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mayhemproduces · 11 months

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The Golden Lovers vs The Spooky Lovers. A match we didn't even know we wanted, but Effy, out of pure spite, has made this a reality. He has various, long lasting issues with all four of these men, but that wasn't what was important here. The Golden Lovers renew their rivalry with The Fallen, while Malakai Black has been placed in a very, very precarious, vulnerable position. Abigail can't be pleased with Malakai being so close to Devitt after the last time they teamed together; Malakai threw himself in front of Devitt every time, and nearly lost his head when Devitt was eliminated. In the heat of the moment, with the always looming sexual energy that encompasses Effy's Blockparties, the romantic tension between Malakai and Devitt, we could be in for more than just a barn burner of a tag team match.

Malakai and Omega start. Going low, they slide around the canvas, trying to get a hold of the other, but remaining elusive, just out of grasp. Omega rolls around into a waistlock, and counters Malakai Black at every turn, trying to wrap his arms around him, keeping him pinned in one spot. Grabbing him by the head, they're brought back to their feet and to the ropes. They slowly pull apart, running the ropes, and knocking him down with a shoulder tackle! Only for Black to kip right back up! Omega looks annoyed, maybe even amused, before he runs the ropes. Malakai dropping down in front of him, only to blow past him with a cartwheel on the rebound, knocking Omega down with a leg trip, before Malakai runs the ropes, colliding against Omega's skull with a sliding knee strike! Kenny momentarily rolls to the floor, while Malakai kips to his feet and takes a celebratory walk round the ring. Moving to the outside, Omega gets up, and walks right into a knife edge chop! Malakai grimaces as Kenny grabs his throat, shaking his head as he rolls out his jaw. Grabbing Malajai by the wrist, Omega shoves him back onto the ropes, and blasts him with another chop. Omega with an irish whip, wanting to hit that swinging double axe handle, but Malakai ducks under and nails him with a shoot kick, nearly knocking Kenny to his knees with that one!

Getting Kenny back inside the ring, Malakai holds onto his wrist as he walks back into his team's corner, looking out of the corner of his eye as he waits for Devitt to tag in. Devitt hesitates for a moment, but ultimately tags himself in, touch lingering a bit too long before he jumps into the ring, nailing Kenny's arm with a double stomp! But it seems Devitt doesn't want Kenny Omega - he wants Ibushi.

Both highly skilled technical and hard hitting wrestlers, with a lot of bad blood spilled over the years, dating all the way back to their time in the junior division, but there’s a hesitance to their movements as they circle one another. Eventually locking up, and Ibushi pushes her off on the ropes, dropping down, but Devitt rolls over him. Devitt ducks a clothesline, spinning around for a back elbow, but Ibushi ducks that as well. A leg sweep attempt from Devitt is jumped over, as Ibushi continues these lightning quick reversals, trying a penalty kick, but Devitt ducks under it, putting him in the perfect spot for a standing Moonsault, but he rolls out of the way! Ibushi sticks the landing! Making the tag to Malakai Black, and Ibushi comes straight for Malakai’s head, but Malakai ducks and lands a low kick to the side of the calf, before snagging Kota in a side headlock, pulling back on his hair. Ibushi gets them on the ropes and throws Malakai off, as Omega tags himself into the matchup. As Malakai rebounds, both Golden Lovers jump over him, Ibushi nailing him with a shoot kick on the rebound, as Omega comes from behind with a leaping bulldog!

Devitt cuts them off with a roundhouse to Ibushi, but as he hits the ropes, Omega nails Devitt with a V-Trigger! Kenny rolls to the floor after him, getting a good couple punches in before Malakai comes flying over the top rope, taking Omega down with a Moonsault! Devitt and Malakai start to beat him down, but the sound of the crowd coming alive startles them both to Kota Ibushi on the top of the ring post! He leaps off the top, taking out the Spooky Lovers with a HUGE Moonsault! The Lovers pick up the other (not so) Lovers, but Malakai and Devitt reverse, hitting in-stereo Neckbreakers! Black crawls.over to Devitt, holding his head and making sure he's alright, before he stomps down on Omega. Devitt battering Ibushi down at ringside as Malakai drags Omega up the rampway. Omega tries to fight back, but Devitt comes in with support for Malakai, as the two begin beating him up, before delivering a double Vertical suplex right on the ramp! Kenny clutches his neck, and they might’ve just taken him out of this matchup!

With Kenny back inside the ring, Malakai elbows his lower back before tagging in Devitt. Devitt sets up in the corner, and Malakai throws Kenny face first into the bottom of his boot. As Malakai argues with the referee, Devitt has Omega pinned in the corner, pummeling him down with a barrage of strikes, before simply stomping him into the bottom turnbuckle. Black pushes past the ref as Devitt grabs his hand, and launches Black into Omega with a Meteora, Malakai rolling out of the way so Devitt can jump up to the middle rope, using them for a rope assisted double stomp, crushing Omega once more! Malakai finally leaves the ring, only to get tagged right back in, Devitt nailing Omega with a chop before Malakai comes in with a forearm. Kenny tries to swat him back, but there’s not much force behind it, and Malakai taunts him, asking him for more, and taking another forearm from Omega before he rears back for one of his own - only to dig his fingers into Kenny’s eyes! Omega crumbles to his knees, but tries to fight back through the blurred vision, punching at Malakai’s stomach. Malakai smirks as Kenny stays up and swings at him again, but Malakai hits a hard front kick to the chest, shoving Omega to the ropes, and Malakai crushes his skull with a jumping discus knee strike! Omega might be out! Black covers!

1… 2… Kickout!

Omega kicks out at two, but Black doesn’t seem too worried about it. In fact, he isn’t sweating this at all. They’ve had one contest before. And the House came out on top. That’s a hell of a confidence booster, but Malakai may be riding it too high, as he spits on the back of Omega’s head! Kenny isn’t gonna tolerate the disrespect, and starts to fight back against Malakai. Nailing him with three forearms and a chop, finally creating some separation, getting fired up. Kenny tries to follow up with a suplex, but Malakai reverses into one of his own, only for Kenny to land on his feet! Kenny tries to dive over him, desperately reaching out for Ibushi, but Malakai grabs him and dumps Omega back on his feet, shoving him backwards with another front kick, but Malakai runs into Omega’s boots! A back elbow is thrown at Devitt, knocking her off the apron! As Malakai runs back, Omega pulls himself up and rolls off Malakai’s back! Kenny somersaults… and GETS THE TAG TO IBUSHI!

Ibushi springboards into the ring, clearing Malakai and rolling to knock Devitt off the apron with a back elbow, before he turns around, kicking Malakai square in the mouth! Malakai pops him with a kick to the chest, but Ibushi looks like he didn’t feel a thing. He throws a leg up, kicking Malakai back, and they go back and forth, swatting one another with shoot kicks before switching into forearm smashes, knocking each other back and forth, but the speed of Ibushi earns him the upper hand in this exchange. Firing off lightning fast shots before he spreads his arms, getting the crowd prepared as he BLASTS Malakai with a BRUTAL shoot kick, flooring him, and following up with a standing Moonsault! Ibushi covers!

1… 2… Kickout!

With both members of The Fallen on the outside, Kenny and Kota share a silent look before they perform the Cross Slash, and take out Devitt and Malakai with the Triangle Moonsaults! They’re wiped out, and the Golden Lovers are standing tall!

After passing out some fist bumps, Ibushi gets Malakai back in the ring, Omega right behind him, and getting Malakai up on his shoulders. Marching around the ring, Omega stops right in front of Ibushi before declaring, “You Can’t Escape!” Depositing Malakai on the mat, as Ibushi hits a standing Shooting Star Press, Omega jumps off the middle rope, landing a Moonsault! Ibushi jumps to the middle rope and hits a second Moonsault! Double pin to end this here!

1… 2… Kickout!

Malakai out at two! The Lovers are shocked at the outcome, not having expected Malakai to survive that attack, but he definitely won’t be able to withstand the next one. With both men grabbing a wrist, they’re setting up for the Golden Trigger - when Devitt pulls Kenny out of the ring! Ibushi tries to hit Kamigoye still, as Kenny is launched into the barricade, but Malakai breaks free and decks Ibushi with a jumping knee strike! Ibushi’s eyes cross as Malakai lifts him up, planting him with a Brainbuster!

A much needed tag is made to Devitt, as Devitt now has the liberty of taking apart a wounded Ibushi. Many will say that this is when Kota is at his most dangerous, and Devitt isn’t going after him lightly, peppering Ibushi with an onslaught of shots in the corner, before whipping him across the ring, and sending him hurling back into the ropes with a huge shotgun dropkick! Ibushi stumbles out and drops to the mat, as both Prince Devitt and Malakai run the ropes, squashing him with double Penalty Kicks! Devitt makes the cover.

1… 2… Kickout!

Popping Ibushi in the face with a couple of stiff forearms, before he turns, hits the ropes, and drives Kota into the mat with Sling Blade! Devitt quickly drops down for the pin, trying to keeping the balance of this match in his team’s favor with another quick cover.

1…2… Kickout!

Ibushi out at two. Prince Devitt gets back to his feet and tries to argue with Clemons that it had been a 3 count, but Referee Jake Clemons insists it was just two. Prince Devitt huffs in frustration and wanting to put Ibushi away right now, tries to pick Kota up, looking to set him up for a Bloody Sunday. Prince gets Kota up, but Ibushi manages to fight off Prince Devitt, and slip behind him, where Ibushi picks Prince Devitt up and drops him with a German suplex! Prince Devitt clutches his back, clearly in pain, but as he gets to his feet, Ibushi chops at him with a big palm strike, bouncing Devitt's face between his palms, before knocking him down with a big roundhouse kick! Ibushi covers!

1….2… Kickout!

Prince Devitt manages to kick out, but Ibushi is still right on top of him, hammering away with a couple of stiff rights. Kota gets back up, and makes a point of looking at the ither team's corner corner, locking eyes with Malakai Black, as the two stared each other down. Ibushi seemed to say something to Malakai, too soft for the cameras to pick up, but it seemed to enrage Malakai to the point where he tried to get into the ring and get a hand on the Golden Star. Referee Jake Clemons was quick to get between the two men, preventing Malakai from getting into the ring!

