At some point, the boy had gotten up to get another cup of coffee and passed by Y/N. He was wearing a shit ton of cologne, so he left a scent trail wherever he went. Making his way back to his table, he tripped and spilled his coffee all over Y/N’s chemistry notes.

“No, no, no, no, no!!!!!” Y/N screeches, wiping away the coffee with her bare hands. The drink splashes onto the boy’s pants and shoes.

“Oh as- oh fuck, I am so sorry!” He grabs a wad of napkins and tries to blot the paper. She had worked on that study guide for hours, and now it was ruined. There was no way her professor would take it now. Thank god her laptop was still in her bag.

Panicked, Y/N picks up her notebook and starts flipping through it. Her pen marks were bleeding together and there was no way to save them. Coffee crimson boy grimaces and picks up the notebook.

“I don’t suppose this was an art class and you could turn it in as an abstract piece?” He says in a serious tone, though the words were highly sarcastic. Y/N lets out a single laugh.

“I wish it were, but no. O Chem,” Coffee crimson’s face contorts even more.

“Ouch, um, do you have it backed up anywhere?”

“Ah yes, I have my notebook backed up.” The previously broken ice was discarded and Y/N was frustrated again.

“You should have done it on your laptop.”

“And you should watch where the fuck you’re going.” Y/N snatches the notebook from his hand. Coffee crimson notices your tone and quickly backtracks.

“Hey, let me redo it for you then,” He glances at the textbook casually. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“And why should I trust you? I don’t know you and my grade is riding on this.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” His smile was warm. “I’m Edmund Pevensie, I’m in the prelaw program.”

“Oh, perfect, a law student that’s going to attempt my organic chemistry homework. Wonder what could go wrong.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out. Law is hard, maybe a different kind of hard, but still hard. I can do hard.”

“Take a shot every time sweater guy says hard. I feel like I’m at a frat party.”

“I’m trying to fix my mistake here,” Now Edmund is the one that looks frustrated. “Here, take my number. I’ll text you updates and meet you back here tomorrow.” He looks at the clock. Damn, he had a gorgeous jawline. “4:32 pm. Exactly 24 hours from now.” Edmund scribbles his number onto a napkin and hands it to Y/N. As he writes, she can’t help but notice a long, jagged scar running the back of his hand. She scrunchs her eyebrows.

Edmund actually kept his word. Every hour until four am that night he sent Y/N updates. Goofy pictures of him googling stupid questions or him writing. He sent a video that gave Y/N a perfect shot of the scar. Curiously, Y/N looks down at her own hand.

The next day, his photo updates started coming again. This time they were more serious, showing the study guide. He ended up putting his own commentary in the margins; some funny some that made her think of the material differently. Y/N could really tell he was smart, even by his handwriting.

He sent a picture to Y/N at 4:25 of the table in the coffee shop. “I’m early” was sent at the exact moment Y/N opened the door.

“Wow, I’m impressed. I didn’t actually think you’d show.” Y/N sat opposite of him and smiled. He was wearing the same (coffee stained) jeans as yesterday and a button-up shirt.

“I wouldn’t do all that work for nothing,” He smiled again and handed Y/N a new notebook she had never seen before.

As she gripped the pages, the corner dug into her palm and cut her.

“Ow!” The two said at the same time. They both had a thin cut in the middle of their palms. His large brown eyes met Y/N’s and they stared for a moment. Y/N then grabbed his hand and pushed up his sleeve to show the scar going up the back of his hand. Y/N couldn’t look away from his skin; just as she had thought, it was identical to hers.

Meeting his gaze again, she pressed a hand to her stomach. Her hand rested right above a large, jagged scar that didn’t seem to heal quite right. His eyes followed the line of her arm.

“Edmund, I think you have a lot of explaining to do.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #the chronicles of narnia #narnia #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fanfiction #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #soulmate #soulmate au

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youarejesting · 3 years

Text

A Very Bad Day

[MASTERLIST]

Request: @hoebii

Beta: N/A Pairing: Seokjin x Reader Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Slice of Life, Drama, Romance Words: 1.2k

Summary: Kim Seokjin has a bad day and I the clever Narrator call on you to help him, just read your lines and don’t stuff up the story got it. I believe in you.

Kim Seokjin had a bad day. Well, bad was an understatement to you or me. The criteria of a bad would be getting late to work, forgetting your lunch, and that report that was due Friday was due by the end of the day. But if you think that is a bad day well then this was worse. If I had to label it for you readers then I would call this very bad.

It was unpleasant, as no one would wish to have a day like this. It was distressing, there was truly something about it that made Seokjin uneasy. It was vapid, so very dull, and unchallenging. So if your bad day is labeled bad then this was a very-unpleasant-distressing-vapid-bad day.

The events of this very-unpleasant-distressing-vapid-bad day are not only unimportant to the story of which I am telling you but also too upsetting to repeat and honestly, Seokjin would rather it wasn’t brought up again, work was work, but the home was a place free of the boss and duties and pants. Where he didn’t have to smile or apologize while getting abused because he was right and no one would listen.

So for the sake of Seokjin’s very-unpleasant-distressing-vapid-bad day, I will leave the events up to you dear reader, conjure the most horrifying deadlines and boring lectures in your mind and let’s move on to the present and more pressing matters.

Seokjin relieved himself of his bag, coat, and shoes at the door, waiting at least till the living room to dispose of his work pants. He was free from the stifling attire he associated with the stresses of his work. Promptly flopping on the living room couch in a manner one might liken to the cetacean surfacing behavior of both whales and dolphins.

After executing the perfect side breach Seokjin wiggled into the comforts of the cushions until he found a spot deemed comfortable enough to waste the next few hours on mind-numbing televised entertainment.

His comforts and distractions were unhelpful and he pulled a cushion from beside his form and promptly smacked himself in the face repeatedly with it.

I know what you are thinking and no there was no apparent reason for this behavior, no parasitic bugs crawling in his brain misfiring nerves nor was there any madness growing ill in his mind. He was as the young and hip kids were saying nowadays ‘doing it for the vine’. Which for those unfamiliar with this phrase, it means… Well, I suppose it means doing it for growth because vines are a plant that grows? Or, at least that is my interpretation and who is narrating the book here you or me?

We are getting off track dear reader Jin’s day however unpleasant, distressing, and vapid of a bad day it was, would continue to metaphorically suck if we do not fix it.

How about you start by greeting him just say the lines written using your own name and I am sure you can turn his day around. But you have to say it out loud, in a whisper, or at least mouth your lines silently, like those people who sometimes do when they try to remember something. They look at their watch and recite their appointment time or their next stop on the train. Yes, you must commit dear reader, otherwise, Jin will become sad, or think you are a ventriloquist. Let me set the scene.

Seokjin, laid there still incredibly exasperated trying to relax his mind, when his partner that’s you, my dear reader, walked in carrying a few bags of groceries.

Your smile faded at the tormented expression on his face, “Kim Seokjin, how was your day?”

“It was fine” he pulled himself to his feet and forced a smile, a smile most seen in customer service. Seokjin took the bags from your hands, always trying to prove himself useful which he honestly didn’t have to. You knew how hard he worked for you already, and you never ceased to show him gratitude and affection.

“I can tell you are lying to me, you know I can see it in your eyes,” you decided to call his bluff.

I thought for a moment we were in a somber play, do you always speak so monotonously. Perhaps say your lines with a bit of feeling, walk around your room and act this out or at least let your mind wander. I promise no one will care if you look silly, but your face might turn red.

“I don’t know what you mean, I just had a long day but I am glad to be home?” He said not turning to face you, his shoulders were tense and his hands were shaking a little.

“Jin please look at me and tell me what’s wrong?” you knew it was getting worse usually no matter how bad his day got he would eventually just let it go but today it only lingered and festered.

“I want to quit.” He said, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t be there anymore?”

“Hey, Jin, listen to me, you don’t ever have to stay in a job which you do not enjoy. If it brings you this much sorrow it isn’t worth keeping.” You said pulling his head onto your shoulder wrapped his arms around your waist and —stop blushing! Wait till the end of the scene— sobbed into your sweater. “I support you if you want to leave but for now I have a better idea.”

You guided him to the couch, a bag of snacks in hand and as you sat sideways on the couch you softly patted the space in front of you. He sat with total complaince and laid back against your chest letting you cuddle him, feeding him ice cream and his favourite crackers until the tears subsided.

Almost half the tub of ice cream had been devoured before he was reduced to a few sniffles here and there. Pressing kisses to his crown, you continued to hold him because it was warm, because he deserved unconditional love and comfort in this scary moment it was a big decision to leave one's job.

“I love you!”

Wait I didn’t tell you to say that how did you—

“Seokjin you are kind and selfless putting others before yourself. You even thought to hide your sadness so as not to bring me down. But we share this burden. You are talented, a tremendous cook and you work so hard, at home at work even in your hobbies. You are the funniest guy I know and I love when you laugh because it makes my heart flutter. I know it is scary to think you are losing your job but I will be there for you, physically, emotionally, financially. You are my worldwide handsome.”

Seokjin turned to face you wiping at his damp eyes, —excuse me this is my story since when did I tell you you could take over— you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him forward into a kiss that tasted like a boysenberry swirl ice cream.

So I guess when you think about it, this day was not as ‘bad’ as it might seem. It was not all unpleasant as with you Seokjin was quite pleased, it was distressing but he found himself easily de-stressing in your arms. It wasn’t vapid as he made a change and it would be challenging, and though it wasn’t the best day it was definitely a good afternoon.

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

“No, no, no, no, no, no!”

This was your fault. All your fault. All because of your stupidity. Now you might be losing one of the most important people in your life. Sehun was limp in your arms but he was still breathing. You didn’t know whether to have hope or to begin mourning from that motion.

“(y/n)?”

Through your blurred vision, you looked up to find Junmyeon kneeling in front of you in his human form. His hands were held cautiously out in front of him as if he were trying to communicate with a wild animal. And maybe that’s what you were. They may be the ones who could transform into dogs, but you were the barbaric one. Look at what your decisions had done.

“I did this to him,” you whispered, lowering your eyes back to the man who hadn’t given up on you.

“No, you didn’t,” Junmyeon reassured you. His hands laid over yours. Though they were warm like Sehun’s, they didn’t give the comfort you were needing. But you didn’t fight him as he removed your grip and took Sehun in his own arms. A new pair of hands landed on your shoulders, making you jump.

Soomi smiled down at you. Relief and love shined through her brown eyes absent of all the judgement you surely deserved. “Let’s go, (y/n).”

Instead of standing up and following the alpha, however, you broke down. You sobbed as Soomi wrapped her love-filled arms around you. She let you crumble into her chest. There was nothing but her love for you, no anger, no hatred for what you’d done. Despite what you’d seen, you should have known that she was not Tatia. Down to the very last moment, she was only Soomi, who truly cared.

Sehun was right. You were loved. More than you’d ever known.

The chair was not comfortable. The wooden seat made your back ache and there was a numbing sensation buzzing through your legs, but you still didn’t move. You stayed there by Sehun’s side, hands firmly wrapped tight around his own.

He was still asleep, wrapped up with bandages that covered the concoction Soomi had created to help the burns heal.

Apparently, the fire that came from Molia’s hands was structurally different than regular fire, enhanced and altered by magic - hence why the vampire didn’t turn herself into ash whenever she used it. Somehow, though, the fire also kept the wolf’s accelerated healing ability from working as well.

All night and well into the afternoon of the next day, you’d stayed by his side, not letting go of him for a second, except for the one time you went to the restroom. You’d even managed to eat the one meal you’d accepted from Lottie with one hand. Down in the basement, you knew Evie was in the same position.

That woman was a saint. She had to be. Even as you apologized and groveled for her forgiveness for Kris getting hurt, she never shouted or grew upset, giving you the blame you so deserved. She’d told you it would be alright and disappeared to be with her husband.

Not everyone was as forgiving or understanding. A few of the wolves - Tao and Baekhyun in particular - gave you narrow-eyed looks. That was the other - although extremely small - part of the reason you stayed up in Sehun’s room. You wanted to avoid the other people you’d put in danger. At least until Sehun was up and you were able to cower behind him.

Another person you hadn’t expected to be so kind towards you was Mother Willow. At first she hadn’t come back to the farmhouse with the rest of you, taking the coven with her. Your initial guess was that she was giving you time before the scolding and lecturing and consequences began. But no. Instead, she’d gone to find out more about Molia. You’d given Soomi the information you knew, who’d then passed it onto Mother Willow.

Now that Molia was dead, all her protective magic was gone too, making it easy for the coven to find her hideout. Apparently, she’d been in town an extended peroid, staying in a nice hotel room while putting together her malicious plot. Her diaries were even found. The insight discovered within those pages… it only increased your guilt.

“She wasn’t always so full of hate,” Mother Willow told you. When she’d entered in the early morning hours, you’d let her have your chair while you sat on the bed next to Sehun. Your eyes stayed on him while your ears took in the newest information discovered.

“Was it her coven?” you asked fearfully.

“Partially,” Mother Willow confirmed. “But it was also that vampire. She met him one night while gathering Evening Primrose. Witches and vampires were more sociable with each other back then, so they struck up a friendship. At night, she would meet him by the caves near her village and he would tell her of the world he’d seen. He fed into her fears of her coven turning against her.”

Closing her eyes, Mother Willow took a deep breath and let it out. A moment or so went by before she opened them again.

“I suspect that he might be the one truly behind the accident.”

That was the comment that made you peel your eyes away from Sehun. “The accident?” Molia’s screams from the memory of her “death” bombarded your ears. “What accident?”

Telling you all of this seemed to be taking its toll on her, though she continued anyway. “According Molia’s diary, she was by the river, arguing with Tatia. Her emotions surged, causing the water to rise and crash down on the banks. Tatia’s niece was playing nearby… she drowned. But she hadn’t been anywhere near the river. Molia had written in later entries that perhaps the vampire had come in and killed her, throwing her in the river to make it look like she drowned in the waves.”

“Th-that’s why the elders tried to bind her powers?”

Mother Willow nodded. “It would seem so.” With wrinkly fingers, she reached out and grasped one of your hands. “Though the details were never recorded, we knew the reason Molia had lost control was because she was given free reign of her powers. The mothers back then kept a watchful eye, but no one knew how to teach her, so they let her teach herself. We thought we could learn from their mistake by doing the opposite.”

You gently squeezed the brittle limb that held on tightly to you as if you’d run away again at the first chance. “Maybe there is no right or wrong way. Maybe we all have to find out who we are and how to manage that on our own.”

“But a little guidance along the way could help,” she smiled. It was a small one, barely visible among the folds in her face. You never really knew how old Mother Willow was – she always seemed like this perfectly preserved grandmother, never changing, never giving away the secret of her origins.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t return the smile she shared with you. “I still don’t understand, though.”

“Understand?”

“Yes. I don’t understand how she could choose the route she took to get here, even if she was manipulated by the vampire all those years ago.” While you knew the reasons Molia had given you – with her sweet words of a world where you didn’t have to be afraid of yourself – you didn’t believe that was her true motivation.

Mother Willow sighed. “We can never know for sure. But she was full of hatred – hatred for her own kind, hatred for herself. I believe that she was simply out for blood. She wanted control over the people who tried to control her.”

“But why wait four hundred years to try it?” you asked. “Why not go after them when she first woke up as a vampire?”

“Waking up to an immortal life is not as simple as waking up for the day. She had many things she had to learn, such as control over her thirst and how to balance her old and new powers. And you saw for yourself – she couldn’t control everybody, even at the height of her power under the blood moon. She needed help. She needed you.”

You scoffed. “And she knew I would come along?”

“Eventually,” Mother Willow nodded. “She knew eventually someone like her would come along and face the same fear and suspicion that she did. And she would use that to her advantage.”

She certainly did.

You fell for it all; small moments of doubt had crept in, but you ignored them in favor of being accepted and exploring your powers. Now… now you would be lying if you said you weren’t afraid of them yourself. No, you could never go back to hiding or suppressing them, but you feared that they could someday take over again.

“You are very lucky, you know.”

You blinked, looking up at Mother Willow as she let go of your hand and stood from her seat. “How is that?”

Her eyes fell from you to the sleeping wolf. “While we’re very much alike – wolves and witches – the dark history can never be forgotten. Not entirely. It might be because of that history that a mate bond being formed between the two is rare, almost as rare as your gifts. But Mother Fate – she knew what she was doing, tying the two of you together. He never gave up on you. His faith�� it’s stronger than any spell. Soomi said that he searched the woods for you for three days, from the moment you disappeared. He is the greatest gift of all.”

You were stunned into silence, watching Mother Willow exit the bedroom. Even after the door was shut and her footsteps had faded away, you kept staring after her. Could what she said be true? Could he really have searched for you all that time, forgetting all about the argument that had taken place just before?

As if answering your question, a heavy sigh escaped Sehun’s lips, pulling your attention back to him.

“Please, wake up,” you whispered. There was so much you needed to say and you needed him to be able to understand, to actually hear the words that would leave your mouth.

Hours passed by. You’d shifted back into the wooden seat to hold Sehun’s hand at a more comfortable angle.

All throughout the time he was asleep, his brothers and their mates came to check up on him. Disappointment and worry decorated their faces whenever you informed them that there still was no change, no sign of him waking up. Kris had apparently already started to heal and was up walking around. That bit of news had given you hope, but you couldn’t drown out the tiny voice of doubt in your head. It constantly told you that this was your fault and that you were probably never going to be able to see those brown eyes again, the ones that soften after a single glance in your direction or that sparkled with mischief when he was too quiet.

Afternoon was slowly drifting into evening. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy, begging for a small amount of relief. You hadn’t slept in almost two days and it was taking its toll. Perhaps… just a quick nap. You weren’t leaving or letting go of his hand. You would… still… be here….

It felt like no sooner had you closed your eyes and rested your head on the edge of the bed that you felt like you were being shaken awake.

“(y/n)? (y/n)?”

Groaning, you lifted your head in a sloth-like motion, eyes blinking away the sleep to find out who’d awaken you.

Smirking at you as he sat up in bed was Sehun. His dark eyes shimmered through the blurriness of your own.

“Oh, my god!”