Malakai shoves him aside and enters the ring and stomps on Ibushi’s back, kicking his spine, before they send him off with an irish whip. Going for some tandem offense, but Ibushi busts through it, and takes them both down with a double Pele kick! Kenny rolls into the ring and shares some words of encouragement with his partner, before lifting Devitt up, Kota out on the apron. Devitt wiggles out and shoves Kenny into Kota, knocking him off the apron, and catching Omega with a rebound snap German suplex! Devitt runs the ropes, flipping over them, and wiping Ibushi out on the floor with a Barrel Roll Tope! Quickly getting him back inside the ring, Devitt powers him up, and plants him with the Bloody Sunday! Shoulders down!!

1… 2… KICKOUT!

Devitt is sizing Ibushi up for something powerful, but before he can execute, Omega plants him with a snap Dragon suplex! Omega is caught with a plethora of strikes from Malakai Black, before it’s punctuated with a front kick to the chest, forcing Omega on his ass, and Malakai turns him inside out with a Meteora, rolling right into a seated position. He grabs Ibushi, going for a German suplex, only for Ibushi to land on his feet! Black still lands a roundhouse kick before heading to the ropes, but Ibushi turns him inside OUT with a clothesline! Everyone’s down!

With Omega and Malakai back on the outside, Kota and Devitt sit up in the middle of the ring, and begin trading heavy handed strikes, batting forearms back and forth. Ibushi’s the heavier hitter of the two, but Devitt is giving it his all, even if Ibushi nearly floors him once they battle to their feet. He clings to his trunks to help himself get situated, before firing off another forearm smash. They break out into a rapid fire slugfest, neither one backing down, before Devitt fires off four straight unanswered shots, stunning Ibushi. But Ibushi responds with a solebut, before unleashing a roundhouse kick, right on Devitt’s temple! He melts to the mat, and might be out cold!

And Ibushi finally gets a tag out to Omega! Kenny’s coming in HOT, fired up and ready to crush some skulls, and Devitt is the unlucky soul tonight that has to feel the wrath of the Best Bout Machine, as he quickly plants him with the Aoi Shadou as a teaser of what’s to come. Kenny circles the ring before positioning himself in the ring, next to where Devitt clings to the ropes, trying to stand up, and Omega cocks the gun, firing it off at Devitt, and clobbers him with a V Trigger! Going for the One Winged Angel, but Devitt reverses it into a hurricanrana! Scrambling to their feet, Devitt goes for a kick, but Omega catches it and throws it down, before clobbering him with another V Trigger! He’s caught by a third straight V Trigger, this one from Ibushi! He melts into the ropes, the life just kneed out of him, and Malakai jumps into the ring.

Malakai ducks a shot from Omega, but runs right into a kick from Ibushi! He's spun around, and Omega plants him with a snap Dragon Suplex! Malakai rolls back to his feet - BLACK MASS on Omega! Omega goes down, and rolls out, leaving just Ibushi and Malakai to duke it out, the two trading right hands and kicks, before Malakai knocks him down with a big knee strike.

Malakai puts a foot under Ibushi's chin, slowly pulling him up off the mat to throw Black Mass, but Kota ducks under and trips him up! Kota trips him up and looks to follow through with a double stomp, but Malakai moves out of the way. Scrambling, Malakai throws a lariat, but Ibushi turns it into a cross armbar! Wrenching back on the arm and shoulder, trying to force a submission out of Black, but Malakai swivels his hips and gets his feet under him, managing to lock his hands and lift Kota up, planting him with a powerbomb to break the submission! Ibushi is rolled back to his feet and tries charging at him, but eats a roundhouse, and gets planted with a German Suplex, bridge intact to pin him!

1… 2… Kickout!

Drawing Ibushi to his feet, Malakai sizes him up before landing his first strike, a palm strike on the chest. More strikes follow suit, Malakai throwing in various forms before putting Ibushi on the mat with a discus knee, clipping him on the side of the head. Malakai to the ropes, and he connects with a sliding knee, and kips back up to his feet! A little bit of a slip after everything they've been through in this match, Malakai holds his arms out for a moment before turning his attention back towards Ibushi, Malakai measures him up again for the Black Mass, but Ibushi ducks again, turning Black inside out with a clothesline! Malakai rolls to the outside, and Ibushi's looking to fly. Running the ropes, he slips between the middle - but gets stopped by a dropkick from Prince Devitt! Nailing him on the side of the head, Ibushi might be out cold! Devitt spares a look at Malakai - a fiery look in his eyes - as Malakai recovers, shoving Ibushi back inside the ring. Springboarding off the middle rope, Malakai flips back, landing a Moonsault! Nephilim hits, and Malakai covers Ibushi to end this!

1… 2… Kickout!

Malakai loops an arm over Devitt's shoulders as to two strategize, but Devitt doesn't seem to be paying attention to what he's saying, but rather the way his mouth moves, as neither of them see Omega slide in behind them, until Kenny attacks Malakai, knocking him into, and on top of, Devitt. They both freeze for a moment, but eventually Malakai moves back, never moving his eyes from Devitt, while the Golden Lovers run the ropes, nailing them both with in-stereo V-Triggers! Malakai is knocked out of the ring, and the Golden Lovers grab each of Devitt's wrist, and nail him with the Golden Trigger! They fall into the cover!

1… 2… 3!

“Here are your winners, the Golden Lovers!”

The Golden Lovers pick up the win! But as they leave hand in hand, Malakai slides into the ring and gently cradles Devitt, in an unusually soft moment for them, as we get ready for our next matchup.

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howtobangyourmonster · 3 years

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TomTom the Minotaur, Pt. 1

Minotaur man with human woman, vaginal fingering

When attempting to traverse an eldritch forest hell bent on leading you astray, it's vital to hire a guide with an excellent sense of direction. It's less vital that he be charming and sexy, but it sure helps pass the time.

“Worth every penny.” That's what his reviews say.

Seeing him in person, I feel less anxious about the journey ahead. Tall and broad, his skin a gorgeous dark brown speckled over in white freckles like stars, horns gleaming and wickedly curved and broad as his shoulders. He'd be intimidating if it wasn't for the kindness of his face. He's damn handsome, but that's not why I hired him. Well, not the only reason.

His mouth curves in an easy smile as I approach. He looks down at me as he finishes rolling the sleeves of his plaid button-down up, revealing the sculpted muscles of his massive forearms. “You must be Stella.”

I shake his hand, my own completely swallowed in his, though his grip is gentle and warm. “Yes, and you're Tom?”

“Yes, ma'am. Your email said this is your first time crossing the Briarwood?” he asks, friendly brown eyes crinkled at the corners in polite curiosity.

“It is, and I'm pretty nervous about it actually.” I admit.

“Understandable, it's a very disorienting place, especially for humans. I'll get you through it, don't you worry. My family has been guiding people through for generations, I practically grew up in there. I've never lost a traveler.”

His confidence is earned; he's legendary even among guides and has the rating to prove it on NaviGate. His services have the price tag to match. Too many people try to cross on their own, or turn to disreputable-but-cheap “guides” who most likely ditch their charges and pocket the money. Disappearances are commonplace. I don't want that to be me.

“I'm counting on your reputation's accuracy, TomTom.” I smirk.

“Are they still calling me that?” he grimaces, one hand rubbing the back of his neck(and putting his glorious biceps on display). “Embarrassing nicknames aside, I don't want you to worry. I'm taking you the safest way though the woods. It's the slowest route, but we won't run into trouble. Should be very boring.”

“Boring is good! I've got all my gear,” I gesture with my head to the large camping backpack I'm sporting. “I'm trying to just think of it as a long camping trip.”

“That's good, that's basically what it is. We're not getting anywhere near any settlements or dens in there, we shouldn't see anyone else the whole time. I hope you brought something to keep you entertained.”

“I've got a bunch of digital books and podcasts downloaded, and a solar battery. And a couple print books.”

“Good call, sometimes the sun doesn't break through the canopy for a few days.” Tom hefts his own massive pack onto his back, hooking his thumbs into the straps. “Shall we?”

I follow him as we take our first steps onto the trailhead that, with his help, should deliver me safely through the Briarwoods, one month from now.

“I kinda expected it to be more...creepy in here.” I say.

Tom chuckles. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. I think it would actually be less sinister if it did look more creepy and dark and gloomy. It's not just that the path shifts and changes, it's that the forest tries to distract you as well as disorient. Like...look up ahead there.”

He points off to the left, up along the trail, to a meadow of golden grass waving in a gentle breeze. The edges of the meadow disappear into a grove of quaking aspen trees, leaves shimmering like golden coins as they catch the light. Suddenly, the whisper of wings reaches me as hundreds of iridescent green butterflies rise from the meadow in a dazzling display of color.

“...Wow.” I breathe.

“Yeah. It's pretty. And absolutely a trap. You set one foot in there, you'll be asleep in seconds.”

I peek into the grass as we pass the meadow, making sure to keep my feet well within the trail. I see bones poking out of the dark earth, and a sunbleached skull staring eyeless at the sky. With a shudder, I turn back to Tom.

The first week of our journey is pretty straightforward. He points out the forest's traps and lures to me. After one incident where I nearly wandered off, following some windswept notes of birdsong(“That wasn't a bird...” he warns), Tom takes to holding my hand as we walk through particularly dangerous stretches of the trail. I certainly don't mind. At night he sleeps in front of the entrance to our shared tent, to keep me from wandering off without waking him. When it happens, he turns me back to my sleeping bag and gently hushes me until I lay back down and sleep. And then teases me mercilessly in the morning.

“If you're so keen on a night stroll, just wake me up, I'd be happy to keep you company.” he winks.

“It's not my fault! It's the damn sirens!” I laugh.

“They're not really sirens.” Tom says. “It's just the forest trying to trick you.”

We're sharing a meal during a lunch rest in a rather lovely spot next to a river. The sun has actually made an appearance today, so I have my solar charger out.

“What's the scariest thing you've ever encountered in the forest?” I ask.

Tom is very still for a while, brow furrowed as he considers his answer. “I think...the scariest times are when the forest has gotten to know you, and it knows what you're afraid of, and it uses that against you.”

He says this very quietly, with the manner of someone who speaks from experience. I don't pry further.

The river is safe, he says, and clear. We take the opportunity to wash clothes and refill canteens.

“Do we have to get back on the trail, or can I wash? I feel pretty grimy...”

“You set the pace, Stella, I'm just here to keep you out of trouble.” he grins. “I wouldn't mind getting clean either. You go ahead first, I'll keep my back to the water, and you just keep talking to me so I know you're alright.”