You threw yourself onto him, not thinking nor really caring about his wounds in the moment. He was awake. He was finally awake and that was all that mattered. You heard him hold back and “oomph” as you landed on him, but it was quickly drowned out by your sobs.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out as you buried your face in his chest. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

He softly “shhed” in your ear as the tears rolled down your cheeks. In a soothing motion, he swayed you back and forth, even reaching behind you to bring your legs up on the bed so you were lying beside him.

Over and over, you cried out your apologies, each individual sorry for one action or another. There were other things you wanted to say, but none of them would come to surface.

“Stop apologizing,” Sehun said in that even voice of his. Usually you would have been annoyed as his lack of emotion, but right now you’d take each miracle as they came to you without complaint.

Pushing yourself up so you could look at him full, you wiped away the tears. “Why? It’s my fault you got hurt and-”

He kissed you. “I’d let myself get hurt over again if it meant you came home.”

Home. A simple word yet one with such a heavy meaning. You’d never felt as if you had one, but now? Now you held it in your very hands. Because Sehun was your home. And you’d come back to him every time.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you sought to release it the only way you knew how.

With Sehun’s warm cheeks in your palms, you leapt forward and crashed your lips into his. Control of the kiss was not yours for long. Sehun flipped you over so he was now hovering above you. One hand rested on your hip while the other caressed your face. Your tears had dried up and the cracks that you’d created in your own heart were beginning to heal. The scars would still be there forever, but if this was the medicine needed to ease the pain, you’d spend a lifetime taking it in.

Looping one arm under your back, Sehun scooped you up and brought you to a sitting position. You hooked your legs around his hips, clinging to him in desperation. His wounds didn’t seem to be bother him at all as he barely broke the kiss to expertly slip your long-sleeved shirt over your head. The cold air of the room nipped at your bare shoulders.

Sehun huffed at the camisole you’d been wearing underneath, but as his fingers played with the hem, you dived back in for another kiss, unable to go too long without one. Subconsciously, you must have heard the rumble of the floor, but you were too preoccupied to interpret what it might have been.

Slam!

The thundering herd suddenly came to a stop in the doorway as you jumped from the intrusion.

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” Chanyeol sighed with relief.

“I’d say he’s a little more than awake,” Jongdae snickered. Sehun growled at the comment, pulling you in tight to his chest with both arms wrapped around your waist.

“Sehun!”

Junmyeon pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of wolves to get to the front where he could see the proof for himself. Not even thinking, he ran forward and squeezed in between the two of you, practically choking the youngest wolf in the tightest of hugs.

“I’m alright, Junmyeon,” Sehun grumbled. His eyes flickered to you in a desperate attempt to get you to help him escape from the embrace, but there was no way you were going to save him from the alpha.

Eventually, Junmyeon let go, stepping back with a sigh. “That’s it. No more witches, no more rival packs, no more hunters. From now on, we are a normal pack with no troubles whatsoever.”

“Um, Junmyeon?” Jongin spoke up. “You do realize that’s impossible for us, right? I mean, at least with the ‘no witches or hunters’ part.”

Junmyeon looked at you with a tiny bit of shame. “Oh. Right. Not including you or Harper, of course.”

You waved a hand. “No offense taking. I think we could all use a bit of normalcy now.”

“Definitely not possible with this crowd,” Kris chuckled as he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave you a slight nod as if fully accepting you into the pack with that simple gesture. “It’ll be nice to have some quiet around here, though.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be quiet anytime soon,” said Baekhyun. “Especially with Harper being pregnant and I’m sure soon there’ll be more on the way.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait! You guys know? Since when?”

Sehun’s eyes went wide in your direction. “Since when have you known?”

Oh. Oops. “N-not too long.”

“We’ve only known for a day or so,” Minseok explained. “Only after hearing the two of them talk about it… very loudly.”

Your curiosity was rising as to how that whole scenario went down, but you decided you’d talk to Harper about it later – at a more appropriate time.

“So, now that you all know that I’m awake and fine, can you leave now?” Sehun may have phrased it like a question, but there was no actual asking behind the tone.

“Are you sure you’re in good enough health for that?” Tao teased.

“Are you sure you’re in good enough health for that?” Sehun mocked before throwing a pillow at the other wolf. It was easily dodged, but they got the idea and scattered, Junmyeon being the last to leave and closing the door behind him. Sighing, Sehun turned back to you. “Now, where were we?”

You pursed your lips. You weren’t entirely on board with what you were about to say, but you felt like it needed to be done. “As much as I hate to agree with Tao, I think I should. You still need to heal up after what Molia did to you.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. Hooking a finger through one of the belt loops on your jeans, he pulled you in closer. “Besides, if I remember correctly, the last time we really talked was when we argued. That means we have a lot of making up to do.”

You couldn’t help but giggle as his cheesy lines. “Down boy.”

He shook his head. “Not this time.”

You didn’t think you were ready for this. It was an inevitability, unavoidable and an absolute. But even though you’d walked yourself through it several times over the last few days, you still weren’t ready for it. So you were hiding on the front porch steps while everyone else was inside.

Soomi and Mother Willow’s cottage had been your two constants in life. You were more than prepared to leave behind the cottage and move into the farmhouse with Sehun permanently, but saying goodbye to Soomi? That was another ordeal entirely.

Sure, there had been times where she’d gone on short research trips or visited other covens, but you knew she was coming back and she was only gone for a week, maybe two at the most. This time, though, she would leave and you didn’t know when you would see her again. Your life was moving on in a way you’d never imagined nor expected and it hurt more than you’d ever thought possible.

You tried to suppress the sniff that came with the single tear, but the sound came out anyway. You didn’t want to think about the suitcase place conspicuously beside the door just inside the parlor. She couldn’t stay, you knew that. That didn’t mean your feelings suddenly went away as well.

Sehun was healed to the point that it was as if the injuries never happened in the first place. The blood moon was here and gone and you weren’t having any more visions of possible evils to come. Life was calm again which meant it had to go on. Soomi was no longer needed here – by the pack, at least. You would always need her. Part of you considered asking Junmyeon if she could stay, but that wasn’t fair to anyone involved besides yourself. And you’d been selfish enough.

“You’re breaking my heart, being like this.”

You tried to hurriedly wipe away the evidence of your sadness. It was useless, though, as Soomi sat down beside you on the steps, an arm draped around your back.

“I’m going to miss you,” you confessed without prompt.

“And I’ll miss you,” she replied. “But you’re not alone. And I’m only a call away, if you really need me.”

You rolled your eyes, more at yourself and the sappiness coming out of you rather than Soomi’s promise. “I’ll always need you.”

“For that, I’m thankful.” She wrapped her other arm around your front and pulled you in for a hug. You held on tightly, still not entirely ready to let her go.

“Soomi, are you read- oh, sorry.” Junmyeon turned to go back inside, but Soomi jumped up to her feet. Her own eyes were starting to water. This goodbye was hard on you both.

“No, it’s fine. I should get going before it gets too late in the day.”

Nodding, Junmyeon reached inside and rolled out the suitcase. He handed it over without a word.

“Thank you,” Soomi smiled at him. It getting easier for her, you could tell. Her smiles to him were now friendlier, not so sad.

“Of course,” he said. “If you need anything, just call. Thank you again, for coming.”

“We’re always happy to help.”

Clearing his throat and nodding one last time, Junmyeon patted your back before heading back inside. You followed Soomi down the steps and to her waiting car. You helped her put her suitcase in the trunk and even walked all the way to the driver’s side door. You really didn’t want this to be it.

As if sensing your hesitation, Soomi hugged you once again. “I love you. You know that right.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I definitely do. And I love you, too.”

She held on for a few seconds longer before letting go. “Okay. I have to go now before I’m tempted to stay.”

You laughed, knowing it was true. So, you took a step back to give her room. The engine roared under the hood, vibrating the small compact vehicle. With one final wave, Soomi started down the long drive towards the main road.

A warm arm suddenly appeared around your waist. You smiled sadly up at Sehun, who brushed it away with a kiss to your forehead.

“You’ll see her again,” he said. You nodded silently before looking back at the car just before it disappeared among the trees.

No, it wasn’t goodbye forever, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #sehun x reader #oh sehun #exo werewolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #Midnight Hours #untamed wolf universe

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

Text

Seven Devils

Warnings: death

AO3 <<<Previous

Day 5

You woke up screaming. Looking around you didn’t immediately recognise where you were, throwing your sheets of and trying to get out of bed. One of the sisters rushed over to you to calm you down. “where… where’s Claire? Is she okay? Where am I?” you asked frantically. The sister continued to calm you down, informing you that you were in the infirmary and Claire was asleep in the dorms. You were found passed out in one of the old chapels, no one could explain how you got there. The sun had yet to rise, the sister encouraging you to go back to sleep for a few more hours. //// You woke up again, this time in the afternoon. Due to your wandering making you impossible to find, you were to be kept under watch by a sister, in case something happened. You currently sat in the library; you had gravitated towards this seat as soon as you entered the room. The book on the table in front of you had something to do with the history of the convent. You began to flip through the pages, hoping something would stand out to you. “The book isn’t written in English, do you want me to explain the history to you,” the sister watching you asked. You nodded, wanting the human contact. “Most of the convent was rebuilt because of a great fire.” “A fire? What happened? Did everyone survive?” you leaned into the conversation. “No one knows how it started. Some say a stray alter candle, some say it was intentional.” You wondered who would want to set a convent on fire. “As for the survivors,” she began to explain, “it was one of the miracles of St. Y/N. She had a dream that there was to be a fire, so she managed to get the sisters out before they were incinerated.” “What happened to the saint?” you asked. “She didn’t make it. She was found below the tree in the courtyard, the one with poisonous fruit. The story goes that she fought the devil and won, but he took her life in his anger. They say her soul rests within the tree itself and that’s why on a quiet day, you may hear a heartbeat.” You weren’t sure if you believed in God, but you were sure your belief in the devil got stronger every day. The sister continued to tell you the story, “Even the design of the convent is thanks to St. Y/N. She spent hours meticulously drawing up plans inspired by the divine. She made sure one of the sisters at the time left the burning convent with the plans. It is one of her other official miracles actually. Not a bad thing has happened in here since.” “The only fatality made such an impact,” you whispered. “Only? No there was one other death.” Your brows knitted in confusion; this was a new element to the story. “The Monseigneur at the time was also said to have perished in the fire. Apparently, he was deep in prayer. Most of his remains were incinerated however, not much of him was found.” “Michael,” you whispered. The sister gave you a confused look, “Yes, that was his name, how do you know.” You scrambled around for the answer, “Oh I think I heard someone speak about it.” You were not going to tell her that you saw the man in your dreams. ////

Your muscles had gone stiff from all that sitting down. The copious amounts of flies in the room were also bothering you. You had asked if you could walk around the courtyard and promised to return. You cracked your joints while heading out, trying to get rid of the stiffness. You closed your eyes as the cool, early evening air hit you. The sun would set soon, and you wanted to enjoy the outside while you could. This trip had to be the worst thing you had ever done, and you were going to give your parents an earful when you returned. You admired the flowers and their bright colours, swatting away the flies to get a good sniff of their sweetness. You stood and made your way to the centre of the courtyard, trying to listen for that heartbeat again. As you got closer to the tree, you thought you saw someone lying beneath it. Now was not the time to take a nap. You got closer and recognised the face, it was Claire. “Why are you taking a nap here?” you spoke to her, facing away slightly to avoid the suns glare. She didn’t reply. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” You kicked her slightly to wake her up. Instead, she fell limp to her side, an apple from the tree rolling away. It had been bitten. You quickly got down to help her up. You were met with a wide, glassy gaze. Her eyes were lifeless, their vibrant colour had faded. Flies had begun to eat at her face, starting at the remnants of the juice left by the fruit when she took a bite. It took you a while to comprehend the situation. Your mind flashed back to the first day here, the warning given to not eat the poisonous fruit. “WAKE UP Claire! Please … please wake up,” your mind processing what you didn’t want to accept. You screamed for help. Your voice cracking from the consistent screaming. the next few minutes went by in a blur. A sister checked her pulse and shook her head. You became hysterical, screaming something you could not remember, having to be pulled away by staff members. You had gone numb. You felt like you were underwater. Everything was muffled and nothing made sense. //// You had no idea how much time had passed when you were all called to stand outside for an announcement. “It is with the greatest sorrow, that I have to announce the passing of a dear friend and student.” The crowd gasped and began to murmur. “she was a wonderful student, a pillar of our community and the loss will leave a hole in our hearts.” Sister Y/N looked around as she snapped out of her daze, no longer paying attention to the mother superiors words echoing off the stone walls. Stone walls? She looked around confused. She could have sworn that they were all standing outside a minuet ago. This upset her even further. Was she really losing touch with reality now? She tried not to dwell on it too much, she had already been hysterical in front of these sisters more than once. Her puffy eyes and dry lips showed for it. She would keep her mourning private now. //// In her private grief, Sister Y/N spent more time in the run-down chapel, alone. The repairs would have to wait a while. Her days were spent in prayer or just staring at the wall, the numbness did not allow for anything else. Her daily routine was interrupted by the door creaking open. She knew who it was, the footsteps and expensive scent gave him away. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral. he walked into her line of vision, looking her up and down. “You poor thing,” he whispered “look at the state of yourself. One may think you were the corpse,” he chuckled. You didn’t find it funny. “Look at me Y/N” he gently held her face with an unwanted tenderness. Sister Y/n tried to fight the warmth from his touch. “I can take this all away. You know I can.” His thumbs gently stroked her cheekbones. “I can save you from drowning in this grief, offer you salvation of the highest kind.” He sat down next to her, face still in his hands. “All you have to do is come to me. Seek me out. Let me be the light in your darkness and I shall offer you eternal bliss.” His voice was low, barely echoing through the crumbling structure. The offer was enticing, what did she need all these negative emotions for anyway? Hadn’t she suffered enough? Maybe this was god’s way of offering her salvation. Before she could consider his offer any further, the softness of his hands began to feel sticky. The image of those very hands stuffing a body under the bed flashed through her mind. It was like a cat leaving a macabre gift for its owner. She quickly pulled his hands off her, not giving him any time to react as she ran from the room. She headed straight for her room, the one she hadn’t entered in days. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door. The room was now almost empty, only her bed and belongings remaining. All traces of her friend had, been erased. She sat on her bed staring at the empty void left behind. Her nose stung with the tears she tried to hold in. When she was younger, she would have turned to her mother for comfort. That was no longer possible. All she had left of her now was old letters and annotated grimoires detailing herbal practices. She opened her drawer and pulled a box out. She ran her finger over every groove in the wood, each intricate carving meant something. It was all protection spells, keeping her secret safe and only allowing her to open the box. Seeing her mother’s handwriting calmed her down, flipping through the pages and reliving some of the happier memories from her childhood. She would do anything to return to the cottage in the woods, where the summer breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and the sounds of the steam would lull her to sleep. Her mother’s humour carried on throughout her writing, leaving little notes as if she knew she wouldn’t be there when Y/N would need her. A she flicked through the book, one of her notes stood out to her: ‘Dear child, I must tell you never to trust beautiful men. Especially those with hair of spun gold and eyes of sapphire. They are almost never human. If you’re lucky he may be one of the fair folk. However, if God has forsaken you, he may well just be the devil’ The devil? Sister Y/N lay down and stared at the ceiling. The more she thought about it, the more the cogs turned. Maybe she was looking too much into it, trying to find something to blame for the terrible few months she was having. But then again, only the devil would parade around like a messiah, offering an illusion to those unhappy with the cards they were dealt in life. She got out of bed to grab her other books. Maybe this we her final test from God, to conquer the devil that had haunted these holy halls.

Next>>>

#my writing #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #SD5

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years

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A Bride for the Prince - 18

A03 ~ < Previous ~ Next >

He was an idiot. A stupid, arrogant, heartless fool! Marinette, probably, hated him now and he deserved it all. How could he be so naïve and careless as to think that he could change a centuries-old tradition when he couldn’t even control his own life?

Pathetic.

Because there was never a chance he’d be allowed to marry Marinette, and Adrien should’ve known that. He should’ve never hoped. He should’ve never promised her something that wasn’t in his power to fulfill. But most of all, he should’ve been the one to pay the price for his stupidity.

Instead, it was Marinette. It was her whose heart he’d just shattered into a million pieces. It was her whose tears and agony still echoed in his soul as he slid down on the floor beside his bed, curled in on himself, holding his head in his arms.

What had just happened?

A pitiful groan slipped Adrien’s lips. How could he live with himself after what he’d done? How could he ever forgive himself for hurting an innocent girl whose only fault was to fall in love with him? And it didn’t matter that his own heart was trampled on and stabbed and left bleeding at the side of a road. The guilt of betraying the trust of the one who loved him weighed more heavily on him than any heartbreak of his own ever could.

Damn it!

Adrien gripped his fists tighter, his nails sharply digging into his flesh. Even losing his mother, the most agonizing event of his life so far, hadn’t hurt this much. Yet, he had no choice. If he wanted Marinette safe, if he wanted her home with her friends and family, if he wanted her alive and well, he had to let her go.

No matter how much he didn’t want to.

Despite how much it hurt.

Even if it broke them both.

Her well-being was of utmost importance. Adrien couldn’t lose another loved one, and if he’d try anything else for their marriage to happen, that could just be the case. He knew his father. He couldn’t risk it. Not with Marinette on the line.

He only hoped she’d understand one day. Because heartbreak, no matter how hellishly painful now, would fade and heal eventually. She’d find happiness with someone else who’d cherish and love her and who would make her happy the way Adrien wished he could. He dared not to wish for her forgiveness. If only she’d forget him like a bad dream. That would be enough. For him, knowing she was alive and safe would be enough.

Didn’t mean it hadn’t absolutely devastated him.

His body aching, gripped by the pain, Adrien slowly got up and crawled on his bed, lying fully dressed on the top of his sheets. He closed his eyes, fully succumbing to his misery.