“Such a gentleman, respecting my modesty.” I tease. I peel off my trail clothes from that morning and give them a quick wash, hanging them up to dry on the line with the other clothes, while I chat with Tom's back. The water is cold and bracing, but invigorating.

“It'll be a few days before we come across another safe water source.” Tom says. “There's a spring we should run into tomorrow but you can absolutely not touch it.”

I drag my nails through my hair, raking the dirt and debris out of it before rinsing it in the river. “Is it cursed? Haunted?”

“It's a mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I dry off with the superabsorbent camping towel I bought for this trip, slip on my pajama shorts and a tshirt, and join Tom where he sits on a log. “Your turn!”

Tom stands and steps back over the log toward the river. I keep my back to him as he strips off his shirt, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I glance back over my shoulder. He bends down to take off his boots, and I take in the sight of his impressive backside straining the seams of his jeans. I'm lost in daydreams when he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the jeans and pushes them down around his hips, taking his briefs with them. The lines of muscle in his back, the play of light and shadow over the planes and curves of his body are stunning. He bends down to remove the clothes and catches me staring, doing a double-take at my expression.

“Hey, what about my modesty?” he asks with a cheeky grin, one eyebrow lifted in challenge.

I whip my head back around, cheeks burning. “I'm sorry, that was...so inappropriate of me!”

He laughs, voice like warm caramel. “Minotaurs bathe communally, I'm not shy.”

I keep my eyes focused on my shoes. “I went to a minotaur-owned bathhouse in Alberta with my mom once.”

I cringe. Why did I feel the need to say that?

“Yeah? What did you think?” he asks.

“It was nice, I really loved the olive oil soaps.”

“I have some in my pack, can you fish one out for me?”

My mind short-circuits for a second. I dig through the pockets of Tom's pack until I find one of the small bars. When I turn to face Tom, my mouth goes dry.

He's standing hip-deep in the river, sunlight reflecting off the water and making his rich sable coat glisten. His head is tipped back, arms up as he arches his back, and it's obvious he's putting on a show for me. So I indulge myself, and let my eyes trail over his biceps, his horns, the thick corded muscles of his neck, rivulets of water dripping down his body. The firm planes of his abs ripple under the smooth skin that replaces the coat of his shoulders and back. Those white starry freckles splash here, too, and I follow their trail down to a thicker nest of hair where his hips meet the water.

When I manage to drag my eyes back up to his face, he's watching me with amusement.

“I love the way your skin pinks like that when you're embarrassed.” his voice is a deep rumble. He tips his head down to look at me, the gold rings in his ears and nose sparkling at me. “Or...maybe you're turned on, not embarrassed at all.”

Feeling bold, I wade into the river, not caring that my shorts and tee are now soaked and clinging to my skin. From the way Tom is staring, he doesn't care either. I hold out the soap.

“Did you need this?”

“Thanks.” he plucks the soap from my hand, lathers it up, and begins working the suds over his chest, never breaking eye contact. “Your clothes are all wet, Stella. You should hang them up to dry.”

I consider the implications for a moment, before deliberately turning away and wading back to the shore, acutely aware of my clothes clinging to the curves of my ass, my breasts. I peel them off, bending at the waist with my ass directed Tom's way, and I'm rewarded with his deep rumble of approval. Straightening, I wring the clothes out and hang them on the line, glancing over my shoulder at Tom. He's washing his arms, flexing them more than is strictly necessary.

In for a penny, in for a pound...

I wade back out to him and hold my hand out for the soap. “Looks like you could use a hand?”

The smile he graces me with is wickedness incarnate. “Obliged, ma'am.”

I lather up the soap in my hands and move around him to his back, running my hands up along his spine and fanning them out over his shoulders, as high as I can reach. He makes a pleased sound, deep in his chest, as I massage the soap into his shoulders, where his coat is thicker. I use my nails to rake the soap through, gratified as his head tips back and he moans. Moving on, I scrub down his back, appreciating how hard his muscles feel under my hands. I palm his firm ass and he laughs over his shoulder at me.

“Enjoying the view?”

“Extremely so. Are you typically so hands-on with your clients?” I ask.

“Are you this hands-on with all your guides?” he counters.

“Only when they're as gorgeous as you.”

“So not frequently then.” he says. I laugh at his brazen confidence, deserved though it is. “Here, let me.”

He gently turns me around and massages the soap into my back, his large hands feel heavenly as they work out the knots and soreness in my muscles from a week of sleeping on a camp cot. I moan and lean into his touch.

“I like that sound. I'd like to make you make it again.” he says, digging his thumb into a stubborn muscle. I moan louder, my knees nearly buckling. I can feel his cock hardening against my back. His voice is low and heavy with promise in my ear. “I'd like to do a lot of things, if you're interested...”

I reach up and take hold of his hands, pulling them around to my breasts. He kneads them, slippery with soap, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak.

He reaches one hand down below the water and brushes his fingers between my legs, a tentative questioning touch. I nod eagerly and spread my legs more to allow him access. Tom uses his other hand to guide my arms up around his neck, my back arched and pressed to his chest.

“Hold onto me.” he whispers as his fingers slip between my folds and find my clit. I whimper as he starts rubbing small, slow circles. His cock is hard and hot against my back as I buck my hips into his hand. His other hand reaches under my thigh to lift up my leg, spreading me further. “I've got you, I won't let you slip.”

I let go of his shoulders and grab onto his horns as he bends his head over me to kiss the top of my head. The finger on my clit pauses to push back the hood, then resumes its assault. The increased sensation has me crying out, emboldened by our solitude.

“Fuck, I'm so close, Tom...”

He slips a finger inside me, slowly working me open on his hand, then adds another. The stretch combined with the pressure on my clit is deliciously agonizing. I'm only dimly aware that I'm begging him to fuck me.

“Oh, you're not ready for that, Stella. Not yet.” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of me with deft turns of his wrist. “Need to work up to taking my cock, don't wanna hurt you.”

I whimper. “Please, I need more...”

Tom works his fingers deeper and faster, dragging them against the sweet spot inside me that has me seeing stars, and I come gasping. He slowly works me through it, whispering how good I feel spasming around his fingers, how he wishes it was his cock, how he wants to watch me ride him.

I'm limp as he lifts me out of the water and carries me back to the shore, the soap long forgotten and lost downriver. He balances me on one of his massive thighs as he digs in his pack for a towel to lay out, then lays me down on it.

“Wait, you didn't come.” I protest, reaching out for him.

“You can make it up to me later.” he winks. I watch him take down our dry clothes and the clothesline, pulling on his fresh clothes and boots. He brings me a change of clothes and helps me pull them on. “How're your muscles feeling?”

“They feel great.” I admit with a lazy smile. “You have some magic hands.”

“I look forward to showing you what else I can do.” Tom helps me shoulder my pack and we continue down the trail, away from the river's edge and into the deeper woods.

#minotaur boyfriend #monster boyfriend #nsft #lemon #exophilia

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

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So... during the time skip, Hange is on a business trip to Marley. Levi stays home to deal with some installation or important project for Hange, gets injured in some stupid way, falls off scaffolding or something. And he doesnt think too much of it because it's such a stupid way to get injured. And he hides it even when it gets worse and Hange is the only one who notices because she knows him so well. BUT when she gets back, it gets worse. And Levi hates hospitals so Hange forces him to go <3

Hello! Thank you so much for the prompt :) I’m not super thrilled with the way this one turned out, but I had a lot of fun anyway, and I hope you enjoy it! Angst ahead, if that’s not your thing.

(Drinking game: take a shot every time Levi says he’s fine)

Levi was no stranger to pain. While he had been luckier than most, Levi had sustained his fair share of injuries. Bruises and breaks were commonplace. Pain became easier to handle, wounds less debilitating to endure.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

It wasn't a particularly bad accident, but it was a particularly stupid one.

Hange had been tied up in meetings for days, stuck inside Sina with other military personnel, with carnivorous media, with business moguls eager to ensure their pockets would be well lined by any negotiation plans with Marley and their neighbouring countries.

She had taken Armin and Jean alongside her; Armin had a mind with similar mechanics to her own, and as such he was best suited to help her formulate a compelling case with their higher ups, while Jean had attended at Levi’s insistence. Hange had already made it clear that, with Armin gone, they needed somebody to oversee continued construction on the railway line, and Levi, uneasy with the idea of Hange being without an attack dog, had demanded Kirstein attend in his place. The brat was becoming something of a budget Moblit, always trailing after Hange whenever she was around—Levi thought he looked a little pitiful, following her around like an eager puppy, but he supposed he was grateful for it now, if it meant he had no objections taking a trip into the interior with her.

Levi had been left with the rest of the brood. Eren and Mikasa worked diligently, though Eren—distant and despondent as he had been since the Queen’s address after Shiganshina—remained sullen, while Mikasa alternated between shooting Eren looks of concern, and staring scathingly at Levi whenever he came into view. She tolerated him far better, these days, but Levi was unsure she’d ever fully forgive him for his public display at Eren’s trial.

No matter. She did as she was told, reluctantly as may be. Connie and Sasha, on the other hand, were proving problematic.

They lacked focus. The four of them were working on construction of a rail house near the coast, somewhere to store equipment for maintenance, with a few flat beds for workers to rest in between commutes. The walls were coming along, but the space was still lacking a proper roof, covered only by tarp to keep the metal beams and frames inside from rusting before they could be treated and on the tracks. Eren and Mikasa were working quietly on one side, while Connie and Sasha were goofing off on the other.

Levi clicked his tongue. The work was, in theory, far less hazardous than slaying titans had ever been, but they were still a couple of stories in the air on flimsily constructed scaffolding, without any gear to catch them if they fell. The drop wasn’t deadly in itself, but the inside of the half-built hut was full of great mounds of metal, beams and poles and wires covered only by papery thin sheets. A fall onto that, from this height, would result in breaks and bruises at best.

"Oi,” Levi called, making his way around the rickety structure. Connie and Sasha either did not hear him, or chose to ignore him. That had been happening upsettingly often, of late; whatever intimidation tactic Levi had employed when they were still bratty kids had lost its effect. Connie teetered around Sasha as she tried to smear mortar on his cheek, edging along the scaffolding on only his toes until he made his way around her. Levi picked up his pace and called again, more of a snarl this time, a warning, but Sasha let out a shriek of delighted laughter as she managed to slap a trowel full of mortar on the top of Connie’s head. Neither of them heard him.

“You fall and break your necks and Hange will kill me,” Levi said. Sasha twisted to look at him but offered only a smile. Levi was within feet of them, when Connie moved quickly behind Sasha—he was doing nothing suspicious that Levi could see, but Sasha, awaiting retaliation, tried to scurry hurriedly away. Her foot missed the edge of the scaffolding, and there was a fraction of a second in which her eyes widened, body tilting, before Levi moved.

His hand closed around her wrist. With a sharp tug, he jerked her back onto the safety of the scaffolding, but in his rush to grab her he hadn’t the time to brace himself—with his weight unbalanced, the force of his pull sent his body careening forward, tipping over the edge of the plank.

He barely managed to release his grip on Sasha before he lurched over the edge.

It didn’t make them hurt any less.

Levi hit the beams with a resounding clatter. Metal clanged and wood splintered, dust gathering in great plumes as Levi hit the tarp. The beams, built with enough strength to hold steam engines, had no give to them—Levi struck one solidly with his side and his body bowed around it. Something—his ribs, his spine—crunched on impact. The sudden stop made his neck whip down, temple cracking hard against the stone floor.

Every last drop of air punched out of his lungs and a white, dizzying pain exploded in his head. He slumped the rest of the way to the ground, gasping fruitlessly, but his chest, all empty, crushing pressure, would not expand, would not allow for a single wheezing breath.

He lay in a heap on the cold stone. Dimly, he could hear voices, the clatter of feet on wooden planks and the echo of sturdy shoes on the scaffold poles as the kids clambered their way down to him, but everything sounded muffled and distant, warbled by the pound of his pulse and the rush of blood in his ears. He blinked rapidly, squeezed his eyes closed to push the fuzziness from the edges of his vision, then gathered himself slowly, shifting to lay on his back. His every muscle felt tight, seizing from the shock of the impact and sharp, stabbing pain, but despite the tension, something in his side felt loose. He sucked in a few small breaths, pausing at every spike of pain before trying again, and then he pushed himself up to sit. His head felt thick and full, stuffy, too heavy for his neck to hold up. It throbbed with the change of position, a crack of pain so sudden he thought his skull might split in two. He resisted the urge to grab at it as the kids’ footsteps sounded close by, several sets of feet scuffing and clicking against the stone.

Levi pre-empted their concern with a wheezy, “I’m fine,” as Mikasa, followed swiftly by the others, rounded the corner and stopped short of him. “Get back to work.”

None of them moved. Levi focused his swimming gaze on them as well as he could, attempting a glare, but the corner of his eye and the side of his face felt fat, skin tight over the rapidly swollen flesh, and his breathing was tight, uneven, chest jerking with each attempt to fill his empty lungs. Nobody looked intimidated by the sight of him—in fact, all four of the little brats looked almost frightened.

“Captain…” Eren said. Levi scowled, fought not to wince.

“I’m fine.” Gritting his teeth to muffle each pained grunt, Levi grabbed a nearby beam and used it to drag himself up to his feet. His head spun, the ache intensifying to something almost unbearable, and that, coupled with the sickening grinding sensation in his side as he straightened up, was enough to make him sway on the spot. Mikasa was the first to step forward, hovering awkwardly. Levi suppressed the manic urge to laugh—there was some irony somewhere in Mikasa, grudge so steadfastly held, being the one ready to catch him if he fell. Levi shooed her away. His chest ached something terrible, a persistent, resounding swell behind his rib cage. It should be impossible to feel so full, so bloated, yet so empty at the same time.

“You should rest a little more,” Eren said, at the same time Sasha erupted with a wailed apology. Connie looked pale and guilty behind her.

“Hange wants this—shitty thing—finished, by the time—she gets back.” Levi hitched stilted breaths as he spoke. He took a careful step forward. His side screamed, and his head pounded, but he remained upright, which was good enough. He passed by Connie and Sasha, who both looked ashen-faced, and clicked his tongue against his teeth. They’re too tall now, so tall he almost lost his precarious balance when he stretched up to pat them both roughly on the head. Then he brushed past them with as much ease as he could manage.

“Hurry up. The damn walls won’t build themselves.”

Levi had expected to be better by the time Hange returned.

The pain had not subsided at all in the three days that passed between the injury and Hange’s arrival—if anything, it had intensified, and Levi’s bouts of dizziness and breathlessness were near constant. He hid it as well as he could from the others, compensating with vicious scowls and quick, barked instructions, but he couldn’t escape their concerned glances.

The building, at least, was almost complete. They had laid the rafters for the roof the day before, and were hammering on the felt when Hange, Armin, and Jean appeared in the distance.

The weather was blisteringly hot. Eren and Connie had removed their shirts long ago, while Sasha and Mikasa had tried fruitlessly to keep their hair off the base of their necks and out of their faces. Despite his lack of manual labour Levi was just as sweaty as the rest of them, though his skin was pale in comparison. He had argued, albeit rather feebly, to do his part in aiding the construction, but the damn brats had put their foot down on that, at least—as such, Levi had spent the last three days sitting beneath the shade, glumly watching their progress.

He stood when he saw the horses approaching. The others climbed down from the scaffolding, wiping sweat from their hands and faces. They cast Levi a sidelong look, and he glared in return.

“Not a word,” he reminded them coldly. Levi had already demanded that they keep the details of his incident quiet. The swelling on his face had gone down some with the aid of a bag filled with cold sea water, but the bruises were persistent, mottled from his eye to his ear. He could play it off as a far smaller incident than it was, so long as he could keep the ugly welt on his torso well hidden. The bruising there was dark, a deep, violent shade of purple, wrapping around his side and bubbling out over his back.

Eren looked uncertain. Mikasa gave him a stoic, level look, while Sasha and Connie still looked sheepish, avoiding his gaze. They had apologised profusely, and on multiple occasions, for causing such a mess. Levi had, at their insistence, scolded them for messing around, but in truth he had little energy left to care.

Hange waved as soon as they were close enough. She kicked her horse on, Jean and Armin following dutifully behind her. The three of them pulled to a stop and dismounted, leading their horses to shade and water, looking tired, but satisfied. Levi kept his angled down, twisted to one side. He was prolonging the inevitable, he knew, but if he could get Hange talking about the meetings, or with some luck the upcoming expedition, or maybe even the mostly completed rail house, Levi could at least wait until they were alone before Hange battered him with questions.

All three of them had dark circles under their eyes. Armin yawned widely, he and Jean bumping into one another as they walked. Hange, as tired as she looked, strode forward with a delighted confidence—Levi, in spite of himself, quirked his lip in a small smile. It has been too long since Hange looked excited about anything. The prospect of an expedition had breathed some life into her.

“We’ve still got to work out some kinks,” Hange said, “but things are looking good. We’ll set up another meeting with Kiyomi. It might take a little while, but we’ll get out there ourselves. See the world with our own eyes, and—more importantly—let them see us.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged excited glances. Mikasa and Eren shared a more subdued look. Levi understood both perspectives—the prospect of venturing out into the world opened them up to a lot of risks. Each of them carried targets on their backs. One wrong move, and they would be in trouble. But, if all goes according to Hange’s plan, there would be plenty of reward. Freedom was worth any price they could pay, if only they can secure it.

Levi listened as the group reacquainted. Eren and Mikasa seemed pleased to have Armin back in their company, while Sasha hounded Jean endlessly until he relented, and surreptitiously pulled a small pack of cured meat from the inside pocket of his jacket. He had the decency to look embarrassed when he caught Levi’s eye on him, but his abashed expression quickly turned to one of confusion when he caught a good look at Levi’s face.

“The hell happened, Captain?”

Hange, who had been quietly engaged with Armin and the other two, looked around. Levi tutted and curled his lip, letting his fringe fall to cover part of his bruised brow.

“None of your business,” he said. His chest spasmed and he clenched his teeth, fighting the sudden urge to cough. “If you’ve still got the energy to stand around talking, you can get up there and help them finish the damn roof.”

Jean, who either hadn’t quite developed the same immunity to Levi’s brash tone as the rest, or was nervous about Levi scolding him for stealing food from the interior, nodded once and shrugged out of his jacket. Sasha’s eyes followed longingly as he hooked it over the nearby cart sitting on the tracks, but then her gaze shot back to Levi, and she scurried after Jean towards the rail house.

The others followed. Hange’s eye was still on him, and she waited until the group had scrambled up onto the scaffolding and picked up their tools before she crossed over to him. She bent a little, tilting her head to get a good look at his face. Hange let out a low whistle.

“Quite the bruise,” she said. Levi gave her a somewhat guarded look, and carefully shrugged one of his shoulders.

“Brats were messing around,” Levi said simply. “Caught me with a stray elbow.”

He didn’t dare look Hange in the eye long enough to determine whether she believed him. He nodded towards the rail house and said, “They’ll be done in a few hours.”

Hange beamed, bracing her hands on her hips. “They’ve made good progress! I wasn’t sure they’d get it finished by the time we made it back.”

“You wanted it finished,” Levi scowled, “those were your orders.”

“Calling it an order is a little harsh, Levi.”

“You’re our commander, Hange,” Levi said. “You tell us to do something, we do it. By definition, it is an order.”

Hange grimaced. It had been years since Shiganshina, years for Hange to come to grips with the position that had befallen her, and to her credit she had taken to it admirably enough, on the outside. It was only in small, private moments like this that she allowed herself to show doubt. The lack of cooperation from Hizuru had been a blow Hange had expected, but hoped to avoid—she had worked hard on her proposals and her negotiations had been sound, but the rejection stung nonetheless. With each new trial and each new error, Hange felt herself all the more lacking. Her distaste for her own position, for Erwin’s faith, grew stronger, and showed face more often.

Levi took in her sullen expression and winced internally. After a moment of heavy silence, he said, “They give you a hard time?”

“Who?”

“Zackley. The reporters. The kids.”

Hange let out a low chuckle. “Zackley’s as rigorous as ever. Picked apart every last thing we had to say, highlighted every possible flaw in the plan. Made us work hard, as usual. The reporters...asked a lot of questions we didn’t have answers to. They’ll smear our names in the papers tomorrow, no doubt, but it can’t be helped. We did our best. Armin was a huge help, though. He’s still a little nervous, but—so clever! So full of interesting ideas, and he negotiates well. He’ll make a good commander one day.”

“And Kirstein?”

“He’s an excellent paperweight,” Hange said, shooting Levi a sideways grin. “I appreciated the company, but I think we would have been fine without him.”