He should’ve listened to Nino and stayed away. Why couldn’t he keep his distance? Why did he have to rush and tell her he loved her? To kiss her and worship her? It would’ve been easier if he’d never touched her or knew she loved him back. How was he supposed to forget her now? Her scent? The softness of her skin? Her lips? Those adorable, sweet noises that slipped her mouth as he’d held her in his arms, kissing and caressing her breathless. How was he supposed to suppress that fire she’d ignited in him?

Impossible. Not for him. Never.

He’d created his own hell because, for Adrien, the memories of Marinette, knowing what it felt like to be with her and realizing he’d never have that again would be the worst punishment of all.

And that was why from now on, he would blindly follow Nino’s advice. Heck, Nino could even choose a bride for him tomorrow because Adrien couldn’t care less. It wouldn’t be Marinette. That was all that mattered.

Gripping at his chest, he let the tears flow. The time stood still, a silent witness to his sorrow, and for hours that felt like an eternity, Adrien shifted and turned, got up and lay back down, unable to neither settle nor make it easier. There was no rest for him tonight. He didn't complain; he didn’t deserve any. When the crow announced the sunrise, Adrien shivered, pangs of pain crawling through his skin. The day was here. He was twenty, and he would be engaged by the time the sun goes down.

Numb to the point of apathy, Adrien blankly stared in front of himself. The sunrays sneaked into the windows and glided across his face, warming up his skin. Adrien turned away. Tears ceased a long time ago. He didn't have any left, or so he’d thought because when about an hour later, someone knocked on his door, his eyes moistened again.

He didn’t want to do this.

He wanted Marinette.

The knock repeated.

Pathetic groan escaped his lips. He couldn’t have her, and he had to do this if he’d wanted to ensure her safety.

So, Adrien got up, splashed some cold water on his face and opened the door.

“Mme Bustier?" His heart sped up, knowing the reason his late mother’s maid was at his door first thing in the morning. With everything that was going on, he’d almost forgotten. He did forget.

“Oh, sweetheart.” The older lady reached forward to gently touch his cheek the way his mother used to when he was hurt or upset. “What happened?”

He closed his eyes, bowing his head as he leaned into the touch. “Rough night. Nothing unusual. Please, come in.”

The older lady looked at him with motherly concern, stepping into his room. She wasn’t his parent, but Caline Bustier cared about Adrien, perhaps more than his own father did. She was the one who’d helped him through the hard times when his mother passed away, and she was the one who still regularly visited him years after her retirement. Adrien appreciated that and always gave her as much of his time and attention as he could. On his birthdays, however, he awaited her visits with a special fervour because, on those days, Mme Bustier always delivered a very special present for him.

“Your father’s giving you grief?”

Silently, Adrien turned to look sideways. There was no need to reply.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “It’s not just him. I messed up, as well. Royally .”

Mme Bustier sighed. “So, I assume the rumours are true?”

“What rumours?”

“That one of the girls is a commoner and you’re in love with her.”

His lips slightly ajar, Adrien stared at her for a good while before whispering, “How—How do you know? I thought no one knew.”

Mme Bustier sadly smiled. “Don’t underestimate the local gossip. Those girls know everything and everyone. I overheard enough to put the pieces together delivering a letter to your father.”

Adrien frowned. “I didn’t know he gets letters on my birthdays as well.”

“Usually, he doesn’t. Both of you get your letters on your respective birthdays. However, today, I had one for him as well, and I decided to deliver that one first.”

After a moment’s pause, Adrien motioned to a chair for Mme Bustier to sit down before dropping into the neighbouring one himself. “Do you remember Marinette from DuPont?”

“Your friend? The baker’s daughter?”

“Yes. She’s here under the name of Lady Bug.”

Mme Bustier quirked an eyebrow. “That’s… interesting. But then, I’m not surprised you’re in love with her. You more than liked her even back then.”

Adrien let his head fall into his hands, prompted on his knees. “I tried to reason with him, but Father forbade me even thinking about her. He went as far as threatening to imprison or exile Marinette if I won’t marry someone noble.”

“An exile?” Mme Bustier gulped. “He’s going overboard. How can he even justify an exile?”

“Apparently because we know each other, she could’ve been hired by someone to spy on me or control me or whatever else nonsense he came up with.”

“Marinette isn’t like that. She was always very sweet and sincere and kind,” Mme Bustier frowned. “I do, however, wonder, how and why is she here? And pretending to be Lady Bug, nonetheless.”

“The day real Lady Bug was supposed to depart for the castle, she eloped with her fiancé and sent Marinette here in her place. And you know, Marinette,” he sadly chuckled. “She’ll do anything for a friend. Even something crazy like this.”

Mme Bustier fell silent for a moment. “Does Marinette know who you are?”

Adrien nodded. “She does now, but until a few hours ago, she thought I was a simple guard, a maid’s son.”

“And is there the slightest possibility your father might be right? I know we remember her as a sweet, innocent child, but, Adrien, a lot of time has passed. We don’t know how she grew up and, in your situation, you can never be too careful.”

Adrien closed his eyes, his chest tightening. “If you’d only seen her reaction when I told her who I really was, you’d know it wasn’t fake. Or if you’d seen how she behaved before that, you’d know she’s still just as innocent as ever. She spent time with me only when I was the guard. The prince was barely able to keep her anywhere near himself, and when she had to remain close, she was quiet and shy, nothing like the real her. So, no, I don’t think Marinette came here to make the prince fall in love with her, and even if that would’ve been her intention, don’t you think her commoner’s origins would’ve been discovered sooner than we could’ve tied the knot? She’s smart. She would’ve known it’ll never work.”

“That makes sense. Have you told your father this?”

Adrien let out a bitter puff. “He wouldn’t listen because the ‘commoner’ part is an instant deal-breaker for him, despite even the law not forbidding me to marry outside of my class. Can you believe it, Mme Bustier? Despite what I’ve been taught all my life, there are actually no legal restrictions at all.”

“And does your father know that?”

“He does, but that doesn’t matter to him because apart from the law, there are traditions , and he isn’t going to break them or let me do that.”

Mme Bustier sighed, taking a moment to think about something. “Does she love you, Adrien? You as a person, not your stature.”

Despite his heartache, Adrien couldn’t keep a bittersweet smile off his face because Marinette’s love was the biggest present he didn’t deserve. “She does. Well, she did because she might hate me now, but yesterday we confessed our feelings, and she agreed to marry me when I was just a guard in her eyes.”

Mme Bustier’s eyes widened. “You’ve proposed to her?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked. “But I also broke it off already after Father found out the truth about her.”

She reached forward to lay her hand on Adrien’s. “Then you can’t give up, Adrien. Your mother raised you to be a man who always keeps his word, so if you’d promised that girl to marry her, you can’t give up. If you love her, if you truly believe that she’s the one for you, then fight for her.”

“I wish I could,” Adrien cried. “But what else can I do? I tried what I thought would work for certain, but it backfired badly. And now, if I disobey his orders, Father will either imprison or exile Marinette, and I promised to protect her. If I try again, I’ll only make it worse and lose even what deal I was given.” He shook his head. “No. I can’t do that to her. Heartbreak will heal; she'll move on and will find someone to love instead of me, but there is no guarantee she'd survive imprisonment or an exile. I can’t put her in any more danger than she’s already in.”

“What about you?” Mme Bustier asked, watching him intently. “Do you think you’ll be able to move on? Will you be able to forget and find someone else to love? You're too much like your parents, Adrien, and both of them had a place for only one person in their hearts. There is a reason your father never remarried, and that's not because there’s a lack of willing and eligible candidates for the Queen's title.”

Adrien looked away. “I'll have to deal somehow. I always knew I was going to marry for the kingdom, not for myself.”

“But you went through so much trouble to find someone you’ll love. You can’t give up now. Adrien, I’ve seen you grow up. I know you. You’ll never forgive yourself if you give up now because all of those What Ifs will drive you crazy and will make miserable for the rest of your life. And that isn’t fair to either you or Marinette or whatever girl you’ll choose instead of her, so think. There has to be something you can still do.”

Adrien shook his head. “I’ve tried everything I could think of. I can threaten to abdicate, but I’m sure I don’t have to explain how this can backfire even worse than it already has. I’d rather not risk Marinette’s safety any more.”

They both fell quiet for a moment, sounds of lively chatter and excitement starting to leak from the outside. People were starting to get ready for the big day. Adrien wanted nothing more than to vanish. Anything, but choosing someone he couldn’t care less about to be his wife and seeing Marinette, his best friend, the woman he loved, heartbroken in the crowd and not beside him.

“Adrien.” Mme Bustier intruded into his train of thought. “Do you remember how your father used to be much kinder and happier when your mother was still alive?”

“Yes. He was a different man then.”

“And do you know why that is?”

Adrien shrugged his shoulders. “Because he had Mother. He changed after she passed away”

“Right. But did you know that he used to be just like he’s now before he met her?”

Adrien frowned. “What do you mean?”

"In his youth, your father was always just as cold and distant as he’s now. I don’t know how, but your mother was able to see that deep inside there was something good in him, and somehow, she was able to bring it out. He was a changed man because of her, and even though he shoved that good part of him back on the burner after her passing, it’s still there. Don’t give up, Adrien, find what your mother saw in him and bring it out. That’s your only chance.”

Adrien fought back tears as he whispered, his whole body trembling with desperation. “ How? I’m not my mother. I don’t know how to do what she did.”

“No, you aren’t Emilie,” Mme Bustier said, reaching to hold his hand. “But there is a part of her in you, and you might not use the same technique as she did, but you’ll be able to find a way to that better, understanding, loving part of him. You know it’s there. You’ve seen it. Now, use what you know about him and drag it out. For your Princess’ sake.”

Adrien stared at Mme Bustier with wide eyes. Wasn’t it a little bit too late for that? If he could, he’d do anything to change his father’s mind, but…

Wasn’t it over?

Marinette’s words came to mind. The ones she’d begged him to pass along to the Prince at the very start as he was teaching her to dance in the Crystal Ballroom. The ones he needed to remember now.

It isn’t over until it’s over.

But despite how it looked… was it really not over?

True, he was still single and no bride was chosen yet, but he knew his father. Once Gabriel made up his mind, there was no going back. There was no point in continuing to fight unless Adrien wanted to make everything way worse than it already was. His shoulders slumped. He shouldn’t repeat his own mistakes. He shouldn’t search for hope where there was none.

Mme Bustier stood up and, taking a letter out of her purse, offered it to Adrien. “Happy Birthday, Adrien. May all of your wishes come true.”

“Thank you, Mme Bustier.” He took the letter with a shaking hand, opening it only after his late mother’s friend had left. A simple letter, a precious gift his mother left him before her departure. She’d written one for him and his father for the next fifty years after her passing. She’d entrusted them to Mme Bustier, her maid and closest friend. Since then every year, the woman had been visiting them on their birthdays, delivering a priceless gift they both eagerly awaited. This year, Adrien hoped his letter would be a little more special than usual because today he needed his mother to be by his side as never before. He needed that courage and strength she’d always inspired in him, and he was running out of time, so without further delay, Adrien read.

My dearest son,

Happy birthday! Oh, how I wish I could’ve been there for you today, to hug you, and kiss you, and bless you on this very special day. But since I can’t do any of that, I just wanted you to know that I’m so proud of you, Adrien. I know you grew up to be an amazing man, and I love you, my child. More than any words could ever express. More than I could write in a thousand letters. I do hope you can feel at least a part of my love for you through these pages.

I thought about what to wish you on this special day, but I’m certain that you have no need for the riches, beauty, strength, and such. You already have it all. You always did. That’s why I wanted to wish you something else, my son. I want you to have something more important and precious than all the riches of this world, something that will nourish and support and keep you going your whole life. I wish for you to find love: to fall in love with someone, be loved by them, and be with that person for eternity. Love is what really matters in this world. Nothing else can compare. Believe me, I’ve had it all and love overshadows everything.

Now, if I know your father well enough, he’ll follow that obnoxious tradition and you’ll be forced to choose a bride today. If that’s the case, I hope you had enough time to spend with your potential brides to see who they are not only on the outside but where it really matters: inside, their characters, their souls. I’m sure all of them would be beautiful girls, but, Adrien, choose the one with whom you can be yourself. Choose the one who would love you at your worst. Choose the one who will stay by your side even if you were a beggar.

Do you remember that girl from DuPont? Marinette, the baker’s daughter? I’m sure you do; she was your first love even if you were a little oblivious to that yourself. It makes me smile even now as I lay in my bed, unable to get up anymore: you were so adorable, transforming into an awestruck puppy as soon as you’d see that girl. Try to remember, Adrien. Do you recall how much fun you had together despite your social rank differences? Can you recollect how happy you were then? How much you laughed? How much you enjoyed to just be together with her, be it a wild adventure in the fields or a silent star-gazing on a random rooftop? Do you remember how sweet and calm your dreams were, or how early you’d wake up in hopes of sneaking out and meeting her as soon as possible? I’m sure you remember.

Choose a girl that will make you feel the same. You’ll have to spend your whole life with that person. Don’t rely on beauty or smarts. Etiquette means nothing; it can be taught. The way a girl makes you feel is most important. Choose a bride, listening to your heart. Marry for love, my son. That’s the only thing I wish for you on this special day with all my heart and all my soul and all the strength I still have.

Now, I know your Father might give you grief about your desires since you’re a prince and have responsibilities and whatnot, but please, don’t judge him too harshly. He’s had a hard life and a harsh upbringing, and he needs your love and support as much as you need his. But just in case, know that just today, he promised me that he will allow you to marry for love. He swore he’d let you experience what we had, and if there is one thing your father never breaks, it’s his promises. He takes too much pride in his honour and his reputation, so if he’ll oppose your choice, remind him of his promise to me.

I love you, Adrien. I wish you all the happiness in the world, and I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you today but know that my heart and my love is always with you.

Love,

Mom.

***

“You promised!” Adrien yelled, rapidly nearing his father’s desk. “You promised mother you would let me marry for love.” He put his mother’s letter in front of Gabriel. “You can’t break your promises!”

Gaping, Gabriel stared at his son in shock. Never before had Adrien simply burst into his father’s study without either being invited or requesting to be admitted. By the way Gabriel’s lips pressed together and his finger grabbed at his own letter laying in front of him, Adrien suspected he didn’t have to explain what promise he was talking about.

“My promise didn’t include the ‘commoner’ part. And it certainly didn’t have a 'criminal’ notion in it.”

“She isn’t a criminal! How can you not see it, Father? You liked her. You were so impressed with her, you said she had what it took to be a queen. Does her social rank matter so much you’ll throw away your own, unbiased judgement?”

Gabriel stood up to look Adrien in the eyes. “She infiltrated the castle and impersonated a noble lady to get to you. How can you��not see that? She isa criminal, and you are not marrying her!”

Adrien threw his hands up. “She was helping out a friend who wanted nothing to do with this ridiculous tradition! She wasn't trying to get to anyone!"

“Then why did she sneak around with you at night if not to seduce you and force you to marry her?”

“She thought I was a guard! We have been friends since we were kids and she had always thought I was a maid’s son. Why couldn’t she spend time with her commoner friend?”

“At night?”

“Both of us were busy during the day.”

Gabriel pressed his lips into a thin line. “You can’t seriously believe she didn’t know who you were.”

“And yet this is the truth,” Adrien replied. “Mother never allowed me to reveal my true stature to anyone if I wanted to play with them, so yes, as unbelievable as it sounds, Marinette didn't know anything. And despite what you think, she ran away from the prince as fast as she could, trying not to be noticed, lest marry him.”

“Then I guess it all works out.” Gabriel huffed. “She achieves her goal of not being noticed and goes home while the prince marries someone of his own status. End of story.”

“No, it’s not!” Adrien stepped closer. “I love her, Father, and she loves me, and you promised mom you’ll let me marry for love. You have to keep your promise, or I shall not be inclined to keep mine as well.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I promised I’ll go along with your stupid tradition and choose a bride on my twentieth birthday, didn’t I? Well, guess what, Father? I really don’t feel like choosing a bride today unless it’s Marinette.”

Gabriel’s lips almost disappeared under the pressure he was putting on them. “That’s a centuries-long tradition, Adrien. You cannot break it.”

“I don’t care,” Adrien said, leaning forward on his arms, prompted on the table. “I’m your son, and I’ve always followed your example. And, right now you ’re teaching me to break promises, and I intend to follow your suit as I’ve always done.”

Gabriel’s glare turned dark. “We’ve talked about it, Adrien. If you don’t want her to be thrown into prison or exiled—”

“If you dare to do that,” Adrien seethed through his teeth. “I’ll act, too. Lock her up if you want; I’ll go to prison with her. Exile her if you wish, but know that I will follow her.”

Gabriel paled. “You’re the sole heir. You can’t abandon your kingdom and your responsibilities.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want because my father taught me I can go back on my word.”

“That’s not quite the same—”

“You promised to let me marry for love. I promised to be a good ruler and take care of this kingdom. What’s the difference? It’s just two promises, and if you can break yours, I can break mine.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“If you wish to think of it that way, then yes, absolutely, I am threatening you.”

Gabriel’s glare deepened. His jaw stiff, he pressed his lips together.

A moment.

Two.

Ten.

Adrien didn’t look away, assuring his father of the seriousness of his intentions with each passing second.

“You’re overreacting.” Gabriel looked away, his defences cracking for the first time in Adrien’s life. “You’ll fall in love with someone else just as easily. Didn’t you like Lady Riposte—”

“I don’t want to fall in love with someone else. I want Marinette,” Adrien insisted. “I’ve always loved her. Even back at DuPont when we were children, I loved her. Do you really think a love like that can pass or be forgotten? Have you forgotten mom?”

Gabriel seemed to flinch as he closed his eyes and slacked back into his chair. He kept quiet for a few moments and when he’d finally spoken his voice had lost most of its firmness. “She’s a commoner, Adrien. I’m sorry, but royals don’t marry commoners.”

“Says who? The law doesn’t forbid it. I won’t be breaking even your precious tradition because I was supposed to choose a bride from a pool of presented ladies and Marinette is a part of it.”

“By trickery. She isn’t noble.”

“Then show me where it’s specified in your tradition that only nobles can be included in that group.”

Gabriel huffed. “Tradition dictates—”

“ Tradition . Not law. There’s no rule—”

“There are no rules because it’s common sense! No self-respecting king would allow his children to marry a commoner!"