“Never know,” Levi said gruffly. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the heat of the sun or simply standing too long, but Levi was beginning to feel woozy. Breathing was still a chore, a concentrated effort to suck air into his aching chest and let it out again without choking, coughing, and more often than not he felt lightheaded. He nodded towards the boxes he’d been using as a seat over the last couple of days. “Sit. You look like shit.”

“For once, I don’t think you get to judge me for that.”

Levi had already begun walking stiffly to the boxes, and made no comment. He had no valid argument to give—he did look like shit, far worse than Hange, and he felt even shittier. He dropped a little heavily onto the box and bit back a grunt of pain.

Hange sat next to him. The box shuddered. Levi tensed as pain lanced through his side. He took in a quick, sharp breath, holding it high in his chest when the pain intensified. He could feel Hange’s eye on him and clenched his teeth, fighting to keep his face somewhat neutral.

“You sure you’re okay?” Hange said to him. Levi grunted. He busied himself taking slow, shallow breaths, staring resolutely ahead, avoiding Hange’s keen stare. “You look a little clammy.”

Levi made another quiet noise. Levi wasn’t very talkative at the best of times—this, he knew Hange was aware of, and most of the time Hange was content to fill the silence herself, but today she was quiet, and watching him too closely. Scrutinizing. Levi had often praised Hange for her powers of observation—she had an incredible eye for detail and a knack for spotting patterns and anomalies, a talent which had served the Survey Corps very well, but right now, Levi was cursing it. He didn’t need Hange surveying him.

He was hurting. He’d had a near constant headache since the incident, and his chest felt tight, riddled with pain both dull and sharp, stabbing whenever he breathed too deeply or gave in to the pressing urge to hack out a cough, but more than that, he felt unwell. Groggy, sickly, light-headed. His heart beat frantically, and his skin did feel clammy, cold sweat sitting on his brow. He stared ahead, blinking the fuzziness from his head and resolutely ignoring Hange’s steady stare.

Hange’s palm pressed to his forehead. The sudden touch made him jump—his muscles tensed, his ribs screamed in protest, and Levi let out a strangled groan, biting his tongue a second too late to trap the sound.

He was barely aware of Hange’s fussing as he fought to draw breath. Air grated in his battered lungs as Hange’s hand pressed flat to the back of his neck, her voice warped and muffled in his ear as she felt his sweat-damp skin. His vision tunnelled. He blinked rapidly to clear the black spots and wheezed in the humid air. His chest felt like it might split open, pressure billowing out from behind his ribcage, pressing agonisingly against his damaged bones.

He breathed short and shallow until the haze of pain lessened. Hange’s voice was loud beside him, the sharp, deep bark she used when she felt it necessary to assert her authority. Through the fog in his head he could barely make out her words, but he knew exactly what it was she was demanding. Sasha’s voice was meek in comparison, but it still carried over the distance enough for Levi to hear her.

“It was an accident,” she was saying. “It was our fault—my fault—”

Levi hissed through his teeth. Hange’s hands—one still at the back of his neck, the other curled around his arm—tightened their grip on him.

“Drop it,” Levi said. “Stop grilling them. It doesn’t matter what happened, I’m fine.”

Hange had the audacity to laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Fine? Levi, you can’t even move. You can barely breathe! What the hell did you do?”

“Fell,” he said shortly. His voice sounded weak, but he didn’t have the breath to put more force behind it.

“From where? When? Hell, Levi, when did this happen?”

“Hange, leave it.”

Hange turned her question to the rail house, and Connie answered immediately. Traitors, Levi thought scathingly. Mikasa explained without prompt that they didn’t know the extent of his injuries, that Levi had refused a proper medical examination despite the head wound that had left him unable to stand straight. She explained that they had managed with very little effort to get him to observe the construction from the ground, which, it seemed, was enough to concern Hange—Levi wasn’t the type to sit around doing nothing. He despised being idle and she knew it.

“You should see a doctor, Levi.”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not. What else did you hurt? Just your head?”

Levi felt ill. Hange’s persistent questions were making his head spin and his entire body felt sore and spent. He mustered enough strength to glare at her, but nothing more. Hange was watching him carefully, brow furrowed in concern, but at his silence her expression hardened, and she stood abruptly. Levi bit back another groan as the box moved beneath him.

“You can ride, then?”

Levi squinted up at her. “Hah?”

“If you’re fine, you can ride back into town with me.”

No. “Sure.”

Hange stared at him a little longer, waiting, no doubt, for him to backtrack, admit defeat. Levi clenched his jaw and maintained steely eye contact. Hange narrowed her eye at him, then turned towards the rail house.

“Oi!” Hange called up, cupping a hand around her mouth. Six heads turned their way, popping up over the roof. “We’re heading back early. Leave the scaffolding when you’re done, we’ll send for it tomorrow. Good work!”

She turned on her heel and headed towards the horses, still tacked and tethered beneath the shade of a small copse of trees.

“We’ll go get your head checked.”

“Hange, I said I’m fine.” It was a weak argument, made even moreso when he stood too abruptly and swayed on the spot. Hange darted back towards him and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder, and a little of her angry resolve cracked, worry creasing her brow. She led him, more slowly now, towards the horses with her hand hovering over his back. He braced himself for the agony of her touch, if she pressed her palm against him, but Hange—perhaps in fear of not knowing what other injuries he had sustained—didn’t touch him.

“Humour me,” she said. “If you’re really fine, and it’s really nothing, no harm done. I’ll feel better knowing, and you—” she drew them to a stop by the horses and turned to face him fully, grinning, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “—you get to say I told you so.”

Levi said nothing. The thought of riding for hours on end made him feel nauseous.

“This is pointless,” he said. “I’ll rest here, if you’re so worried.”

Hange shook her head at him. She untied her own horse and Jean’s, holding the reins out for Levi to take.

“We’re going back now, Captain. That’s an order.”

An hour into the journey, Levi began to struggle in earnest.

No part of the ride had been pleasant—the heat was oppressive, and the motion of the horse required a fluidity in his hips and back that sent sharp jolts through his side with every step. Hange was uncharacteristically quiet, occupied instead by watching Levi from the corner of her eye. His head pounded with increasing intensity the longer they travelled, and between the pain, and the scorching sun, and his pitifully shallow breathing, Levi was feeling more faint by the second.

It was an unsettling sensation. Injuries were always difficult, but Levi had never felt so completely wiped out by physical damage in the past. Three days was enough time for his body to at least begin healing, but Levi had seen no improvement since the moment he struck the beam during his fall—if anything, he’d felt worse by the day.

Now, he was fighting to keep himself upright in the saddle.

They were approaching another clump of trees, great leaves wilting in the heat, when Levi, jaw tight and teeth bared, grunted out a request that they stop.

Hange looked torn. She wanted to hurry back into town, and was already impatient enough that Levi had requested they walk—”It’s too hot, for the horses”—but something on his face must have reflected the severity of his discomfort. Hange directed them to the treeline, dismounting and taking Levi’s reins while he did the same. His feet hit the ground and his knees buckled.

Hange caught him about the elbow but only after he had sunk to the grass. He felt shaky, weak, but more than that he felt vulnerable. Realistically, Levi knew that there was no shame in being hurt, in needing help, but he was a stranger to it. He had been self-sufficient since he was in Kenny’s care, and had grown up with the express understanding that showing weakness was a death sentence. And then again, in the Survey Corps—an injured soldier was titan bait.

There were no titans now, but Levi felt distinctly exposed, sitting in the long grass with his vision swimming and his lungs burning, barely functional.

Hange knelt next to him in the grass. She brought a hand up to his face, fingers curling against his jaw. Her gaze darted over his face, all of her righteous anger forgotten as she took in his state. Levi wanted to shake her off, to shake off the spinning in his head, to stand up and get back on the horse and continue their journey, but he couldn’t find the strength to gather his legs beneath him. Hange’s hands—one on his arm and one still on his face—kept him sitting upright.

“Levi…” Hange said slowly. Words sat on his tongue, reassurance that he was fucking fine, that he just needed a minute, but try as he might, he couldn’t get enough air in to voice them. His chest bubbled and rattled as he drew in a thin breath.

“Levi,” Hange said, sharper this time. Levi blinked blearily and searched for her. Neither of them were moving, but Hange’s image wavered and blurred in front of him. He swallowed. Wheezed. His heart hammered in his ears. Hange’s fingertips found the pulsepoint in his neck, pressing, counting. “Levi—what else hurts?”

Levi swallowed thickly, a nauseous tremor under his tongue. After a moment, he choked out, “cracked a few ribs, probably.”

Hange sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me see.”

He didn’t have the strength to fight her as Hange began unbuttoning his shit. He swayed where he sat, struggling to balance without her hands keeping him upright, until he heard Hange’s hiss as she uncovered the bruises wrapping his chest and back.

Levi looked down and grimaced. The bruising was worse than he remembered, stretching further up his chest, dark and mottled, the flesh tight and swollen.

“Levi, this is bad,” Hange said. “We need to get help.”

“Just need rest,” Levi said. His voice sounded slow and slurred in his own ears. Hange’s hand cupped the side of his neck, her thumb tipping his jaw up to look at his face. His eyelids felt heavy.

“I know it hurts,” she said, “and I know you don’t want to move, but—Levi, please. C’mon, I need you to get up.”

It had been a long, long time since Levi had heard that frantic tone from her. She sounded urgent, panicked. Desperate. Levi dragged his eyes open, but found he couldn’t focus on her face anymore. His lungs protested violently as he tried to speak, only coughing instead, dry and hacking. His chest burned.

Hange dragged him to his feet. Levi’s limbs felt heavy and clumsy, detached and completely out of his control. He leaned heavily into Hange’s side as she moved him across the grass.

“C’mon, Levi—work with me.”

Hange hefted him up onto one of the horses. Her horse, he realised, as she clambered up with him. She settled behind him, her arms gripping the reins either side of him. Levi tried to sit up right, but as she kicked the horse on, he slumped back with a low groan. Hange’s voice rumbled through her chest when she spoke.

“You good?” Hange asked quietly, and then, “stupid question, of course you’re not.” Levi found the strength to scoff, but it was a pitiful sound, and followed swiftly with another pained grunt and a fit of coughing. “Bear it a little longer, okay?”

Consciousness drifted, as they rode on. Levi was dimly aware of the sun on his feverish skin, and of Hange’s warm, solid body at his back. Her jaw brushed his head when she moved. Her voice was constant now, a rumble up his spine and in indistinct mumble in his ear. At times he could pick out her words, but his comprehension was hazy, mind unable to string sentences together, to find meaning in her chatter.

In this state, there was no focal point for the pain. It was consuming, indistinct but ever present, impossible to isolate in any one location. His whole body ached. His breathing was quick and laboured. There was no real respite even in this state.

Hange’s hand repeatedly found his throat, fingers feeling for his frantic pulse.

Time passed strangely. The ride seemed to last a lifetime, with Levi waking a thousand times to agony, consciousness barely breaking before he succumbed again to his feverish dozing.

At times, he awoke to new sounds and new sensations. The echo of multiple voices around him, all talking frantically over one. The scratch of crisp sheets beneath his bare back, the click of shoes on tiled floor. New, stinging, fiery pain, sudden and excruciating enough to make his body jolt in discomfort, followed swiftly by strong hands on his arms and legs to keep him still. Cool air blowing gently over his heated skin. His hand caught in a loose, tangled grip.

The aches in his battered body settled, localised. Levi felt it acutely in his chest, though the pressure no longer felt as intense. Breathing still hurt, but the air came easier now. He felt his lungs fill with it, little by little, for the first time in days. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the light, then rolled his head slowly to look around.

The small window had been cracked open, the fresh, cool air lifting Levi’s fringe, tickling at his brow. Thin morning light poured in, illuminating the small, sparsely furnished room. Besides the bed he lay on, there was only one small table and a stiff, uncomfortable wooden chair.

Hange was slumped low in the chair. Her legs were sprawled out in front of her, her chin dropped to her chest while she slept. She had discarded her military jacket, eye patch, and glasses in a heap on the floor, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons of her shirt undone and splayed open. Her hair hung limp and ratty around her face. She looked pale and exhausted.

Levi’s tongue was dry, tacking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. It took him three attempts to say her name, and when he did it came out raspy and ragged. He tried to move, to reach over and nudge her awake, to ask what the hell had happened since he’d last been lucid—but as he leaned over a sudden, white hot agony ripped through him, tearing into his side.

He gave a strangled groan and pressed himself back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes closed as he rode out the spasms. Wood scraped by the bed; Hange must have startled awake at his outburst. Levi squinted an eye open to see her blinking rapidly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes before scooping up her glasses and taking in the sight of him.

The pain subsided little by little, though Levi didn’t dare move again. Hange sat on the edge of her chair and reached for him, her hand stopping short of his and falling to grip the bed sheets instead.

“How you feeling?”

Levi cleared his throat. “Like shit.”

Hange managed a weak smile. The bags under her eyes were considerably darker than they had been before, her skin paler, papery. Levi frowned at her. “You still look like shit.”

Hange waved him off with a small laugh, sitting back and scrubbing her hands over her face. She hung her head over the back of her chair, fingers pressing into her eyes beneath her glasses. She sat for a long while, observing the backs of her eyelids. Levi watched her through pinched eyes as the burn in his side settled to a more familiar ache.

“Don’t do that,” Hange said, voice strained by the stretch of her throat. “Don’t do that again.”

“Which part?” Levi said.

“All of it. Don’t get in stupid accidents. Don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Don’t—”

She stopped short, then, with a sudden hitch of her breath. Levi watched her dig her fingers harder into her eyes, watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed reflexively. For a moment she was quiet, then she sat up straight and turned watery, bloodshot eyes on him.

Hange was strong. She was a far more emotionally available person than he could ever be, but she had an incredible capacity to compartmentalise. To switch off. To accept the necessity, the inevitability of loss, to evaluate and recalculate and move forward. Hange mourned—Levi had witnessed the aftermath of it plenty of times before, repaired broken tables and reorganised upended bookshelves in the wake of her disaster—but she mourned later. Alone. Felt all her fears and frustrations in isolation, away from prying eyes.

Hange wasn’t the type to cry at peoples besides and beg them to live.

And yet.

“Don’t leave me on my own.”

“It wasn’t that—”

“You dare tell me it wasn’t that bad and I’ll kill you myself.”

Levi clamped his mouth shut. Hange was glaring at him like she might really mean it. Instead of arguing, he said, “what’s the damage?”

Hange slumped forward, elbows on her knees and head hung low. “Broken ribs. Ripped up a few muscles in your back. Collapsed lung. The air pressure in your chest was restricting blood flow to your heart.” She put her head in her hands and dug her fingers into her messy hair. “You got so fucking lucky, Levi. If we hadn’t left when we did—”

He watched silently as Hange groaned into her palms. She breathed deeply, back and shoulders raising as she did.

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Hange’s head shot up. “By the skin of your teeth, Levi. You—” she took a long, steadying breath, but her voice still shook as she continued, “—you were barely breathing. You couldn’t talk to me, you would hardly even respond to me.”

“Sorry.”

Levi wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. Hange looked distraught, her composure tenuous. Levi’s fingers twitched on the sheets, itching to reach out and touch her, offer some kind of reassurance that he was here, he was fine—but he wasn’t fine, and moving so far was out of the question. He gripped hard at the sheets instead. “Sorry.”

“Not you as well,” Hange said quietly. Levi’s chest tightened painfully at her tone—she sounded so small in that moment. Scared. Levi wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her sound so frail before. “What am I supposed to do if you—” she cut herself off again, shaking her head.

“Same thing you always do.” Hange curled tightly in on herself. Levi turned to stare at the ceiling instead. “You keep going, Commander.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“One day or another, everyone you care about eventually dies. You said that.” He listened as Hange’s breath hitched, but refused to look at her. “It sucks. It hurts. But we keep moving forward.”

The mattress dipped by his hand. Levi rolled his eyes down, and found Hange hunched out of her chair, her face pressed into the blankets. Levi sunk his fingers quietly into her hair.

They lapsed into a painful silence. Hange hiccupped and sniffled now and then, while Levi scratched lightly at her scalp. After a long while, Hange spoke again.

“I know those were my words,” she said thickly. “But I can’t accept that. Not now. Not after everything.”

“Stubborn,” Levi said quietly. He pulled lightly at her hair until she raised her head, wiping her cheeks and nose messily on her arm. “Disgusting.”

Hange managed a bare, wobbly smile. Levi’s hand fell from her hair as she straightened up, and Hange scooped it up in both of her own. She played absently with his fingers, curling and flexing them, rubbing her thumb over the lines on his palm. She seemed to be gathering herself, brow a little furrowed in thought.

“I know we can’t guarantee anything. I know how uncertain our world is. But just—” Hange paused, closing Levi’s fingers around her own, then looked up at him with a fierce determination. “Promise me anyway.”

Levi blinked sluggishly at her. “Promise you what?”

“That you’ll survive.”

Levi tensed. “Hange…”

“Indulge me. Just this once, please.”

A promise of that kind was unrealistic, Levi knew this. Hange had said so herself: there were no guarantees. Except, that wasn’t quite true—death, at least, was a constant. The only inevitability they had. The island may be free of titans now, but the threat of attack loomed over them like a persistent storm cloud, black and heavy, ready to give at any moment. And accidents, as he had painfully learned, could happen in the blink of an eye.

Levi was resilient, but he wasn’t invincible.

But Hange was looking at him steadily, her resolve unwavering. She wanted his word here and now. Needed it, maybe, but Levi knew her. Hange valued honesty over everything else. There was no way she could feel at ease with such an empty promise.

Levi sighed.

“You’re a brat, you know that? Looking at me like that.”

Hange’s gaze held firm. Levi felt her grip on his hand tighten.

“I can’t promise shit like that, Hange,” he said. She squeezed his hand tighter still, and her body tensed, shoulders drawing up to her ears. “You know I can’t. Nobody can.”

For one horrible, gut wrenching moment, Levi thought she might cry again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes but when she opened them again, her good eye looked terribly blank.

“You’re right. Sorry, sorry!” She let go of his hand and sat back in her chair, hands resting on her legs instead. Her voice sounded lighter, more like Hange, but there was something off about it. Something forced. Strained. She adjusted her glasses but didn’t meet his gaze again.

This was the Hange he knew. The Hange who could bury her feelings in the moment, squash them down and push them aside to focus on the rational, the plausible. Seeing her like that didn’t relieve him the way it should have. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a discomfort in his gut, knowing that he was the cause of the grief she felt she had to hide.

It was stupid, the whole situation—how a moment of carelessness lead to this; Levi bedridden, and Hange struggling to hold herself together.

The space between them grew stagnant. Hange seemed a little lost in thought, gaze caught blankly on Levi’s blankets, while Levi watched her, waiting for her to say something else, to change the subject, to be Hange again. But Levi was never one for giving inspiring speeches, and in truth, he didn’t know that anything he could say now would make anything better. Hange would do what Hange always did—wait until she was alone, and vent in whatever way she could.

And Levi, as soon as he was able, would do what he always did, too—pick up the broken pieces and mend as much as he could.

“You should rest.”

Hange blinked tiredly over at him. It had been an age since Hange looked well-rested, years since Shiganshina and the exhaustion of that particular battle had never left her. The burden she carried—everything Erwin had left behind and all that they had discovered since—was so impossibly heavy, the expectations put upon her too much for any one person to handle. Hange had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to be worried about him, too.

“Eat something, bathe. Sleep. I’ll still be here when you come back.” After a pause, he added, “I’ll promise you that much.”

Hange gave him a weak, wry smile as she fished up her eye patch, strapping it into place and righting her glasses over it. “I guess I’ll take that. And then tomorrow, you can promise me the same again.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Go.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll nap for a couple hours and come back. You should sleep some more too, you know. It’ll help you heal faster.”

Levi grumbled in response, and grumbled louder still when Hange stepped up to the bedside, but he fell quiet when she leaned over, brushing his fringe back from his forehead and pressing a small kiss to his hairline. It was such a simple gesture, and nothing out of the ordinary—Hange had been a physically affectionate person as long as he had known her, always grabbing and hugging and kissing whenever she got the chance—but there was something so tender in it, this time. Levi’s eyes fluttered closed.

Hange lingered longer than was strictly necessary, and yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Levi could easily have let her stay close, feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips on his skin until he drifted into sleep, but she straightened up after a moment and Levi was left instead with the cold breeze from the open window. Levi blinked sluggishly up at her. His own exhaustion barrelled in, making his eyes sting, lids heavy. Hange folded her jacket over her arm and pushed the chair into the corner, out of the way.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” She said.

“Mm.”

“You’re gonna feel like you got crushed by a titan when the pain meds wear off, so make the most of it.”