“Or is it because it’s up to each ruler’s discretion?” Adrien paused for a moment, composing himself. “Father, I love her. She’s more than fit to be a queen by your own judgement. You married for love. Why can’t I?”

“She isn’t a noble,” Gabriel parroted, his voice now bearing almost none of formal resolve and strength. “What will people say?”

Adrien scoffed. “Is that all you care about? Your reputation?”

“Reputation is everything for a king. You’ll learn that one day.”

“Father, they will love you for being open-minded and not prejudiced towards the majority of your kingdom’s population. I’ve been sneaking out to the town for years, and if I’ve learned anything about the people of this kingdom, it’s that a union with a commoner will only raise you in your subjects’ eyes.”

“In theirs, maybe.” Gabriel sighed heavily. “But we need to keep good relations with the noble families, not commoners. And nobles aren’t as liberal as you seem to be.”

“Then make her a noble,” Adrien cried out without thinking. “If that’s only the question of having a title, you have the power to give it to her.”

Gabriel’s eyes snapped to him. “Do you think that’s so easy? I can’t just create a new title. Titles come with lands, and we don’t have any unassigned lands.”

Adrien’s thoughts raced. Then he remembered something. “Give her one that doesn’t have a successor.”

“There’s no such thing,” Gabriel scoffed. “If a noble dies without an heir, his title and land go to the nearest relations and there always some.”

Adrien pointed to the crest framed on the wall to his right. “Give her that one.”

Gabriel sucked in the air, his face reddening. “You’re going too far.”

“Am I?” Adrien crossed his arms over his chest. “That is my title, my birthright, whereas you have no claim to it whatsoever. Or am I wrong?”

Gabriel remained silent for a few moments; then looked away.

Adrien continued. “Aunt Amelie renounced her rights to that title when she married Duke Graham de Vanily, so Felix isn't a contender for it; not that he’d even care to dispute his rights to a Count title when he’s a Duke. And even if Felix was a contender, I was born a few months earlier than him, so I’m the rightful owner of the Noir title, and I can do whatever I want with it. Give it to Marinette. It’ll go to my children, no matter who I marry, so why can’t my wife have it before that? In the end, it won't change a thing.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, his head falling into his hands, elbows propped on the table. He didn’t say anything, but Adrien saw that the victory was his already, so he pressed.

“You have a choice, Father: make Marinette a noble and gain an amazing daughter-in-law who'll be a fantastic queen one day, or refuse and lose a son and your only heir."

“Everyone knows that the Noir family doesn’t have suitable maidens to be presented to you. There are only Amelie and Felix, but they are bearing Graham de Vanily title now, so the Noir title has no one but you. How would I explain the sudden appearance of an eligible girl from your mother's side?”

Adrien shrugged. “Spin a tale of a long-lost branch of the family tree that was discovered recently, or just tell them she’s a commoner. I don’t care either way.”

Gabriel leaned back into his chair, watching Adrien. A few moments later, he bitterly chuckled, shaking his head. “You truly are your mother’s son.”

Adrien’s lips tagged in a smug smile. “I’m sure I have a lot from you as well.”

“Unfortunately,” Gabriel sighed. “She’ll have to get a proper education.”

“That won’t be an issue. Marinette would love to learn. She always did.”

“Her family will have to be included in the title as well if the ‘lost branch’ tale to be seen legitimate, meaning they’ll have to move into Noir mansion in DuPont.”

“I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“I’ll send for her parents and have all the necessary papers to be prepared by the end of the day.” Gabriel stood up and walked to a massive chest of drawers standing by the wall. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a small box. From inside it, he took a golden ring with a brilliant red diamond in the middle and gave it to Adrien. “Go, before I change my mind.”

Slowly, Adrien took the ring, his chest full, a goofy smile stuck to his lips. Tears lurking at the brick of his eyes, he could think of one thing only:

He did it!

He actually did it!

He was going to marry Marinette!

His Marinette will become his wife!

His heart skipped a beat at a sudden thought drastically different from the others: would Marinette still want to marry him after all he’d put her through this night? Would she be willing to marry a prince? His status brought some strings attached that would influence their family, so—

“I see you’re waiting for me to change my mind?” his father interrupted his rapid downfall.

“No.” Adrien jerked. “Thank you. I’ll go tell her—I’ll go propose—Yes. That. I’ll get going. Thank you.”

“Make sure to compose yourself before that,” Gabriel threw after him. “The way you sound right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if even a commoner will say No to you.”

Adrien didn’t respond as he walked out the door with that one thought hammering at him.

Would Marinette want to marry him now that she knew who he was and after he’d broken her heart so cruelly?

She wanted a husband that would always be there for her. She wanted a family, children and a warm home, and he would want nothing more than to give her that, but he couldn’t promise her to always put her above his responsibilities. He’d do his best and would make sure she was happy with him, but would his words be enough to convince her? Did she love him enough to overlook his royal roots? Did—

“Adrien!”

Adrien stopped in his tracks, spotting Nino running to him. He pushed the doubts away. No need to distress. He had to believe. He had to have faith in Marinette and their love. They’ve gotten this far. They couldn’t fail now that their biggest obstacle, his father, was behind them.

“You look happy,” Nino quirked an eyebrow as he’d reached him. “Did some—”

“Father approved her,” Adrien grinned, gripping Nino by his shoulders. “Nino, Father approved Marinette. I can marry Marinette .”

Nino’s face fell. “That… There might be a little problem with that.”

“What do you mean?” Adrien frowned. “What problem?”

Nino swallowed. “Marinette… she left.”

Adrien gripped at Nino’s shoulders. “What do you mean Marinette left?”

Nino shrugged. “Alya said she left in the middle of the night. I was coming here to let you know.”

“Where did she go?”

“Back to her lady.”

Adrien let Nino go as his thoughts raced. Marinette’s lady? Lady Bug. So, DuPont? No. Lady Bug eloped, so she wouldn’t be in DuPont but rather in her husband’s place. What was his name? Lord—Lord Stone-something—

“Lord Stoneheart,” Nino said as if reading his thoughts. “I grew up close by.”

“Saddle Plagg. I’ll go change and let Father know.”

“You’re going after her?”

“Of course. I need to present a bride by the end of the day. If I don't depart now, I won’t make it in time.”

Nino let an amused puff of air out. “Then I guess I’m going with you. I know that area well.”

“I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” Nino chuckled. “If not for helping to catch a runaway bride.”

Adrien bumped his shoulder. “Exactly.”

They parted to prepare for a journey, Adrien trying his hardest not to let his doubts overtake him again. He pushed through as he’d informed his father of his departure and dressed for the road. He tried to remain as hopeful as possible once Plagg and Wayzz were ready for them to depart. He started his journey determined because there was only one way to find out if Marinette would have him now that she knew the whole truth, and that was to find her and propose again. This time without any secrets between them.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #Adrienette #A Bride for the Prince #it's getting better #finally

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sevryx · 4 years

Text

A Partnership, of Sorts

Fandom: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Rating: M

Summary:

“Let me ask you something.” He said, more as a statement than a request. “Who am I to you?”

"A business partner. And a trusted companion.”

The Mandalorian simply stared back at you. You cleared your throat. He turned away. It was a seemingly endless stretch of time before he responded.

“Is that all?”

READ IT ON AO3

He was quiet when you first met him.

“Am I mad? Mad doesn’t begin cover it!”

His voice was still husky, smooth and handsome even through the modulator. But this time, he was yelling at you. The sounds of gunfire faded into the distance, or maybe that was just your ears failing you.

“Broken a few windows, maybe fatally wounded a few patrons – that’s mad! You set fire to establishment and almost blew up our asset! And ourselves! What the hell were you thinking?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that wheezed out of your lungs, cut into fragments between your pained gasps and being jostled in his arms as you were carried back to the ship.

“And now you’re laughing about it!?”

You couldn’t see very well, but the familiar hissing sound of the door of the Razor Crest alerted you that you were now aboard the ship.

“I know y-you’re upset, Mando… I can see it from – ah!” You grimaced as another stream of hot blood leaked from your side, the taste of copper and burnt debris on your lips bitter in your mouth. “From the – the look on your f-face!” You laughed, deciding your joke was good enough to be worth breaking into another coughing fit.

He threw you onto a bed, a little rougher than warranted. He apparently did not find it humorous.

“You’re lucky we still got the full bounty! And I have half the mind to keep your share for the trouble you caused!”

Gloved hands began to tear away at your charred armor, exposing the gnarled flesh on your torso to find a dark gash full of ashes and shrapnel. For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak in the midst of the searing pain.

“This is going to hurt. A lot.”

He sounded almost apologetic, anger giving way to something softer, yet equally urgent. Something fearful.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the sound of the cauterizer turning on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You woke up to a throbbing headache and the sound of anxious pacing. You took an experimental breath in, feeling a sharp aching in your torso and a heavy creaking in your limbs. Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, collecting your observations with eyes still shut. You weren’t wearing any of your armor – you were not wearing familiar clothing at all, but clothing that seemed much too large to fit you. You were not covered in a thick layer of blood and dirt and grime. And you were not in your regular sleeping quarters on the ship, but in someone else’s bed covered by someone else’s blankets. This equaled three discrepancies to your typical disposition and brought a wrinkle of concern to your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You grunted in a blunt agreement.

“… Are you okay?”

You opened your eyes. “I’m not dead, so I’m fine.”

“I appreciate that your standard is ‘not dead’.” Heavy footsteps approached your bedside. “That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. ‘Not dead’ makes for a great bare minimum.”

There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You were used to his sarcasm, but not like this. Not with such a bite. With such unfiltered grief.

“I’m sorry.” You offered.

Another beat of silence.

Then the Mandalorian laughed at you. Even through the muffle of the helmet, it was a deep, rich kind of laugh despite the pang of pain behind it, the kind that made people smile involuntarily and bite their lower lip in response. Or maybe that was just you. You smiled softly.

“And here I thought your ‘way’ didn’t allow you to have fun?”

You stared at the reflective helmet that was angled directly towards your own face. Though his expression wasn’t visible, it was clear that there were countless thoughts running through the man’s head. He seemed relieved.

“I could have lost you.”

It was uncharacteristic. The pain in his tone plucked effortlessly at your own heartstrings and you felt guilt wash over you. The Mandalorian sat on the bed beside you, careful not to cause you any more discomfort that the previous night had.

“I appreciate your concerns, Mando, but -"

“Din.” He interrupted you. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he turned away for a moment before staring back at you. “Din Djarin.”

You stared with your mouth ajar for a second too long before pursing your lips. “I appreciate your concerns, Din,” you repeated, “But I wouldn’t doubt that you can find another crew member even if you had.”

He was silent for a moment, and you swear you could almost hear his brow furrow in what was either guilt, anger, or something more.

“Let me ask you something.” He said, more as a statement than a request. “Who am I to you?”

You mulled over the bold inquiry with a heavy sigh. An acquaintance? No, your sentiment was much more deeply rooted than what would be appropriate for such a title. You’d been traveling together for ages it seemed, coming up on what was going to be about a year now. Partners? Of the sort, yes. Two bounty hunters who partnered up on jobs, who traveled together, killed together, escaped dramatically together, lodged together – your face began to flush.

“A business partner.” You said, as if it were obvious. “And a trusted companion.”

The Mandalorian simply stared back at you. You cleared your throat. He turned away.

It was a seemingly endless stretch of time before he responded.

“Is that all?”

Traveling with this man was something that required you to develop a very sharp sense of intuition, which included reading not his unavailable facial expressions, but his voice and occasional body language. Most times, his voice was flat and even, all business and no emotion. Sometimes he would yell, urgent or snappy, typically in combat. Or sometimes he would whisper, either when sneaking about or when the child which he claimed as his foundling would have just been put to sleep.

But now, his voice was positively dripping with disappointment.

Taking a risk, you moved your hand towards his gloved one lying on the blanket draped over you. You were in his quarters, underneath his sheets, clad in his clothing. You draped your hand over his, the leather feeling warm under your hands as if he had been wringing them. He didn’t move his hand, but turned to stare at it. Who was he to you? That was a loaded question.

“Where is this coming from, Din?”

Static emitting from the helmet reflected a heavy sigh.

“You are… a valuable companion and warrior. I am grateful to have you fighting alongside me.”

You pursed your lips. “... Thank you?”

It was quiet for a moment, and a breath that sounded like it would precede a thought erupted from his helmet before a crashing in the other room resounded.

“I wonder who’s awake now?” You asked, amused despite the heaviness of the tension that hung around the two of you like smoke. Curious cooing in the next room confirmed your suspicions.

He stood quickly, and your hand felt cold again.

“I should let you rest.”

He was gone before you could get another word out.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was only a day later when you found yourself able to walk again, albeit slowly, carefully, and very painfully. The wounded flesh of your stomach strained with every movement, and tempted you to sleep longer simply to forget about the pain. But you needed water, and Mando – or Din, you corrected yourself with a small smile – hadn’t come in to see you since leaving food for you that morning as you slept.

Tossing the sheets from your body, you shuddered slightly. You felt heavy and immobile, numb in protest but moveable all the same. Clad only in an old long sleeve shirt that was clearly fitted to Din and not to you, you felt exposed and cold, your skin prickling with sensitivity that was visible through your top. You noted absently that you were wearing your own underwear, but not the same kind on the night of the accident, and chuckled wondering what Din must have looked like rooting through your belongings in the search for undergarments.

Your reflection in a mirror-like panel on the wall confirmed that while you felt rather horrible, you were healing quite nicely. The scars across your torso were dark and obvious, but clean and improving quickly, likely to leave a lasting mark, but already ignorable from underneath a shirt. Bruises littered your legs and arms, cuts of different lengths cleaned and bandaged up by someone who clearly had experience doing such things. Your face was left with a shallow scrape up your cheek and a bruised lip, something that would likely be nothing but a memory within the month.

“You look good.”

Any other voice would have had your reaching for your blaster. But you knew his now, and it registered faster than what you would like to admit. You didn’t turn to face him when you responded.

“Oh, this old thing?” You asked, coyly.

He snickered softly, but failed to hide the hint of sheepishness that seeped into his wandering stare and twitching fingertips.

“Your wounds. They are healing well, I mean.”

You laughed without contempt. “Don’t you know how to make a girl feel special.”

There was silence, but it was comfortable.

“We’ve landed. Food and better lodging for the night. Maybe a medic, if you want.”

“The first two, yes.” You answered, turning towards him. “I think you’ll do just fine for the third.” You felt self-conscious as his stare locked onto you, helmet clearly tilting up and down just enough for you to gauge that his eyes were raking over you. You crossed your arms over your chest, which was likely a leading cause for his stare with the coldness of the room.

“Can you walk?”

You nodded.

Approaching him, you braced your arm on the wall for support.

“Where are my things? As much as I appreciate the clothing, I might want to be more sufficiently covered if we are entering a city.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

Leaving the room for only a moment, he came back with a leather bag that held everything you owned. The latch was undone, and it was clear he’d gone through it, just as you’d thought. Your stare did not go unnoticed.

“I had to find some… things for you. I did not take anything.”

“I believe you.” You smirked. You wondered if he was the type to blush. Waiting a moment, you looked over him from the corner of your eye as you grabbed a pair of trousers and an undershirt from your bag, soaking in the seemingly rare yet currently repetitive shy and almost clumsy behavior the Mandalorian was exhibiting.

“… May I get dressed now?”

Silence. An audible swallow from beneath the helmet.

“Do you need any help?”

“Getting… Getting dressed?”

He shifted back and forth on his feet, as if in uneasy. You would smirk again, but you were too shocked by the cheeky remark that your mouth simply hung slightly open.

“You’re, ah – You are injured.” He simply said. “I don’t mind helping you if you require assistance.”

Who am I to you? The question rang in your head from the previous night.

“Yes.” The agreement was out of your mouth before you could think. The beat of silence that followed told you that he wasn’t expecting it either.

“Sit.” He directed. For once, you listened wordlessly.

Kneeling before you on the bed, he pulled the trousers over your legs carefully. You felt the blood rush involuntarily to your face. His gloved fingers worked the clasp shut with deft hands, and you wondered if his heart was racing just as yours was.

“Lift your arms.”

You grasped the bottom of your borrowed shirt loosely before hesitating. “You won’t look, will you?”

His breathing was audible in the quiet room, but you weren’t sure he could tell that you could hear him, too.

“No.”

You lifted the shirt over your head and set it aside, crossing one arm across your chest in an automatic defense and watching as he fumbled for your undergarments. Whether he was acting to convince you that he wasn’t looking or simply keeping his word, you weren’t certain. Sliding your arms through the straps of your bra, you stared directly at his helmet, searching for any signs of him paying attention. He seemed to be angled directly above your head – a good sign. That was until he reached forward to get around you and clasp the article shut, missing slightly and instead grasping at your left breast.

You had wished you hadn’t made a sound, but you did. An embarrassing mix between a gasp and a moan at that one. It had been a long while since you had been touched like that, on accident or not. That was when his helmet jerked ever so slightly down, and you could quite easily tell that even if his eyes had been shut, they weren’t any longer.

His hand didn’t move, and you found yours resting atop his wrist. You looked down, and then back up at him to meet his gaze. His head snapped dramatically further up and away.

“… I apologize for –“

“Don’t.” You said, not in a reprimanding fashion, but soft and forgiving. Hopeful, even.

He let out a breath before awkwardly clasping the device shut and reaching towards your shirt. Pulling it gently over your head, he helped guide your arms through the sleeves before sliding your socks and boots on over your feet.

He was lacing up your shoes when you laughed softly.

“You looked, didn’t you?”

His fingers fumbled with the strings.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The food was decent, but the drinks weren’t much better. The lodging, however, existed as the most pressing issue. You leaned against the bar, your bruises throbbing in protest but better than before, regardless.

“What do you mean there’s only one room?” You asked, incredulous.

“One room. One bed.” The innkeeper looked less than amused, his English broken, but stern. “Take or leave.”

Placing your credits on the bar, you swallowed hard and returned to the booth which the Mandalorian occupied. He hadn’t eaten or drank anything he'd bought, but you knew it would be taken to your room and gone before the night was over. Din was currently crooning silently over the child, green fingers grabbing excitedly at gloved fingers above his head.

“Small problem,” you said, finishing the remainder of your drink before setting the glass down on the table casually. He turned to face you. “One room left, and one bed. I don’t mind sleeping back on the ship if –"

“Okay.”

You paused, shutting your mouth quickly and knitting your brow.

“Mando – Ah, Din. There is one bed.”

“Yes.” His hands were clasped shut, posture astute as if he were talking business.

“There are two of us.”

“Yes.”

You tapped your fingers against the table.

“There are two of us and one bed.”

“Yes.” He sounded insistent. He leaned forward slightly as he spoke, helmet lurching ever so slightly with the force of his affirmation.

You waited for an explanation you weren’t sure he was going to give to you. After a while, he retracted his hands and stood.

“The Razor Crest is under repair until tomorrow morning.” He said bluntly. “Where are we staying?”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The room was small, the bed and a small dresser and table occupying the majority of the space. The bathroom was clean enough, and when you emerged in the same shirt which had been lent to you the night before, nothing was said by the Mandalorian sitting on the edge of the bed in full armor other than a quiet cough. An empty plate and cup sat on the table, your bags taking residence on the floor. Your damp hair was slicked out of your face, clean of the deep-seated filth that you never exactly enjoyed but always tolerated in your line of work.

“How long are we staying here?”

“No more than a few days.” He answered, standing nonchalantly and making his way towards the other room. “I'll find work. You and the kid can stay here.”

You would argue, but for once, tiredness and the ache throughout your body subdued your urge to resist. You sat on the edge of the bed.

“He’s asleep.” You remarked, admiring the soft snoring emitting from the carriage before shutting the top. Kicking your legs slowly over the top of the bed, you were grateful that it was a decently large piece of furniture.

He didn’t respond, but stood silently for a moment before disappearing into the restroom.

You had been traveling with Din Djarin for months now, almost ten to your count. You had met when you both received tracking fobs from the same client, and found working together came almost as naturally as breathing. Not that either of you would admit that to the other. Neither of you were exceedingly loquacious, to say that least. That is to say that the entire first month aboard the Razor Crest was filled with silence, occasionally uncomfortably long stares, and the sound of the Child fighting for the attention of at least one of you at any moment it was awake. The latter you didn’t mind at all, but the lingering stares left a kind of weightlessness pooling in the bottom of your stomach that the literal lack of atmosphere in space couldn’t take credit for.

During your second month together, he had walked in on you coaxing the Child back to sleep in the middle of the night, humming a soft tune from a life that had been taken from you as a child. It held no trace of regret, but a gentle sort of nostalgia that any onlooker would notice, one that Din, in particular, appreciated. He stood and watched from the shadows of the entrance of the Razor Crest until you has laid the baby’s sleeping form into his little nook, only stalking away once you stood, back still to him, and asked quietly with a sly grin: “Trouble sleeping, Mando?”

The third and following months were layered with idle chatter, hard-won battles, and long sessions of deep conversation as you helped with each other’s wounds. He knew your name, your past. What you’ve left behind and what you’ve sought until reaching this point. He knew your favorite drinks and the way your stare lingered on trinkets and such in the bazaar before you were later shocked, finding them laying on the small cot you took as your sleeping quarters on the ship. But you knew him as well – you knew his name, what he’s lost. You understood his Way, his love for the Child and his dedication to the creeds he lived by. You knew how he was feeling by the tilt of his helmet, the volume of his breath and the way his fingers twitched in his gloves.

He wasn’t your lover. That explicit thought shattered your daydream, and you tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. You looked at the Child’s carrier longingly, wondering what exactly this Mandalorian meant to you.

Who am I to you?

The question still rang in your head. You turned the lights out and laid silently in the darkness. Chewing your bottom lip, you rubbed at the back of your neck in thought.

“What’s wrong?”

You flinched, wanting to turn around but resisting, simply because the voice you heard was incredibly familiar, with the exception of the static filter that you knew so well. It was pitch dark in the room, and you wondered if he would turn the lights on. Without the helmet, no. You closed your eyes, but didn't move.

“Thinking.”

The weight on the bed shifted behind you and you felt him settle beside you. You swallowed hard as the scent of soap and him invaded your thoughts, the slight brush of what was unmistakably the warmth of his hand brushing your back.

“About…?”

His voice was tinged in curiosity and fatigue. You sighed.

“You.”

You expected a response, that was true. You didn’t expect it in the form of his hand, much larger than yours and warm on your cool skin, to run up your exposed arm and rest on your shoulder.

“What about me?”

His breath was hot on your ear, and you shuddered faintly. You answered after a moment.

“You asked me who you are to me.” You explained, slowly so as to not trip over your own words. Only his hand was on you, but you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And I’m afraid I might have withheld the entire truth from you.”

The hand on your shoulder squeezed, and you felt Din shift behind you.

“Is that so?”

There was a kind of certainty in his tone that made your body go alight. His voice was deep, rugged and tinged with a predatory sort of rumble that did nothing short of make your mind go blank and your lower stomach twist with excitement. He knew was he was doing, but he wasn’t going to let you go without an answer.

“Yes.” You choked out, sounding more strained than what you intended. His hand traveled lower, finding purchase underneath your shirt and at the curve of your waist. His thumb stroked along the smooth skin that contrasted so heavily with the scars there that were still tender, but you sighed at the contact all the same.

“Then by all means,” he leaned impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, “Please explain.”

“You are a very trustworthy business partner, and an inarguably skilled bounty hunter.” You shifted slightly, feeling your hair fall over your ear and exposing your neck to the man behind you. You heard his breath hitch. “But I will admit that our… relationship. It has exceeded what I – ah.” Your breath faltered as he thumbed at the waistband of your underwear as if asking for permission. “I-It is… I am…” You fought for the words as impossibly gentle hands grasped at your rear, his deep sigh sending heat across your neck and resetting your thoughts. “I am afraid that I feel things for you that exceed the realm of our professional relationship. Things that could easily compromise your opinion of me.”

A sharp huff of breath left Din’s nose, and although he couldn’t see you, you raised a brow in confusion. Your expression melted into one of sheer arousal when his grip on your waist brought his body flat against yours, what hardness of what was unmistakably his erection pressing insistently against your rear.

“Does this compromise your opinion of me?”

It was teasing, both his tone and his words. A soft moan escaped your lips.

“I see the way you look at me. I hear you at night, sometimes.” Grinding his hips into you, you bite your lip to hush the whimper that bubbles in your throat. “Oh, those nights are my favorite. For someone as stealthy as yourself, it’s like you want me to catch you. Those fucking sinful noises, I can hear you writhe. And when you say my name, like a god damn prayer…” He trails off, his hand traveling carefully up the skin of your torso to trace the sensitive skin of your breast. His lips are on the rim of your ear. “It’s enough to make a man go positively mad with lust.”

You never want him to stop talking. But when he shifts you the center of the bed, suddenly looming over you with your legs around his waist, you feel what little resolve you have left to preserve your dignity crumble away, and you are content with whatever he chooses to do in the moment. You can’t see his face at all in the pure darkness – you can barely make out his silhouette in the room. But you feel the hardened pads of his fingers trace your thighs around him, feel him lean down to press kisses to your neck that make your skin vibrate with need.

“I know that you want me. And I want you. I want to hear you moan my name when I’m inside you.” His hands skate up your chest, pushing your shirt up as his lips travel lower still.

“Then have me.” You hear yourself say, before you even realize the weight of your words. It doesn’t matter, though, because you would have said them months ago. You would have said them yesterday. So of course, you had no hesitation to say them now.

He groans, heady and dark with need, and his lips come up to capture yours. You swear you’ve never felt this intoxicated from anything the galaxy could offer, that the desperation and the lust brings your heartbeat to your skin and you’re sure Din can feel it, too.

Your shirt is over your head and somewhere on the floor, and the rest of the minimal clothing between the two of you follows. Your hands are tangled in his hair, softer and longer than you imagined, leaving only to follow the sharpness of his jawline, grasping at his broad shoulders before his body sinks lower. You whine with the loss of contact, your breath only hitching in your throat when you realize –

His fingers trace over your sex gently before you feel his tongue push into you, and you can’t hide the whine that leaves your throat. Your hands find purchase in his hair once again, pulling carefully as your body arches into his mouth desperately. His tongue is nimble, and threatens to push you to the edge far sooner than you would prefer. As you fought to voice this, however, two thick fingers sink into you, pumping in and out with the intent to have you teeter right over that ledge.

Only minutes have passed when you feel dangerously close, grasping at his locks and moaning his name between muttered curses.

“Fuck, Din – I’m, ah!” You can’t make the words out, and he seems to understand, but instead of stopping, you find another finger threatening your hold onto reality, and he doesn’t slow down at all, instead increasing his pace with a force you can only handle for a moment before you arch dangerously into the bed with an embarrassingly loud call of his name.

He comes up to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his lips. It doesn’t bother you.

“I was right. It sounds so much better up close.”

You were already flushed, but you were glad he couldn’t see your face nonetheless. There was a moment of silence as you felt him reach towards the ground, the rustling of objects on the floor and his clumsy grip nearly shaking your from your suffocating bliss. You released a shaky sigh, as you felt his fingers at your cunt yet again, replaced momentarily by the thickness of his length sliding against your wetness, a nearly undetectable layer of what you believe is a contraceptive. You wonder where he got it, but you resolve to mention it when you can moan anything other than his name from your lips.

“Please.” You whine, and although you can’t see him, you swear he’s smiling.

It doesn’t take long for him to hike your legs up carefully around his waist once more, lining himself up to your center and pushing into you with one languid thrust. He moans in appreciation, whispers your name and how good and tight you feel around his cock. It’s only a few more breaths before he pulls out, thrusting in slowly but with enough force that you feel like you were never whole until he was entirely sheathed inside of you. He speeds up, lifting your leg over his shoulder and fucking into you at an angle that absolutely shatters your grip on reality. You can’t feel the injuries on your stomach, and you realize that even in his rut of passion, he leaves that side of your body to the gentle and sparing caress of his other hand before he trails down and grabs at the flesh of your ass with reckless abandon.

You could stay like this for hours, either of you. But the tension and desperation in the room was far too much and you found yourself at that same edge you faced earlier, Din himself falling just as fast.

“Wish I could – ah, could see you.” He says it aloud, but you’re just as guilty for thinking it. You know it can never be so on your part, but you are satisfied knowing that he lets you see him through touch. You see him every other way, in truth. Through his words, his emotions. His actions. Deprivation of sight doesn’t deter you from loving him—

And you realize that’s what he is to you.

Your fingers cup his jaw, shaking from both your own instability and the pace of his hips snapping up into you at an unforgiving pace. Your lips meet again, fueled with discoveries that you’ve both made, but neither has voiced.

Din crescendos in pace as you do in volume, the sound of skin on skin and joined moans of pleasure enveloping all of your senses, turning every thought you have into static. When you both climax, it’s like heaven on Earth. Like you found peace in a shabby little inn on Tatooine and it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life.

After a bout of shuffling, Din retreats to the restroom and returns with a wet cloth, gently wiping the residue of your passion and leaving a trail of kisses across your skin. You wonder how he navigates so well in the darkness, but leave it to another day to question. When he returns to bed, you feel your breaths slow and you find yourself lying against Din’s chest, who it seems is also piecing together his thoughts.

“I think I love you.” You say it before you realize it’s left your lips.

Din laughs, a hand brushing your hair behind your ear gingerly.

“You think too much.” He says, a smile in his voice. “But I believe I love you, too.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You wake to an empty bed, light flooding into the room through the window that has now been slightly opened and faint noises echoing from the restroom. You stretch your hands above your head, turning towards the window and the floating carriage which the Child –

The Child.

You shot up in bed, scrambling out from underneath the covers.

“If you’re wondering if we woke him up, then the answer is no.” Din’s voice piped up from behind you, filtered by the modulator in his helmet. “He’s slept through much louder, much more dangerous things.” Even in full armor, he seemed more relaxed than usual, and you couldn’t help but take pride in the realization that it was likely because of the events of the previous night. “Although, you were very, very loud last night.” He tagged on, a smirk in his voice.

Though the blood rushed to your face, you ran a hand through your hair and stood, pretending not to notice the way Din’s eyes raked over your body. A new collection of hickies stood out among your previous scars, a collection of purples and reds that you were proud of. Heading for the restroom, you heard the softest of whines coming from the enclosed contraption, signaling that the baby was awake.

“Looks like someone’s up.” You yawned and slipped past the Mandalorian, brushing against his side for a moment too long. Instead of letting you past, a strong arm looped around your waist, the cold beskar of the underside of his helmet resting against the top of your head as he trapped you.

“We have a few days here. I know someone trustworthy who can watch the little one.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t you need to find work?”

“We have a few days.” He repeated.

You smirked, and you swear you could feel those handsome lips curling into a sly grin underneath that helmet.

“A few days, huh?” The beskar of his chest plate was cold under your touch. “Works for me, Din.”

“Good.”

You didn’t know, of course, but he had been smiling at you when you had first met him, a silent grin playing at his lips underneath his helmet.

He was smiling now, too.

#star wars #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #fic

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p-artsypants · 4 years

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Longest Night (39) Remembering

I just want to say thank you to everyone for their reviews. I can’t respond to all of you because I just don’t have the words. But thank you! I read each and every one, and they keep me going when times are rough. Over all, reviews have been kind. I was expecting some ‘omg you’re a terrible person and I hope you die’ but that never came. You guys are just awesome and I appreciate you so so much!

I didn’t expect this story to be so long, and I’m kind of losing steam to pump it out so fast. I’ll finish it of course, but some chapters take time to figure out what’s happening. I have most of the story planned out, but the ‘when’s and ‘how’s are a little fuzzy. You guys have been very patient and I appreciate it. I just wanted to keep you informed. I think you all deserve it.

Ao3 | FF.net

—

You would think that since Adrien and Marinette were finally allowed to be together, things would be smooth sailing.

But it wasn’t. It was awkward.

Which was completely unfair in fact. She was finally with Adrien, but never alone. And he couldn’t talk. They were just out of arms reach from the other, and even if he could speak, what would they even talk about? Small talk? Surely not about the time in the catacombs.

Did he know what she did? Did he remember being an akuma? Did he know how they got out?

So many days passed in that room in silence. They watched feel-good movies one after the other. Nino and Alya would come to visit and share stories of uplifting things that had happened.

They learned of their trending hashtag. They watched the interviews with Nadja. And they got to watch the benefit concert.

“All that money was put into a fund for you guys,” Alya explained. “That way, you don’t have to worry about supporting yourselves. You are taken care of for life!”

On one hand, yes. Wonderful. Finding work and going back to school were two things that Marinette was afraid of doing, afraid of failing at. Like two giant boulders she’d have to pick away at with a tiny hammer. So to know they had a large safety net was a relief.

On the other hand, it was kind of disgusting. They were real people being tortured, with no granted privacy. Everyone had seen both of them naked, in their most vulnerable moments of weakness, crying, panicking, even hallucinating. And people were just watching it. And they got invested and wanted to know more, like they were characters in a show and not people actually suffering!

Taking donations? Fine.

But making a concert out of them like some sort of spectacle? Disgusting.

Watching the interviews, it became apparent that everyone knew about Marinette’s debilitating crush on Adrien. How awkward she was around him, how she embarrassed herself.

There was a reason she had a secret identity. So that Marinette would be safe. Marinette and her family.

What did she have left of her own?

“What was the point of that?” She asked as Jagged’s ‘Exit Music’ faded out.

“Girl, it’s a benefit concert.” Alya quirked her head to the side, like she had no idea what was wrong.

“The benefit of who?”

“Of you two, of course. What else would it be?”

“Did you plan this?”

“Well…yeah? Most of it. It was Jagged Stone’s idea though.”

“Did you pat yourself on the back afterwards? Thought you picked a bunch of really vulnerable moments to really drive the emotion up?”

“What? N-no…”

“You know what I saw? A bunch of people singing a bunch of useless songs to make themselves feel better. What was even the goal? To bring awareness to our suffering?”

Alya huffed. “Don’t be like this, Marinette. Jagged brought the idea to us because there was nothing else he could do. He’s a musician. So he wanted to play music to help you somehow. I’m sorry that my video choices upset you. I thought they were funny and captured the person you are outside the suit. I wanted others to see that person.”

Marinette didn’t have a response to that.

“And you know what? Maybe we did want to feel better. What good does it do anyone if we all sat around feeling hopeless?”

“Yeah, like I didn’t know how that felt.”

Alya exhaled hard. “That’s not what I’m saying. If everyone lost hope, who would even bother to save you? If there was no chance?”

Marinette glared at her. “Well, I hope Hawkmoth really enjoyed the concert, since he was the only helpful one.”

“He wasn’t—“ Alya growled, but bit her lip. “You know what? It’s not my place. I’m sorry. I legitimately didn’t know this would hurt you.”

Marinette turned her gaze away. “I’m sorry for snapping. Thank you for putting the concert on.”

“Nah girl, you can thank Jagged when he comes to visit. He was really worried. And you might thank Luka too.”

“I’ll try.”

—

For his own part, Gabriel was practicing the art of holding his tongue. Some moments it was difficult, but he had to tell himself it was an emotional response to seeing his only son in pain.

In this time of quiet observation, he watched Marinette and Adrien, studying the changes in behavior. Noting was setting them off in anger, and what they were okay with. His goal in the next several months was to push those boundaries.

There was no reason for Adrien to hiss at nurses that were touching Marinette.

Besides this, he was also trying to consolidate Chat Noir and Adrien, and Marinette and Ladybug. It had been a chore since the beginning, but it was still so hard to piece together.

And now with their changes in personalities, it was impossible.

He hadn’t really known Marinette. The few times he met her, he’d describe her as small. Timid, shy, unable to have eye-contact, and incredibly clumsy. From Adrien and Lila, he learned that she had a lot of people that trusted her and was easily liked.

Ladybug on the other hand, demanded attention and respect with her very presence. She exuded confidence that he had found annoying, if not respectable. Though they had been enemies, she was certainly a formidable opponent. Calm, calculating, and creative.