“Got it.”

“And you should let the doctor know if anything changes. Straight away, don’t wait around.”

“I will.”

"And there are nurses around, if you get hungry or thirsty. The bathroom is just down the hall too, but they've got bedpans if you need to—"

“Hange.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Hange had already crossed the room as she spoke, but she paused in the doorway, fingers curled around the frame. She deliberated with herself for a moment longer, then said, “hey, Levi?”

“Hm?”

Hange chewed on her lip, contemplating something, a faint blush building on her cheeks. And then she shook her head, gave him a small smile, and said, "Ah, doesn't matter. Sleep well."

She left quickly after that, closing the door quietly behind her. Levi stared at the space she'd vacated, brow a little furrowed; her hesitancy confused him.

But he was tired. His body hurt. His head felt thick and fuzzy, and without Hange's presence to keep him occupied, he consciousness began to drift.

Tomorrow, he thought hazily. He would ask her tomorrow. For now though, he would follow his own advice; for now, he would rest.

#snk #levihan #my writing #man I had a hard time with this in the end hjhgjj I can't say I'm that satisfied with it #but!! I am sticking to my philosophy after the Drabble week #someone somewhere will like it #levihans relationship ended up more ambiguous but hey ho #also ended up being a lot of angsty hange

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valdomarx · 3 years

Text

Saving Grace

When the test flight of a new experimental spacecraft goes wrong, Sheppard ends up lost in hyperspace. Injured and alone, his subconscious mind summons up a familiar face to keep him company.

Stargate: Atlantis, Sheppard/McKay. 6k words, rated T.

Contains Shep whump, happy ending, and gratuitous descriptions of astronomical phenomena.

Sheppard comes to with a lancing headache and vise around his chest. An alarm is blaring. He takes in his environment: he’s in an unfamiliar cockpit. Whatever he’s flying, the inertial dampeners have cut out and he’s pulling several Gs, the forces pushing him against his seat and making his head swim.

He blinks woozy eyes and stares out the window. Streaks of color whip past him in a confusing and rapid swirl. A strange thrum vibrates the ship. This doesn’t look like space.

Shit. That’s because he’s not in space. He’s in hyperspace.

This is not good.

“It’ll be a cakewalk!” McKay gestures animatedly. “A quick trip across the solar system to warm our new baby up, then kick in the hyperdrive. It’ll catapult you to the Triian system, and you can turn around and gate back. Easy.”

“Catapult?” Sheppard raises an eyebrow. “I don’t love the sound of that.”

But McKay isn’t listening. He and Zelenka are deep in conversation about hyperspace and its effects on the particle/wave duality of light. The rapidly rising volume of their voices suggests this is an argument they’ve had before.

They’re both fussing over the control panel for their latest pride and joy, a cobbled-together prototype spacecraft which is a hybrid between a puddle jumper and a X-302 fighter. It’s taken them months to build the A-305, based off the miniature hyperdrive McKay designed while he was temporarily almost-ascended. They’ve poked and tweaked and run every simulation they can think of, but sooner or later the ship will need to be taken on a real test flight.

Just as well Atlantis has the galaxy’s best fighter pilot for a military commander, Wier had said with a smile. She’d wished him luck on the A-305’s maiden voyage and told him to come home safe.

Stay safe. Stay alive.

Right.

Through the fog in his head, Sheppard focuses on his first problem. The spinning of the ship is making it impossible to think, and he needs to be clear headed to find his way out of this. He needs control of his ship.

With a wince he connects to the ship’s neural interface. It isn’t as seamless as operating a puddle jumper, but the principle is the same. McKay and Zelenka had done their best to replicate the Ancient interface, but their best approximation was still a long way off. Using it adds to the sharp spike of pain in his skull, but he needs to know what he’s dealing with.

The ship’s interface blinks into existence behind his eyes. The sensors scream out incomprehensible reams of data. He silences them. The alarm is still blaring. Silence that as well.

Now. Here. Positioning and guidance systems. This data is a jumbled mess too, and most of the navigation functions are offline. But thrusters are up. That’s good. He can at least stop this spin.

In the corner of his mind, the power system whines needily. It’s one of a dozen systems competing for his attention and it will have to wait. He pushes it aside.

Thrusters. Fire them, hard. Counteract the spin.

The ship jerks and he is slammed into the side of his seat. It pushes the air from his lungs, but gradually the colors outside the window slow their nausea-inducing swirl.

The world rights itself. The G forces release their iron-tight grip on his chest. The ship is stationary.

Now, at least, he can think and he can breathe. He can call for a rescue.

He taps his radio and calls out to Atlantis. No reply. He tries the ship’s communication system. No luck there either. The radio plays back nothing but static.

Ok. Communications are down. He’ll need to fix that, but first he needs to find out where he is. He opens the hyperspace location system and searches for a beacon.

Silence stares back at him.

He searches further, pushing the sensors to their maximum. There must be a signal he can lock onto somewhere.

He finds nothing. Not even empty space. Nothing but the strange, pulsating colors of the uncharted depths of hyperspace.

Damn it. He’s lost.

“I’m telling you,” McKay is, once again, waving his hands around with great enthusiasm, “you have no idea how hyperspace works. It’s not like navigating through normal space.”

Sheppard is sat in the commissary on the Daedalus, overhearing Ronon wind up McKay and trying not to show his amusement.

“I thought it was like an ocean current?” Ronon asks innocently.

“What? No! It’s nothing like that.” McKay gestures with a fork. “It’s more like… You know when you carry something heavy through the forest?”

“Like a body?”

“God, how does your mind work? But right, sure, you’re dragging the lifeless corpse of your defeated enemy through the forest. And as you go, you’re crushing bushes and leaves beneath your feet, right? You’re making a trail.”

“I don’t leave tracks.”

“Oh, sure, Mr I’m-a-big-tough-guy-yet-somehow-I-can-move-silently-through-dense-foliage.” McKay scowls and Sheppard hides a smile behind a forkful of mashed potatoes. “The point is, when a ship moves through hyperspace it leaves behind a trail. When another ship follows the first, it reinforces the trail. Over time, that builds up a network of paths through hyperspace.”

“And that’s how we know which direction to go in right now?” Ronan looks out the window, where the hyperspace currents wrap around the ship.

“Exactly. Over time, we’ve laid out beacons along these paths. They allow us to jump from one part of the galaxy to another, but only along the predetermined routes. If we were to head away from the path, eventually we’d be too far away from the beacons to orient ourselves. We’d end up lost forever in hyperspace.” He shudders, and Sheppard can see the millions of horrible scenarios playing through his head.

“Huh.” Ronon puts his feet up on the table. “If I get lost in the forest, I orient myself by the sun.”

“Unfortunately for your rustic wisdom, that’s not very helpful when you’re outside the normal planes of space and time.”

Ronon gets a glint in his eye and goes in for the kill. “But aren’t there lots of stars out there? And the sun on Atlantis rises in the east, right? So you could pick a star, and head toward it, and that way would be east.”

McKay turns a worrying shade of purple. He gapes. “That is just. On so many levels, that is so unbelievably wrong, I can’t even fathom how you would -” He takes a huge gulp of air. “THAT IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS.”

Sheppard does not panic. He reminds himself that the first thing to do when you’re lost is to retrace your steps. How did he end up here?

He remembers prepping the A-305 for the test flight. He remembers heading away from Atlantis and deeper into the solar system. He remembers firing up the hyperspace drive.

He remembers the drive spinning up. He remembers a whirring noise. He remembers the pop as the ship made the hyperspace jump.

And then… There had been a spark. A crackle of electricity, here in the cockpit. A bolt of lightning had shot out from one of the rear hatches and struck the control panel.

There had been a terrible screeching sound, and a series of bangs as various components fried out and died. Then a bang louder than the others that sent him reeling. That must have been the drive pod blowing.

He remembers the force of the explosion smacking his head on the console. Then only blackness.

Gingerly, he touches his forehead. His fingers come away wet with blood.

That explains the headache.

He needs to figure out where he is but the data coming from the sensors doesn’t make any sense. He opens the interface again and looks through data on the craft’s position, speed, structural integrity. Anything that could orient him in the nothingness.

The reams of data start to blur together. His eyes are drooping and it’s getting hard to focus. He forces himself to look at each number in turn, but he can’t make heads or tails of any of it. The chilling ache of helplessness starts to crawl up his spine.

“Why don’t you let me take a look at that?”

Sheppard whips his head round. Perched on the edge of the console, flicking through a tablet, is McKay.

He rubs his eyes, but McKay is still there. He didn’t think he was this far gone.

“You’re not really here,” he gasps. Maintaining some grip on what is real and what is not has never been more vital.

McKay tilts his head and smirks, and it’s such a familiar movement that it makes something in Sheppard’s chest loosen. “Of course I’m not here. I’m light-years away in Atlantis, worrying about you.”

“Then what-?”

“You’re lost. Your ship is damaged. You’re alone. And you have a pretty severe concussion.” McKay ticks off items on his fingers. “Your subconscious figured you could use some help. So it called me.”

Sheppard blinks. “You're imaginary?”

McKay shrugs. “I’m a creation of your mind. You knew you needed help, so you summoned up the one person you knew could get you out of this.”

“And that’s you, is it?”

McKay radiates smugness. “It’s ok, Sheppard. You can admit that I am not only the smartest person you know, but also the most inventive. And, frankly, the most handsome as well.” He flicks his hair back in an affected manner. It's awkward as hell.

Sheppard rubs his aching temples. “Lucky me."

He'd known McKay was going to be a pain in his ass since the day they met.

He'd spent three years in Antarctica. It was nice there. Quiet. No one to get in his business or hold him to any obligations.

And then he'd come to Atlantis, and everything had changed.

Now he has a team to protect and more responsibility than any person should have to deal with. Teyla and Ronon, Weir and Lorne, even Beckett, they have all become indelible fixtures in his life.

And then there's McKay. Brash, arrogant, and perhaps the only person in the expedition who has worse people skills than he does. McKay, whose endless chattering and whining has become the cosmic background radiation of his life. He's gotten so used to it that being without it feels like he's missing a part of himself.

“What we need is a reference point to lock onto.” McKay is pacing, as much as is possible, around the tiny cockpit. He’s making Sheppard nervous.

“There’s nothing out there. I've tried to pick up a beacon signal, but it’s no use this far from the hyperspace lanes. The more time passes, the further I drift.”