New Marinette was none of these things. Closed off, bitter, quiet, and volatile. Words were like pouring salt on her bare back, some grains fell in open wounds, and it was impossible to predict what would set her off.

Adrien used to be polite, graceful, and wore his emotions on his sleeves, no matter how hard he tried otherwise.

Chat Noir was obnoxious, reckless, and larger than life. He came off as a goofball, but Hawkmoth could tell he took his duties seriously.

New Adrien was impossible to read. Silent, watching, calculating. Completely stoic unless someone touched Marinette. There was no way to tell how he was coping, other than to assume he wasn’t.

The doctor was right, they were unrecognizable.

The only saving grace was the softening gaze Adrien had when looking at Marinette. She was the only thing that seemed to pull him out of his abyss.

“Good morning,” Dr. Boucher stated early one day. Adrien was awake, but Marinette was still sleeping.

“Good morning,” Gabriel returned for his son.

“Well, things are going great, I’m really thrilled with the progress both of them are making. We’ve avoided every complication, quite Miraculously. So I was hoping to do one more procedure on Adrien while he’s still admitted.”

Adrien glanced at the doctor, seemingly listening.

“Your vocal nodules. It’s a really easy procedure, we won’t even put you to sleep. Just numb the area and use a tiny laser to remove the growths. Shouldn’t take too long at all.”

Adrien turned to Marinette, whimpering in the back of his throat.

“I promise you won’t be gone long. Might even be back before she wakes up.”

“I’ll let her know if she does,” Sabine spoke up from Marinette’s side of the room. “You might as well get this done now, Adrien. Then you don’t have to come back.”

“And they’ll only get worse as time goes on.” The doctor added.

Adrien screwed up his lips and gave a stiff nod.

“That’s a good boy.”

—

Marinette awoke to Dr. Boucher speaking. “Now, in order for your vocal cords to fully recover, I don’t want you to speak for two weeks. After that, you can gradually start speaking softly. No yelling for a while. Okay?”

Marinette raised her head to see the doctor was talking to Adrien.

“What’s going on?” She asked.

“See, I told you you’d be back before she woke up.” The doctor smiled. “We just got done removing Adrien’s vocal nodules, so he should be able to speak within the next few weeks.”

“That’s wonderful.” She said softly.

“And how are you feeling?” He asked her.

She frowned. “Gross. I want to take a bath.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t. But we can give you a sponge bath and wash your hair.”

Oh.

Huh.

What a strange trigger.

One moment, she was safe in the hospital, the next, she was standing in the rain, a deranged Chat Noir next to her. They were looking in the window of a salon. Then she was in a chair, staring at her own horrible perverse reflection.

“Can I wash your hair? Give you a trim? It might make you feel better.”

And then…

Blood. Everywhere. Salo’s lifeless face dissolving into ash. Gunshots ringing in her ears. Adrenaline pumping. Bodies of her tormentors laying all around her.

And Chat smiling with blood in his mouth.

“Marinette?”

Alya’s little sisters hiding and crying. Chloe, terrified and cowering against a shelf. A man dangling over the edge of a building by his neck. Dozens of men being eviscerated, torn to shreds. A whole building worth of angry thugs laying on the floor and writhing in pain.

“Marinette!”

Bodies hanging from the Arch de Triomphe. A fight with Hawkmoth, and Chloe, and Nino.

“Alya!” Her own voice screamed. “Come out and face me! Face judgement for your neglect and betrayal!”

Over and over. Blood. Screams. Death.

Because of them.

Because of her.

A stern hand grabbed her arm. “Speak to me Marinette, what hurts?” The doctor was speaking, but Marinette wasn’t listening.

She turned to look at Adrien, who was only staring at her wide-eyed, tears of his own streaming down his face.

Gabriel was right there with him. “He’s upset too. What did you do?”

“I don’t know! I thought a sponge bath was a fine idea!”

Marinette was reading the look on Adrien’s face wrong. Her own anxieties fed her lies and told her that the fear she was seeing was directed towards her.

And to be honest, she was a little afraid of him too.

He had torn out throats with his teeth, and then laughed about it. He had enjoyed their murder spree.

And so had she. Justice, she said. They were setting things right. Doing what others were too cowardly to do.

But violent revenge wasn’t that far off from what Salo had been after.

In fact, theirs had been much much worse.

“I’m just like her…” Marinette sobbed. “I’m just like Salo.”

“Honey no.” Sabine demanded. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not an idiot!” She choked. “I know what I did! I know the whole story! I remember all of it! I’m disgusting!” And she turned away. Away from her family, away from Adrien.

But she stood firmly facing her guilt.

It was a veil being lifted. A fog rolling back to reveal memories that were aching to be noticed. Deep primal instincts that thundered inside. There was no ignoring it, and it was only a matter of time before the truth became known.

“I can’t take this,” stated Tom, who had been quiet since Marinette awoke. In quick strides, he was across the room and scooping his daughter up into his arms.

Marinette allowed him, and clung to his shirt as she wailed. Sabine came up behind her and petted her hair patiently, silently.

Adrien had his back turned from them, and trembled in his horrified shock.

How could he?

How could he be so cruel and demented? How could he enjoy murdering? With his bare hands no less?

Was he so loyal to Ladybug that he’d kill for her? She hadn’t even asked him to. Was he so depraved that that felt like the right thing to do?

He was a monster. An absolute monster.

Shakily, he took off his Miraculous and tossed it blindly, hearing it ping against the linoleum.

He didn’t deserve to be a hero. He didn’t deserve to live.

“Adrien,” Gabriel said as he crouched next to him. “You should hold onto this.” The ring rested in his palm.

Adrien shook his head, burying his face in his pillow.

Gabriel watched his son sink into himself, swallowed into a dark abyss. One he feared he’d never make it out of. But how was he supposed to help? A pat on the head? ‘There there’? Comfort was so out of realm of his expertise.

Still, there was hope for him yet if he realized there was a problem and wanted to fix it. Looking to the Dupain-Cheng’s, he found Marinette snuggled against her father. The scene was so sweet if he hadn’t known the context.

Gabriel looked to Dr. Boucher. “Can he be moved?”

“Uh, yes. I think that’d be alright.”

Coming around to the other side, Gabriel slid an arm under Adrien’s waist and forced him to sit up.

His head flopped forward and rested on Gabriel’s collar bone.

“Come on, Adrien, it’s alright.”

But Adrien just sobbed against him.

“Adrien,” Tom stated firmly. “Come here, son.” And he held out his hand.

Adrien lifted his head, his chest rising and falling with erratic breath. He looked Tom in the eyes, trailing down to his outstretched hand. That was something he wholeheartedly didn’t deserve.

“You can go,” Gabriel assured. “It’s okay.”

After a split second of hesitation, Adrien staggered to his feet and fell the last few feet to reach Marinette’s bed. Tom caught him before he hit the ground and swept him up onto his lap.

There were tears, there was repentance, and shame. It lasted far too long as the 12 hours of memories roared like a debilitating hurricane in their minds.

And then soon, it started to feel good to cry. It wasn’t great. It was exhausting and draining, but in a good way, like after running a race.

“You remember how it ended, don’t you?” Sabine asked softly. “You gave me your earrings, and I did Miraculous Cure. They’re all okay now. Maybe a little scared and confused, but they’re alive.”

Marinette sighed with a shutter. “I have to apologize.”

“If it will help. But I’m sure they understand and don’t hold it against you.”

Gabriel mimicked Sabine’s comforting motions on his son. “You were both akumatized. You know better than anyone else that akumas are irrational. They embody the very emotion they felt when they are transformed.”

“You remember when I turned into Weredad?” Asked Tom. “I trapped you in a tower, and beat up Chat Noir. You know I’d never do that. I want to protect you, but I also want you to enjoy life and make your own decisions. It was irrational.”

“And you remember when Nonna turned into Befana?” Asked Sabine. “She wanted to hurt you, Marinette. And she turned your father into coal. Grandma would never want to hurt you.”

“You see Marinette,” Gabriel continued. “A lot of akuma’s hurt, and some even kill. They petrify, and turn people to ice cream. But life goes on. Paris heals. You are just unfortunate enough to remember it.”

“Why?” Marinette whispered. “Why did we remember?”

Gabriel frowned. “I think Hawkmoth might be the only one to know the answer.”

“But that’s something to worry about later,” Sabine interjected. “You have plenty of emotions to sort through as of right now.”

Marinette nodded sagely and wiped her cheeks.

Then her eyes flicked over to Adrien.

He managed the smallest smile for her, the fear disappearing from his eyes.

It sent a spark to her heart, and her face heated up.

#longest night #ml #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #fanfic #adrienette #ladynoir

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chilvanakin · 3 years

Text

If I had to remember how it started, I would have to replay the flashback of being told that when I became obese at 15, that I couldn’t “come crying”. I was 8 when my dad told me this. Afterwards, I had this increasing feeling of being in the wrong body, like I had been misplaced at birth and was suddenly realizing it. I looked around at everyone else, having fun and enjoying their childhood while I compared me to them. I compared me to my best friend who I often I asked, “why can’t I look like you?”

I felt misplaced in a body that was my own, always had been, because someone else told me I was. How do you teach an 8 year old to go on a diet? I loved food, I was a picky eater but aren’t we all at that age? So how do you tell them that they need to change and that they don’t look pretty enough without traumatizing them? My dad now reafirms that he only said that to me because he wanted me to have high self esteem. He wanted me to “take care of myself”.

I developed anorexia at 14. I became obsessed with diet culture, “clean” eating, and exercising until I colapsed. I used my notebooks for tracking my daily intake and writing hateful messages to myself. I would motivate myself through my own hatred. Slowly, I decreased my meals until they weren’t even meals anymore. I thought I was being “healthy” by going on 3 to 4 day fasts, thinking that the kiwi I had before I began was enough. Newsflash, it wasn’t. But I continued.

My family situation got complex during this time. My parents were separated and I felt alone. I distanced myself from my friends and I had also stopped going to school. Everytime I talked to my dad through Skype, he would comment on how I was too thin. Amazingly so, I thought he was complimenting me. I got more and more obsessed, the loss of my period and hair became my motivation. The internet was my best friend because I read all about the “tips & tricks” of starving. I was tired, lonely, cold and angry. I had no patience and I was insufferable. This is what being malnourished will do to you.

After months and months of these rituals that and rules that seemed like an endless of “how to die in 10 days”, I tried to recover. How? By getting into fitness. I did Insanity while I was recovering, which was bullshit because that is NOT recovery. I didn’t challenge myself, I didn’t give my body time to rest- I exercised every day, I underfed and I normalized exhaustion. I was terrified of chocolate, processed foods and fats. The thought of putting on weight became a source of nightmares, LITERALLY. I would have NIGHTMARES about looking down at my body and seeing fat start to accumulate over my bones. Somehow, I thought that since I was exercising and eating more than my standard oatmeal and toast, that I was recovered.

I went to live with my father at 15. I feel like this decision shaped me as a person because I was forced to grow up way too fast. I made choices that no one should make a 15 year old make. At this point in time, I had put on weight and I was no longer exercising. My dad had a baby with this girlfriend of the time and all I wanted to do was be with my new baby brother. I didn’t think about food or dieting because I felt like somehow, watching him eat made me be at peace with food. My baby brother was growing and being nourished by the food we gave him and I wanted to make sure he was never hungry. It made me feel so happy to watch him laugh and wobble his way over to his mom for lunch time. I loved seeing him nibbling with a toothless mouth on a soft cookie, and offering the slobbered leftovers to me. That all stopped very suddenly, because my dad would start to make comments. Not only him, but his girlfriend too. Comments about how I was “eating too much” and how I “would look better if I was smaller”. I was experiencing extreme hunger when I moved in with my dad, because I had stopped exercising and my body no longer was focusing the energy on repairing my muscles, it was focusing on repairing me as a whole. I HAD to eat a lot because I needed to be healthy again. This was thrown completely out of the window and I caved into my disordered brain again. I felt almost grateful to them for motivating me to start losing weight again because I thought that it meant that they cared. So the food rules started again. It’s just that this time I didn’t need to learn the tips and tricks, I already knew them. Losing weight was easier now, and faster. So 2013 was the year I dedicated to my disorder. I restricted long enough that my hunger cues began to fade away. I thought that my body had gotten used to what I was eating. A green apple in the morning, some lettuce leaves and half a red bell pepper for lunch, and a single serving of prepackaged soup at night. My brain stopped screaming at me and I stopped thinking. I was reduced to being a zombie of my disorder. I stopped singing, I stopped writing, I stopped making art. I never cried, I laughed only when I was around other people. My body felt numb. I felt numb.

I remember taking showers and watching as day by day the fur growing all over my bones got longer and longer. I later found out that this is called “lanuga” which happens when you have lost an extreme amount of fat and your body reacts as an attempt at survival by growing these hairs, desperately trying to protect you. I felt tired, I couldn’t carry my baby brother anymore. He would ask me to hold him and I would try, but be very afraid of dropping him so I would have to refuse. I remember how upset he looked, we were so close. He loved being with me but I was so scared of him watching me do these things to myself. What if he learned from me? What if my actions stayed in his subconscious? I tried putting distance between us because of my fears. I hate myself for that because I miss him so much now, I miss the days we would spend and the naps we would take. I can’t take back that time.

We went to the doctor because I now, was at the brink of death. Truly I wish that I could say I’m being dramatic about that, but I’m not. My heart was weak and I could barely move. I was no longer sleeping and even sitting down hurt. My bones felt like knives crushing into my skin. I learned that I was at risk of heart failure and if I didn’t start recovering now, the next step would be having a tube thrusted down my throat. Force feeding. I couldn’t ever let that happen so I decided to once again, embarc on a lonely recovery path. As soon as I left the doctors, I told my dad to buy me chocolate. In response, he was annoyed. He thought that I was going to use my “verge of death illness” as an excuse to get obese. I cannot make this up y’all. He didn’t buy me shit and barked at me about how “you can eat at home”. Please, if anyone you know is going through restrictive eating disorder and they say they want chocolate- BUY THEM THE FUCKING CHOCOLATE!

I began refeeding and it was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. I couldn’t stomach food. I would eat and instantly have diarrhea. I had to have baby sized portions of food to be able to hold it down. This caused my weight to drop more, so I was now at the point where I actually did need to be hospitalized. I was afraid that I was going to die at any given point of the day. My dad once told me that “just because you have to start eating again doesn’t mean you can get as fat as you used to be”. I cried. This was the first time I had cried in so long. My numbed down feelings reflourished. The hate, the anger, the sadness I bottled up began overflowing. I didn’t stop eating, I gave myself the time I had to so I could stabilize myself. I was sent to go spend a few months with my dad’s girlfriend’s family. I barely knew these people, but they couldn’t handle me being this sick anymore. They didn’t want me. I was a bad influence to my brother. I was hurting them. My dad would have hated me if I told him I needed to be in the hospital, because that’s too much money so this was the easy way out. I guess if I needed to be hospitalized while I was there, it wouldn’t have to come out of his pocket.

I hated being away from my baby brother. I hated acting happy all the time when I was so depressed and furious. I tried making friends during my time away and all of them idolized my sick body. They asked me how I got to that point. I remember telling them I was sick, that I had to eat. They made me feel like that wasn’t neccesary, that I looked like a model. I ate anyway. I couldn’t go back home and still be sick, that would mean that I would be hated by them and maybe even have to leave home.

After a few months I gained some weight. I went back home. I asked my dad’s girlfriend if I was “fine now”, as in “am I not scary anymore”. She said I still looked very thin, but that it was fine. She told me not to go overboard. This meant “DO. NOT. GET. FAT.”

My dad and his girlfriend separated after a year and a half of my recovery. This whole period was very stressful since I was left alone with my dad. I was weight restored and I found some kind of peace with having no peace. I lived with the comments as a daily thing. “Don’t eat that, why don’t you do some arm exercises, you don’t really want that, why don’t those pants fit you anymore.” I got used to feeling foreign in my body. So being extremely malnourished was bad, bein inbetween wasn’t good enough and being restored to my set weight was just awful. I had no idea who I was or what I was supposed to be. I hated myself and I got used to that.

I am now 23 years old and I relapsed a few months ago. I understand now that I was never recovered. I was begging for help for years, but I got irritation and annoyance as a response. I never stopped having food rules, I never stopped being afraid of food. I cannot recover until my brain is completely rewired. I have to eat. I have to lose my fear around food. I have to HATE my disorder and push it out of every one of my pores until I am completely cleansed of it. I remember reading about how “this disorder never leaves you and you will always struggle with it”. I believed that for so long. I believed that I was never going to stop being afraid. I’m tired of feeling comfortable with my anorexia when it has ruined me to the point of feeling completely astranged from my body. I want to know who I am and not hate myself for it. I can’t recover fully until I rewire myself. Keep this with you. You cannot believe you are recovered just because some doctor tells you that you are weight restored. Your food rules need to disappear competely, you need to challenge yourself even if it terrifies you. I am so afraid, but I don’t ever want to go down this disordered path again. I want to spend time with the people that love me and not let anything get in my way. I am young and I am smart. So are you. Eat your fears.

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make-it-mavis · 3 years

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Homesick (Entry #27)

(cw: drugs/addiction) ----------

01/13/88 4:05 PM

Hey.

I had a lot to think about after that total clustercuss.

Once I came down enough from my high to start feeling sick, I threw the blanket over Fix-it and left. Not in a mushy way or anything, more like tossing it over a chair or coat rack. I would have stolen it and added it to the pile, but it reeked of him. That’s not what I want to smell while I’m falling asleep.

The arcade opened the same as any other day, which felt strange given the surreal horrors I’d spent the night battling. I definitely took some wounds away from it, in the way of the worst hangover I’d had in my life. Chills, headache, puking, all the standard stuff was there, but I’d never had mental effects quite like that before. My moods were spinning as much as my head. They were so intense, yet so cold all at once. Minute to minute, I’d be laughing ‘til it hurt, then hyperventilating, then punching the bark off the trees, then crying so hard I couldn’t stand up -- yet it all felt dissociated from me. They were physical symptoms of emotion, but the emotions themselves just weren’t there. I was just numb.

Eventually, I passed out. I fell asleep craving nothing more than the quenching release of GC.

One more, I told myself. Just one more.

What I told Fix-it was the truth -- I didn’t want to corrupt. I did want to avoid it. But what I said before about the risk feeling far away? That only got worse, moving forward. My brain said that if I had gotten this far, I was tolerant to it. I was tough. I could take just one more and be fine. If I didn’t take another, I’d be left with a bad taste in my mouth. If I didn’t take another, I’d be giving up one last chance to experience the freedom and euphoria that the first hit gave me. The second one couldn’t be the last. I couldn’t end on such a horrifying note with nothing to wash it down. I couldn’t be ready to face my reality again dragging that around. I needed just one more. Just one.

So, once I’d woken up and had some more time to pull myself together, I drew another portrait, from memory this time. I’d drawn Fix-it so many times perfecting my disguise of him, it was like muscle memory. I guess I just didn’t want him to be one of the first faces up on the wall, otherwise I’d have drawn him sooner. But at that point, I didn’t have the patience to track anyone down to model for me. He’d have to do.

I set out for Tapper’s, portrait in hand. But halfway there, the weirdest and creepiest thing happened. Remember in my buff trip where I’d lose little chunks of time?

That started happening in real life.

One second, I was crossing Game Central Station. One flash of blue later, I was standing outside the bar, having just gotten off the train, with no memory of the time in between, and drumming pain in my head. I knew that was weird and definitely not a good sign.

But it was okay, because I wasn’t going to take any more GC after this last hit.

I entered the bar and sat in my usual spot. The atmosphere seemed somehow even drearier than before, even darker, as if Tapper had dimmed the lights. I wasn’t about to let it get me down, though. I whistled for Tapper. To my surprise, he didn’t come over right away, despite it being a slow night.

He wiped down a counter a little ways away. When I whistled, he took a deep breath and sighed through his nose. He didn’t even look at me. I got the sense, though, that he wasn’t trying to give me the cold shoulder. He just seemed so reluctant to even acknowledge me, so avoidant, as if being pressed on something he didn’t want to talk about. I actually had to get up and go sit in front of him for him to actually talk to me.

“What’s the problem, sad sack?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be happy to see me.”

Tapper stopped cleaning, took another deep breath, and looked me in the eyes with a sad sort of scrutiny. He asked quietly, “Mavis… is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“...No?”

“Really,” he furrowed his brow. “Nothing at all.”

“I’d…” I trailed off for a second, before pulling out the portrait and placing it in front of him. “I’d like to say ‘Pleasure doing business with you!’”

For a second, he froze in inspection of the portrait, and then sighed harshly. He leaned the heels of his palms wide on the counter’s ledge and nodded at me. “I know, Mavis.”

My insides turned cold, but there was no use fighting or running away. I lied to him in full consciousness, knowing that it would hurt my well-intentioned bartender and business partner that I am very fond of. I made my bed. I make many beds. Sometimes I have to lie in them.

So I sat down in my metaphorical bed, and lied some more.

I tucked my chin. “Know what?”

“Quit playin’ dumb, kid,” he sneered a bit. “And take off those damn shades. You’re not foolin’ anybody.”

I was genuinely confused. “I’m not wearing shades.”

I flinched as he reached over and, with a single motion, snatched away the aforementioned unusual darkness in the room. The lights hadn’t been dimmed. I had just been wearing shades without even noticing -- surely an embarrassingly amateur attempt at hiding my blue pupils from the public without use of my brush. If I know me, I’d say it was more for the walk to Tapper’s than the actual conversation with him. But I don’t think I would have taken them off before speaking to him, anyway. I think I felt worse about that than I did about actually lying to Tapper in the first place. At least the first time, I gave him enough credit to be a convincing liar. This was just stupid.

“Oh…” I blinked against the light. “‘Kay.”

Tapper leaned his elbow on the counter and squinted at me. Then, he sighed. “Yep. That’s what I thought. It’s dim, but it’s there. You couldn’t even wait for your eyes to fully fade before coming out to look for more.”

I caved. I took a deep breath through my nose, leaned on the counter and started munching out of a nearby bowl of pretzels. “So. How’d you find out?”

“Ralph told me.”

My pupils might have been blue, but I saw red. “He did what.”

“But he wouldn’t have had to, Mavis, with you showing up like this. The shades, the eyes, the-- the--” he looked at the portrait, grasping for words. “Whatever the hell this is.”

“Excuse me? That’s Fix-it Felix Jr., you dope!”

He just spun the paper around and showed it to me. It was not the image I remember drawing. It looked like it might have been a drawing of Fix-it once, but the lines all got drunk and staggered around the page in cliques. It looked like I drew it with my eyes closed.

“Wh…”

“It’s over, Mavis. I’m puttin’ this deal on hold.”

I can’t say I was surprised. But I was pretty disappointed. The deal had been a good one -- quick, convenient, and benefitting my favorite bar. But once it was over, my brain didn’t even give me time to be upset. It dove right into figuring out how to get my last hit by other means.

I was quiet for a minute, before popping a pretzel in my mouth. “On hold?”

“My walls still need to be filled. I still like working with you. I still like you, kid,” his eyes faded, “but I should never have given you credits, not right now. I should have known better than to think a promise would keep you clean. Now you’re out there getting high with the credits I gave you. I might as well put poison in your root beer.”

I didn’t know what to say. Nothing he said was untrue. I just looked at him severely, waiting for him to finish.

“Now, listen,” he pointed his index finger against the counter. “You go get help. You go get clean. You process all the stuff you gotta process. You give it time. A lot of time. Then, and only then, can we talk business again. I won’t singlehandedly fund your addiction, Mavis. I can’t be responsible for that.”

Something about that rubbed me the wrong way. I pointed a pretzel at him. “It’s not an addiction. I enjoy it, sure, but I don’t need it. I’m still me. I’ve still got full control of my brain.”

He didn’t look up from cleaning the counter. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Tapper.”

“Then what the hell are you eating, kid?”

“Pretz--” I stopped dead. There was nothing in my hand. There was no bowl on the counter. It’s kind of funny to look back on, but at the time, I got a chill up my spine. It really was worse than I thought.

I suddenly felt I had to leave. I grabbed my crappy drawing and hopped from the stool. “Alright, well. It was fun while it lasted, Tapper. Seeya round.”

“Mavis.”

I stopped.

“You’re gonna have to swallow your pride. You need to get help. ‘Cause I want you to come back. And if you keep walkin’ down this road,” he paused. “You ain’t comin’ back.”

I just sighed through my nose and started walking. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before.”

Just when I thought he was done, he said loud enough for me to still hear, “What if you heard it from him? What would he say if he saw you like this?”

I’d spent all my lowest hours with a conflicting gratitude that you couldn’t.

I didn’t slow down. I just dragged a faint groan in the deepest part of my throat.

“He’s not the boss of me.”

I saw another flash of blue. Next thing I knew, I was stumbling a bit on bricks. I was in the dump back in my game, and there was an anxious anger boiling in my guts. Wreck-it had made one too many decisions for me. I decided I’d been far too kind to him, I’d shared too much with him. I had to share my feelings one last time. Ugly ones.

I climbed over a small peak, and I saw him. He saw me.

At once, we both yelled, “YOU!”

Then, “ME?!”

He barked, “You dirty little liar!”

I barked, “You big fat narc!”

We advanced on each other, while he growled, “I oughtta whip you across the map!”

“I oughtta stuff your throat with bricks! Why do you keep messing with my life?! It’s none of your Dev-damned business!”

“Oh, it became my business the second you lied to Tapper! I let you stay here just ‘cuz you didn’t want to be alone, I helped you get out there when you were too scared to go, I brought you to see someone who cared about you when you needed it, and what do you do?! You lie to his face so you can go get high! What’s WRONG with you?!”

We stopped just a bit outside of his arm’s reach. I wished so badly that I could fly, so I could float eye-level with him. Having to look up at him sucked.

“I didn’t WANT to go! I wasn’t READY! You dragged me out against my will -- what do you want in return, a freakin’ medal?!”

He gave a full-body eye roll. “No, I don’t want anything! I didn’t want anything! All I wanted was to help! And all you had to do was-- was NOT do exactly what you did! Easy!”

I seethed. “EASY?!”

“EASY!”

“I have not had,” I grit my teeth, “a second of ‘EASY’ since-- since--” I couldn’t even say it. “You have no idea of the things I’ve been through! You have no freakin’ idea what this is like!”

“Yeah! ‘Cause I’m not allowed to ask about it, remember?!”

“I can guarantee, I can bet my very pixels on it -- if you had to deal with even half of what I have, you’d be blubbering like a 650-pound baby!”

“643!” he spat. “At least I wouldn’t be spinning lies and stuffing my pixels with buffs like you, you little sewer rat!”

“Oh, ho, ho,” I laughed, “That’s just adorable. Buddy, let me tell you -- if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t have even lasted this long. You’d have gotten us all unplugged.”

“Oh, gimme a break.”

“It’s true! You’d have gone and corrupted a long time ago! If you had to deal with HALF of what I have!”

An upset look sparked in his eye for a second, but he quickly countered, “No, see, that wouldn’t happen, because unlike you, I don’t make my own therapy with-- with--” he gestured sharply, “I’unno, substances.”

“Oh, I see. So, the fact that you go to Tapper’s every single night’s got nothin’ to do with that, huh?”

He clenched his fists. “Don’t even start. I go to Tapper’s because I like talkin’ to Tapper.”

“No, you’re nursing something,” I gave a sickly-sweet smile and took a half-step forward, and I saw his foot twitch back. “You’re drowning some sorrows. What are they, huh? You sad? You lonely? You want things you know you can’t have? You want to change things that can’t be changed?”

“No,” he growled.

“Yeah,” I nodded, knowing I’d struck emotional gold. “You feel trapped.”

“No,” he grit his teeth. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” I laughed, just about ready to derail and completely unhinge. “Everyone does! Because, guess what? We are. All we do is chase things that make us feel like we’re not. And you know what the cheapest, most reliable escape is? Intoxicants.”

“Stop it.”

“So let’s just cut the crap,” I marched forward, and he shuffled back, “If you had nothing, absolutely nothing to bring you joy anymore other than your drink, and you had to lie to get it, you’d lie a million times! You wouldn’t even bother with Tapper if he didn’t pour out your sweet medicine so you can lap it up like the thirsty boozehound you are!”

I just barely dodged his fist.

He roared and slammed his huge meaty cudgels again and again, and I weaved and jumped and slipped out of the way. It was almost the same routine as ever, but his rage was like nothing I’d seen in him before. I grabbed a brick and sprung up to crack it on his head -- I succeeded, but pain stabbed into my brain when I tried to launch from his shoulders. I tumbled against his arm and spilled down onto the bricks. I tried to push up, but the pain in my head held me down. The binary in my eyes crackled away just in time for me to see him standing over me, both fists raised, fire in his eyes.

I just closed my eyes and braced for impact.

It didn’t come. When I looked again, his arms were down, and he was checking me over in a distasteful sort of way, like I was a machine that mysteriously stopped working. I guess he was disturbed to see my usually impressive acrobatics reduced to... that. His chest heaved with anger, but he was clearly pulling the reins.

“Look,” he said quietly, raising his index finger, “let me make one thing perfectly clear: I told Tapper… for Tapper. I brought you out to see Tapper… for Tapper. I like Tapper. I wanted to help him. And I wanted you outta my home. ‘Cause you and I,” he gestured between us, “are not friends. I didn’t even want to get mixed up with you in the first place, and I shouldn’t have. ‘Cause clearly, I wasted my time. You don’t wanna get better. You just wanna keep using everyone, right? You love that. Especially now that everyone feels sorry for you. They think you’re some kinda… kinda tragic poster child for addiction. Well, guess what? I don’t. I think you’re a shady lil’ double-crosser who has no problem taking advantage of sprites who love her. And then you act like you only did what anyone else would have done. Like everyone shares your crappy worldview, or whatever. Listen -- yeah, I do drink when I go to Tapper’s. But, newsflash, not every sprite who drinks is as miserable as you are.”

He kicked a splash of bricks over me, and they hit like a barrage of punches. Then he turned to leave me lying there, calling back as he disappeared over a rise: “Now get out of my home. And stay out.”

I didn’t. Not right away. I just stayed there, lying against the bricks, waiting for my headache and the pain of the brick shower to fade. And, I’ll admit, I felt like crap. Not for what I’d done, exactly. Just for where I was. How I’d gotten there. What drove me to that point. What I was like before all this. Wreck-it was right about one thing: I was miserable. But I wasn’t always.

There were nights where my nonexistent sleeping schedule would keep me awake while you slept. I’d lie there remembering my first nights in the woods, with the sharp grass and the cold baths and newfound loneliness. And then I’d look at where I ended up, safe in a soft bed kept toasty warm by the relentless heat of your body next to me. And I’d just feel so happy over how far I’d come.

The cold, hard bricks under my bruised body were a far cry from where I’d been with you.

For a while, I lied there alone, trying so hard to banish thoughts of those nights from my head. They were so far above me by then. I didn’t want to look up and see how far I’d fallen.

After a decent wait, the pain in my head clenched enough to flash me down to the bottom of the bricks. I wasn’t sure if I lost time or just warped. A second later, I flashed into Game Central.

It wasn’t remarkably busy. The atmosphere felt pretty safe, relative to how it had been. For the first time in a while, it felt safer than my game. So I wandered aimlessly. I sat on the benches, I paced, I watched one of those weird dragons from Joust fly by and wished I could chase it. My brain just flooded with nagging thoughts of how I would obtain that last hit of GC. They grew more insistent by the hour, but I was mostly coming up short. Normally, I would hunt the buffs down myself, but I didn’t feel ready to venture into other games again, not other than for meeting my one dealer. But I had nothing to offer her anymore. I was stuck. As my body began to shake, withdrawal approaching fast, I knew I had to come up with something quick.

So many times, I’d lose a chunk of time and find myself sitting on a bench in front of where your game used to be, staring down the dead, black hall. I’m not entirely sure why. I obsessed over the emptiness of it. The wrongness. It hurt so badly to look, but you know when you get a tooth knocked out and your tongue won’t stop running over the empty spot, even though it just makes you bleed more? It was kind of like that.

I could see wandering sprites looking at me. Of course they did. They didn’t like what they saw, either -- supposed accomplice of mass murder looking at where the murderer himself used to live? Definitely drew some glances. Most were just morbidly curious, it seemed, as if waiting for me to lose it. Others glared and shook their heads, making angry gestures in conversation with their friends. But the last category really caught my eye. A good amount of them showed anxiety. Some watched, wide-eyed. Some exchanged worried whispers. Some even tried to hurry off to their games inconspicuously. At first, I marveled at how stupid they all were. I wondered what it would take to get it through their thick heads that I genuinely had no interest in hurting anyone. I wondered if it would even be worth the headache. But then, something dawned on me.

I’ve always been a master at working with what I’ve got. If I couldn’t soothe their fear, I could at least make it work for me.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #make it mavis #original character #homesick

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joshslater · 5 years

Text

Uniformed

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

- Hey, can I come in? We need to talk.

I really didn’t want him in my apartment, nor talk to him at all for that matter. He had been quite upset the last time he confronted me just outside the office. I tried to explain to him that I’m just working together with Jane. We sit a few desks apart, sometimes we eat lunch together, sometimes we have after work together, just like with any other co-worker. He calmed down, but didn’t appear satisfied. “Just watch what you’re doing” was his parting words. I did. I kept more of a distance to Jane, but not to the degree of being impolite. And I wasn’t about to bail the after work pub group whenever she decided to join.

- Sure, come in. Can I get you something? A coffee? A beer? - I wont be long.

Thank God for that at least. He looked a bit like a college hot shot from a 90′s movie. Indigo jeans, big leather belt, white T-shirt, stone washed jeans jacket and chiseled looks. It was the high and tight fade, over sized black wrist watch and the combat boots that gave it away. That and the stacked body.

- I just want to show you something. Well, teach you something.

That suddenly sounded ominous. He was all calm and cordial now, but I’ve seen him upset, and the civilian clothes couldn’t hide his broad, muscled upper body. He could punch me into pork mince in a second. He held out the plastic bag he was carrying.

- Here. Take off your clothes, all of them, and put this on.

I grabbed the bag and looked down, only to see camo fabric. Why on earth did he want me to put on a military uniform? Was it his? I tried to race through different scenarios in my head. What could he do with me in a uniform. Drag me off somewhere and claim I was off base without permission? That would fall apart immediately. Impersonating an officer? No. My DNA traces, could he use them? Again, nothing. Fuck it, the sooner I do this the sooner he is gone.

- OK, sure. What for? - I’ll show you. Just put it on.

I went to the bathroom and emptied the bag. A pair of boots, camo trousers and that baseball style combat shirt with a neck zipper. All of it was damp and had a chemical smell to it, like it had been disinfected or something. Was that how they washed uniforms? I did one last pause, but couldn’t come up with a new objection, so I stripped.

I don’t know anything about the military, but I wasn’t used to see trousers with sewed on knee pads. The trousers were a bit too large for me, but I had no problem putting them on. It felt wrong, and cold, to put my feet into the too large boots without socks, but I hastily tied them and could clumsily walk around with them. Finally I put on the shirt and had a look in the mirror. It all looked a bit clownish. Like when a girlfriend put on her boyfriends clothes. If he wanted to point out how much larger and muscled he was, he needed nothing more than standing close to me.

I opened the door and shuffled out into the living room. He was sitting in the good armchair, watching me.

- OK, so what’s the deal here? - Give it a minute.

I had no clue what we were waiting for. Everything felt like normal, except perhaps that my leg had started to fall asleep. Wait, no, there were tingles in both legs and a bit in my feet as well. Fuck! It must be the disinfectant. He’s pulling some sort of new recruit rookie hazing bullshit on me. Let’s have the new guy put on the uniform and then laugh at him as he gets numb.

- Did you pull a...

I couldn’t say more before my voice went away. My arms and torso was starting to get numb as well. He didn’t change his expression at all, just sitting in the armchair with a slight scowl, staring at me. I wanted to rip it all off my body, before it got even worse. The clothes didn’t move as they should. Even though they were way too large, they moved as if stuck to me, as if they were wet. But I couldn’t grab hold of anything, like I was losing motor control. Whatever was happening was accelerating. My vision was getting blurry and I was aware that I started to sway. Then everything went black and I was slowly feeling my senses slipping away. The last thing I could experience that made any kind of sense was me sort of collapsing on the floor.

It was impossible to tell time, but it felt like a long while of nothingness until I felt a tingle. It quickly built into something I couldn’t really describe, but perhaps having my body caressed is the closest. I was blind, deaf and couldn’t move at all, but I felt touch, taste and smell in some way that didn’t really make sense. It was all very confusing, trying to work out what was happening. I don’t know how, but somehow I recognized his legs, and that he was wearing underwear. Then came his feet. It was like he was putting the entire foot into my mouth, and then his other foot in my other mouth. I started to realize what was happening. I was his uniform and he was getting into it. I could feel his warmth, how he moved, how I moved against his skin.

At first there was a predictable cycle. He would get dressed in me, still slightly damp from a shower, then go about the day, often with little physical activity. But that changed completely about a month ago. In a way I now kind of hate when he do take a shower, because it’s such a glaring contrast to how he normally is, with his musky armpits and hot groin. What really bothers me is that he doesn’t jack off nearly enough as it is. Even though he wears underwear, having him go semi-erect several times a day, in this heat, makes for a bitter taste.

Fuck. This is what my life has been reduced to. Complaining that this grunt moists his boxers when he doesn’t jack off enough.

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lia-jones · 4 years

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Growing Stronger - Chapter Sixteen - Making Amends

Victor splashed cold water on his face, washing the remaining shaving foam off his face. Shaving with an injured arm had proven to be quite difficult, but with patience and precision, he finally came through. He would never get caught outside with an unshaved face, no matter what it took.

Despite everyone’s protests, it was his last day at the hospital. He was sick and tired of always having to deal with people, never having a chance to be alone with his own thoughts. He also had to get back to work fast. Not that he didn’t trust Goldman, but when it comes to investment, one needs to move fast and although Goldman was good at keeping his company running, he didn’t have the knowledge to stay on top of the market. Andrea would be a better candidate for that, cunning as she was, but she was already too busy. Changing how the world views Economics was her destiny, and that was an insurmountable task as it was. She didn’t need anyone to add to it.

This was one of the reasons why he had denied her help. She had more pressing matters to attend to than being his nurse. It would be a waste for her to spend her time worrying about his bathroom trips, or if he was well enough to take a shower on his own. She had minds to shape and paradigms to change. He was sure that, as determined and as sharp as she was, it wouldn’t take long for her to get that Nobel prize. Nobel laureates don’t waste their time spoon-feeding chicken soup to the ill. People like Andrea should be nurtured and provided the ideal setup to achieve their destined success, not given additional burdens or setbacks.

Victor applied the lotion on his face, wincing in pain as he inadvertently raised his left elbow too high. He knew he wasn’t completely healthy yet, he could feel an intense pain assaulting his bruised body every now and then, although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself. He couldn’t bear to expose his vulnerability to other people, especially Andrea. She would always worry and forget about her own needs to tend to his, and that was simply unacceptable. It didn’t matter if they were in a relationship or not, his job was to take care of her, not the other way around. He was capable enough to support both of them. He didn’t want her to worry about him.

That night, Victor had debated his reasons for hours, and always reached the same conclusion: refusing Andrea’s help was the right thing to do. Aunt Terry had been reckless and disrespectful to just throw that kind of responsibility in Andrea’s hands, which were already so full. Maybe he had been too quick to refuse her well-intentioned help, maybe his reaction grazed the crass, but he had done it to protect her. As painful as it was, Andrea was no longer his, and there wasn’t much he could do for her. But he could protect her. And he would, no matter the cost.

All of this was true. It was logical, evident, empirical. But his heart still panged. He remembered the hurt look in her eyes as she gathered her things and left. He wasn’t refusing her, he was protecting her. But for some reason, it was like he had taken all that Andrea had given only to throw it away like it was nothing. That was not his intention. Still, his heart felt… small. It’s not like Victor didn’t want to be with her, in close proximity, basking in the light she always provided him. But that would be selfish of him. That wasn’t the right thing to do.

The sound of the door opening brought him back to the real world.

“Your aunt tells me you’re being stubborn again.” Victor heard the familiar voice.

“My aunt should stop discussing my private matters with just anyone.” Victor felt tense all of a sudden. What was he doing there?

“I am not just anyone. I am your father.” Greg spoke with a superior tone. “Even though I get the same treatment from you a stranger would. Knowing about your accident through the newspapers. While that girl-”

“Andrea was with me since day one. Where were you?” Victor couldn’t hold back the question. He didn’t want to care, he told himself a long time ago he didn’t care what his father thought of him or felt about him. But he did.

“I was here. I came to see you.” Victor’s father countered.

“You came to see if I was alive? Or if I had brought shame to you in any way? Tell me, father, are you here because, yet again, you disapprove of my life choices?”

Victor saw his father do something he had never seen him do before. Gregory paused, and took a deep breath, abandoning his fighting stance. He lowered his head, seemingly showing he had come in peace.

“I know I can be strict, but I gave you everything you ever needed. I did the absolute best I could.” Greg asserted.

“Save it, I know the speech. I have failed you as a son. Just tell me in what way Mother would be ashamed of me and we can call it a day. I need to get ready.” Victor felt like he had no fight left in him. Whatever strength he had, his father always drained it very quickly.

Victor remembered the day the police brought him home after his captivity. He was scared, shaking, his hands still feeling the warmth of that little girl’s blood.

During those years, he had seen things no child should see, endured torture no child would have to endure. He was injected with all sorts of drugs, made sick and nursed back to health, saw many other children die, being disposed of like garbage. He wasn’t the same anymore. He didn’t know who he was or where he fitted. He felt nothing more than a lab rat, a number, a no one.

His mother had thrown her arms around him, crying, calling his name. At that moment, Victor realized two fundamental truths. The first was that he didn’t know how to return his mother’s love. He felt tainted, dirty, holding inside him a kind of sorrow that destroys everything in its path, leaving nothing but burning ashes. He felt numb and empty, pain being the only thing he could really identify in himself. Unfit to be in his mother’s arms. Destroyed.

The second was that his mother didn’t look like his mother anymore. Years of anguish had turned her into this sunken-eyed woman, the light in her fading fast, hidden from the world and most likely from herself. She mirrored the pain he felt. He had accomplished what he most feared: he had broken her heart. Unwillingly, not by his choice, but he had. He was destroyed, but so was what he loved the most. This realization was the one that broke him for good.

Victor shook in his mother’s arms but didn’t cry. His mother screamed his name, yet he didn’t make a sound. He just stood there, listening to her wailing, frozen in fear he would make it worse. His father’s hand took him aside.

“Go to your room. Try not to upset your mother.”

His father’s words were branded inside him, and he heard them like he was thirteen again, like it had just happened. Victor looked at his adult hands, big and strong. They were shaking. Like twenty years ago. He clenched them, taking a deep breath. His father spoke again, bringing him back to the present moment.

“My best wasn’t enough. I was hurting. I didn’t see it.” Gregory’s voice was soft now.

“What do you want?” Victor spat. Whatever his father was selling, he wasn’t going to buy it.

“I lost my wife, but you lost your mother.”

Gregory might as well have plunged a dagger through his son’s chest, it would have hurt less. The memory of his mother’s death shook him violently to the core, making him lose his balance, making it hard for him to breathe. He felt the prickling of tears in his eyes and immediately turned away. He would love to believe that his father was changing, but it still wouldn’t change years of arguments and half sentences, always leading him to believe one thing: his father blamed him for his mother’s death. The reasons for this blame were scattered, but present. If Victor didn’t leave the school that afternoon to be with his friends, he wouldn’t have been caught. He had been reckless. He wouldn’t have been in captivity, breaking his mother’s heart, and she wouldn’t get sick. Cancer was just a fancy name given to years of suffering poisoning her body, leading to her end.

For a long time, Victor couldn’t help but blame himself too. He kept dwelling in that dark place, revisiting the pain like it was an old friend, wishing there was something he could’ve done differently. Suddenly, someone came and saw things in him even he wasn’t aware existed. She believed in the good in him, she sought his light. Unexpectedly, his dark place wasn’t as dark anymore, and he could breathe more easily. But now, without her light around, he felt himself slipping back to that dark corner of his mind. He couldn’t afford it. It was ugly in there.

“I should have been there for you.” His father continued. Victor couldn’t stand it anymore.

“There? You should’ve been there?” He turned to speak, feeling his voice raise in anger. “What about here and now? What about two months ago, when you barged into my office? What about the last few days, when your sister and that ‘filthy immigrant’, like you like to call her, took turns to be with me? Where were you then?”

“I was… ashamed.” His father confessed.

“You were ashamed of me? That never stopped you before.” Victor spoke through gritted teeth, trying hard to contain his anger.

“I was ashamed of myself.” Gregory’s voice was barely a whisper. Victor took a deep breath, keeping the venom inside. A fight with his father would mean he would stay longer. Victor couldn’t stand his presence.

“You should be.” Victor declared, not feeling the faintest sympathy for his father. “But that’s none of my concern. Now leave.”

Gregory Lee gave a defeated sigh and turned to the door. Victor turned to his bag, taking some clothes, desperate to busy himself and forget his father was there.

“Andrea… She’s loyal. And bold.” He heard his father offer.

Victor froze in place, unsure what to make of his father’s statement. He turned to him in anger.

“I don’t know what you talked about, but I will warn you that if you try to hurt her in any way, I’ll-”

“Enough!” His father called, interrupting his threat. “Well, there is no need to continue this conversation. I can see you are uncomfortable. I just want you to know, should you choose her to be the one you spend your life with, I will not oppose it. She seems to really care about you.”

Victor felt the urge to ask what his father meant by that. He wondered what exactly was said between Andrea and Gregory, to make him change his mind so drastically. Instead, he remained silent, waiting for the sound of the door being closed, so he could finally relax.

In his mind, things were lurking from the dark corner of his soul. Memories of his dying mother, guilt for being the catalyst of her demise. Concrete floors, and syringes, and sick children. The absolute feeling of despair, of helplessness, loneliness. He wished Andrea was there. She would show him the light again.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #mister love queens choice #love and producer #victor x oc

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

She Was My Hope Chapter 8

Cassian Andor x OC

Words: 1520

Series Masterlist

Summary: Reina’s new discovery leads her to make a grave mistake.

Notes: I know, I know, I’m a bad fanfic parent. Picking this story back up has made me so happy and I really hope you guys enjoy it.

The two men took off running but Reina stood her ground. Nira smirked and raised her blaster.

“Reina!” Cassian cried, turning back. Han grabbed his arm.

“Wait.” They watched as Reina slowly raised the lightsaber as a confident smile spread across her face. Nira’s men rushed towards her, each struck down faster than the one before. Chewie and K2 rushed off to prepare the ships for escape as Han and Cassian watched Reina in awe. The ship jerked, being pulled into the grasp of an Empire ship and Nira laughed.

“There’s nowhere to run, rebel scum.” Nira’s eyes shot down to Reina’s shoulder, seeing the brand masked under her tattoo. “Or should I say, slave scum?” Reina felt the rage coursing through her. She raised her hand, picturing Nira flying back into her gang of goons. But nothing happened. She used every bit of anger she had and still, Nira stood with a sneer on her face.

“Too easy.” She snickered maliciously. Nira smiled cruelly and fired, purposely missing Reina’s head. Reina watched as the blast ripped through Cassian’s shoulder.

“No!” She cried, watching him fall back, Han grabbing him before he could hit the ground.

“I think now would be a good time to leave, Reina!” He shouted, dragging the wounded Cassian backward into the hangar. Reina traded her lightsaber for her more trusted blaster and fired wildly into the crowd of Nira’s henchmen, dodging their shots as she ran.

“Han!” She screamed.” Get K-2 to override the doors!” Even from her distance, she could see the droid hacking into the controls. “Close them! She ordered.

She was yanked backward by Nira, who landed a punch to her stomach.

“The Besai’s have a pretty price on your head.” She spat. “It’s time you went back to being Zane’s bitch.” The doors were nearly sealed. Reina was running out of time.

“Never.” She growled, firing her blastor into Nira’s chest and watched her body slump over. She pushed the corpse off of her and slid under the closing door just in time for it to lock.

“They’ve already started to disassemble your ship, so we’re going to have to take mine,” Han called out. Cassian groaned in pain as he was dragged towards the large metal ship. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all they had.

“We need to get out of here before-” Cassian winced, unable to speak. Reina took his face in her hands, tears of guilt welling in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” It was her fault. She had gotten cocky and Nira punished him instead. Cassian, seeing the distress in her face, mustered a smile.

“I’ve had worse.” Reina helped him onto Han’s ship and the door began to close. Chewie yelped as Han flipped switches and slammed buttons in the cockpit.

“I’m going, I’m going!” The stressed smuggler yelled back.

“Reina!” A new, yet horrifyingly familiar, voice cut through the chaos, silencing everything else to Reina’s mind.

“No.” She whimpered, turning to the closing ship door. Zane stood at the door of the hangar bay, his eyes red with determined fury.

“What is it?” Cassian asked pulling himself up just in time to see the man greedily reaching out as the door closed. Han took off, barely able to keep the ship from getting pulled in as well. “Reina?” Cassian’s voice seemed far away, drowned out by the jeers and cruel laughter.

Her breathing became rapid and her body moved without her. She lifted Cassian, draping his good arm over her shoulder and taking him into the larger room of the ship. A voice that sounded like her own called for Chewie. When the Wookie joined her to help tend to Cassian’s wound, she felt the panic overtake her. She stumbled into the cockpit, choking on the air as she tried to breathe.

“Hey, do me a favor and don’t throw up on the-” Han turned to look at her and his snarky tone turned to sincere. “Are you okay?” Reina looked back at him with the eyes of a frightened child.

“He was there.” She finally gasped. Han turned the ship to autopilot and crossed the cockpit as she slunk to the floor.

“Take it, easy kid.” He knelt and reached out to touch her shoulder, but thought better of it. He’d seen old fighters have attacks like this at some of the bars he frequented. When the memories were too much. “Try and take deep breaths. What happened back there?” Han had been too busy preparing the ship, he didn’t see the eldest Besai son viciously stalking his prey as she escaped.

Reina calmed herself down enough to catch her breath. She hadn’t had a panic attack like that in years. When she allowed herself to feel happiness with Cassian, she didn’t realize that the other feelings would break out of their numb, suppressed state.

“Zane.” She spat, the name venom on her tongue. Han nodded in understanding. While conventional comfort was far from his forte, there was one thing he was very familiar with.

“Do you want a drink?”

Ignoring the advice of his droid and whining Wookie, Cassian stood and walked about the ship until he found Reina sitting with Han in the cockpit. Compared to earlier, Reina’s behavior had changed completely. She was bright and… giggling?

“Cassian!” She exclaimed, tripping on her own feet as she stumbled towards him. He caught her before she could go too far, making a pained moan as her impact hit his shoulder. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for ages.” Her words were breathy and slurred. Cassian gave Han a furious glare.

“What did you do to her?” He held her up with one arm, taking in the heavy scent of alcohol on her breath.

“You know,” She gulped. “I haven’t had Ardees since I broke into Varan’s stores when I was fifteen.” Reina snickered, pushing away from Cassian and leaning against the wall. “He chained me to the courtyard wall for five days. Can you believe that? Five days!” She continued to laugh and Cassian’s expression grew darker.

“She was upset, so I offered her a drink.” Han shrugged. “She’s been through a lot.”

“And getting her drunk erases that?” Cassian shouted.

“No, but it helps to forget,” Reina said somberly, her previous giddiness fading slightly. “At least for a little while.” She lifted the flask, offering it to him.

“Come on, Andor.” Han chuckled. “We won’t reach the next port for at least a few hours. Sit down and have a drink.” Cassian looked at Reina’s drunken smile and sighed, taking the flask from her.

Chewie joined them and the four sat in the cockpit as Han told them stories of his smuggling adventures. As much as Cassian hated to admit it, it was actually kind of pleasant. It was almost as if they were a group of old friends, reminiscing about easier days when they had no worries or cares, even if they had. The worries and cares then seemed trivial now. But sitting there, listening to the charismatic- if not somewhat obnoxious- smuggler talk, Cassian took Reina’s hand and felt the first moment of calm since they had left Emre’s home. And he didn’t want to let go.

“It was Zane,” Reina said suddenly as they laid down on old sheets rather than sleep on the cold metal floor. It was her idea that they try to rest before reaching the next port so they could regain their strength. “He was the man on the ship.” Cassian’s face contorted with a strange mixture of rage and concern.

“How did he find you?” Reina shrugged.

“Nira must have contacted the Besais when she called the Empire to come for you.” The two sat, Cassian groaning when he accidentally hit his shoulder. The sling on his arm made moving increasingly difficult. Reina felt another wave of guilt. “I should have known I wasn’t enough.”

“Reina-” Cassian sighed.

“I’m broken, Cassian.” Her voice was sad, but mostly, it held acceptance. “The Force would ever want me.” He put a hand over her heart, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“There’s something in you.” His voice was insistent and sincere. “Something special.” He wrapped his good arm around her waist and they leaned in, their lips moments away from-

“Perhaps next time ‘Something Special” will be useful in preventing injury.” K2 mocked scornfully. “Like Cassian losing the use of his left arm.” Cassian tried to stand, scrap metal on his mind, but Reina held him back.

“Leave him.” She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “You need to rest.” As the two laid together, Cassian took a deep breath.

“It’s been nearly four months since I found you.” His breath was warm on the back of her neck.

“Four months of being free.” She added. Four months of Zane and Varan searching. A few more seconds in the hangar and she would be on Zane’s ship on the way back to Tatooine, alive or as a corpse. Perhaps her time of happiness, her time with Cassian, was running out.

Series Tags: @takemepedropascal; @rae-gar-targaryen @lovingtheway

#i've missed this #captain cassian andor #Cassian and reina #i love this series #bad author #shame on me #I'm sorry i left #honey i'm home

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