“Ah ah ah.” McKay snaps his fingers. “So we can’t find a beacon. But maybe we can find something else to use as a marker. We just need a point in normal space to orient ourselves around.”

“But we’re cut off from normal space.”

McKay shakes his head. “Not completely. Hyperspace is orthogonal to normal space, not entirely separate from it.”

Sheppard has only the loosest idea what that means.

“So you should be able to…” McKay starts futzing around with his tablet again. He can’t actually be doing anything, because he isn’t real and neither is the tablet, but his mind apparently can’t conceive of McKay without having him poking at some piece of electronic equipment. “Try the radar.”

“The radar? But radio waves don’t carry through hyperspace.”

McKay beams. “They do if the source is strong enough.”

“But that’s -”

“Are you seriously arguing with yourself right now? You know I’m right! On some subconscious level, you clearly realize that this makes sense. So do you want to bicker, or do you want to get out of here?”

“Fine! Jeez. I’ll try the radar, but it’s not going to work.”

McKay raises an eyebrow, like he’s about to say wanna bet? Sheppard clamps the headphones over his ears.

Using the neural interface, the radar signal comes through as auditory information. He hears the rumbling of the radiation coming from his spacecraft, and the pings of neutrinos twisting past at super high velocities. So far so unhelpful.

And then… there’s something… And then it’s gone again. Sheppard strains his ears, reaching out with his mind to extend the range of the radar. There’s nothing, only horrible blankness. And then - there it is again.

A faint, very low pulse. Beating like a heart, every second. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Steady. Consistent. A fixed point.

Sheppard lets out a breath. He’s found a pulsar.

He’d barely been paying attention when McKay had brought it up. He’d been more interested in flicking through the dog-eared copy of Golfer’s Digest he’d borrowed from Lorne.

“See! Right here! Pulsar J0056-87.” McKay gestures him over, vibrating with excitement.

Sheppard rolls his eyes but stands all the same. McKay’s been on at him to join him for a night of stargazing since he found an Ancient telescope stashed away in a lab somewhere. Apparently, even with their elaborate technology, there were still some Ancients who enjoyed looking at the stars with glass lenses for some reason. Bunch of damn hipsters.

But the night was warm and clear, and for once there was no imminent threat of invasion. McKay had dragged him along to one of the distant piers and set up while Sheppard had busied himself with a beer and a magazine.

“Look!” He lets McKay manhandle him into position in front of the telescope eyepiece. “See that?”

He peers through the glass and sees a blurry outline of something like a star. But it flashes, on and off, on and off, like a strobe light.

“It’s the collapsed core of a massive star,” McKay says, all expressive gestures, “and it's spinning so fast it's emitting beams of electromagnetic radiation from its poles as it turns, like a lighthouse. That’s why it seems to flash, and that means it can be used like a yardstick for the galaxy. It’s the only one we’ve found in Pegasus.”

Sheppard grunts, says, “Thrilling,” and goes back to his beer.

“We’re going to get you out of here, Sheppard.” McKay sounds confident, but McKay always sounds confident. Sheppard has learned to temper his expectations.

“Ok. I've located the pulsar. Can we use its location to extrapolate the coordinates for Atlantis?”

McKay pulls a face. “That would require triangulation - we’d need at least three fixed points for that. We’ve only got one point to work from.”

“So how does that help? We’re still lost.” A churning mixture of anger and anxiety rolls in his chest.

“You have to head toward the pulsar.” McKay nods decisively.

“Oh, what a great idea, I’m so glad I have you here for inspiration. I’m lost in hyperspace, so let’s go even further out. Let’s go deeper into the unknown. Let’s throw all of my eggs into this one strobing basket. Brilliant plan, McKay!”

“And what’s the alternative? Sit here and wait to die?”

“Protocol states that I should stay where I am. Preserve my position. Give a rescue team the best chance to find me.”

“And that’s all well and good in normal space, but we’re not in normal space, are we? There’s no maps here. There’s no way for a ship to track us. They can’t rescue you if they can’t find you.” Sheppard glares at him. McKay pouts back. “Since when have you given a shit about protocol anyway?”

Sheppard grimaces and checks the thrusters. He can at least see how much fuel he’s got left.

He reaches into the interface with his mind.

FUEL DEPLETED, a warning flashes. REFUEL IMMEDIATELY.

“Ahh.” McKay looks apologetic. “I was worried about that. I guess when the hyperdrive blew it took the fuel containment with it.”

Sheppard stares out at the rippling nothingness.

Great.

Sheppard has faced death many times.

There was a time when he would have been fine with this. Going out in the line of duty, he figured that was more or less inevitable given the choices he makes.

But things are different now. There are people counting on him. There are people who care about him.

There are people he cares about too. He doesn't know exactly when they became so important to him. But how does know he doesn't want to die without seeing them again.

He considers his options. He doesn’t have many.

“If I follow the pulsar, I’ll drop out of hyperspace halfway across the galaxy.”

McKay looks at him like he’s stupid. “Yes. That’s rather the point.”

“But the team will be mounting a rescue. I need to stay near to where they left me.”

“That won’t work!” McKay waves his arms in the air. “Even if they find a way to enter hyperspace at exactly the same point you did, and even if they could recreate the accident that sent you here, we’ve still drifted too far to be in communications range. They’ll never find us.”

“What’s your suggestion then? Throw myself at the nearest shiny thing and hope it magically leads me home?”

McKay stops his pacing and kneels in front of Sheppard. He takes his hand. It’s weirdly warm.

“What do you think I’m doing right now? Back on Atlantis?”

Sheppard shifts in his seat and takes his hand back. “I’m sure you’re trying to find me.”

“Ya think?” McKay goes quiet, and that’s so unexpected it rattles Sheppard more than the threat of imminent death.

“This is my fault,” McKay says, standing and turning away. “The jumper hyperdrive was my creation. It’s my fault it failed, and it’s my fault you’re lost.”

“I don’t believe that.” Sheppard waves a dismissive hand. “I’m a test pilot. It’s literally my job to fly experimental vehicles. There’s always a risk. I know that, and if you’re part of me then you know that too.”

McKay turns to give him a sad half-smile. “Yeah. I know you think that. But you also know me - the real me - well enough to know that I’m never going to forgive myself if we lose you.”

That hits a little too close to home. He shoves down the swell of emotion closing up his throat and tries for flippant. “So what? I don’t want you to feel bad, and I don’t want to die here. But pointing my ship to a point in space and hoping you’ll know to find me there? How’s that supposed to work?”

“I know how you think, Sheppard. I know how hyperspace works. I know that your ship has been damaged and that you’re lost. I also know you’ll be able to locate the pulsar. And I know you’ll head toward it. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“It was months ago that you told me about that pulsar. And I was barely even listening to you at the time! How do you know you’ll remember?”

McKay fixes him with a steady gaze. “I’ll remember.”

Here’s what really happened: McKay invites him to the pier for stargazing. The night is so clear that the stars of Pegasus blanket the sky. The air smells of salt from the sea and the crackling of ozone from the shield generators.

Sheppard pretends to flick through his magazine as he watches McKay set up the telescope. He watches the way his hands dance over components. He listens to him mumbling to himself about which piece goes where.

And then the telescope is ready, and McKay begins searching the sky. Sheppard watches his face as he scrunches up his eyes to focus on the eyepiece. He pretends to drink his beer and he observes.

He’s beautiful like this, Sheppard thinks. Give McKay a puzzle, or a mystery, or an unknown, and he simply expands his mind to meet it. Once he’s solved the problem, then he’ll snap back into his defensive egotistical genius mode. But in the moment just before that - when he sees the solution in front of him, when a new piece of understanding begins to take shape - then McKay glows.

“Ohh,” McKay breathes, face still hovering over the telescope. “Would you look at that. A pulsar, right here in Pegasus.”

Sheppard takes a swig of beer and pretends not to be interested.

It’s one of his favorite memories of Atlantis.

“Even if I wanted to follow your crazy plan,” Sheppard begins.

“Your crazy plan, technically,” McKay interrupts. He gestures to himself. “Figment of your imagination, remember?”

“Even if I wanted to follow this crazy plan, then. Thrusters are out because I used the last of the fuel to stop the spin. The hyperdrive is fried. How am I supposed to maneuver anywhere?”

McKay raises an eyebrow and taps meaningfully on the oxygen gauge. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“The life support? Oh yes, that’s brilliant. Let’s vent the last of my oxygen into space. I always wanted to try death by hypoxia.”

“Venting gases from the ship will create thrust,” McKay says, and he truly must be a fantasy because the real McKay never speaks with such patience. “We don’t need much. Just enough to overcome inertia and start us moving in the right direction. No friction in hyperspace.”

“Even if I vented half the oxygen and got moving, I’d still need to jump out of hyperspace.”

“Oh no no no no no no,” McKay wags his finger, and that’s more familiar. “With the drive in the state it’s in, we will not be jumping out of hyperspace. We will be falling out of hyperspace, like a stone through a pond.”

“That doesn’t sound great.”

“It’s not! But it’s your only option, so hop to.”

Sheppard scowls. “How am I supposed to fix the hyperdrive? You’ve been working on it for months, and you barely got it functioning.”

McKay gives him a look. “You’ve spent years looking over my shoulder. You know how to bypass secondary systems and reroute power to the drive.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

Sheppard finds a spanner tucked under his chair. He grasps it and turns to face the panels full of incomprehensible wiring behind them.

Time to get to work.

McKay and Zelenka are bickering again.

“Your simulations are not only wrong, but reckless as well! You can’t patch primary power cables like that. Unless, of course, you actually intend to blow the prototype up.”

McKay snorts. “Don’t be so timid, Zelenka! The power conduits don’t need to carry that much power long-term. We’re talking a short-term bypass here, not a permanent solution.”

Sheppard focuses on flying the jumper and ignores the voices coming from behind him. He considers closing the bulkhead between the front and rear compartments, but then he’d only have to listen to McKay ranting later.

“A short-term solution which could explode at any moment isn’t viable!”

“Please, it’ll be fine. We only need to avoid patching into the main power distribution node. The hardware for primary and secondary power systems aren’t so different. They’re interchangeable if you’re careful enough.”

“Your desire for glory is outweighing your common sense, McKay.”

“And your petty jealousy is unappealing, Zelenka!”

Sheppard puts on his headphones and tunes out the arguing with the mellow sound of Johnny Cash.

“That’s good.” McKay puts a hand on his shoulder. It feels real. It feels nice. “That should channel all of the remaining power to the hyperdrive, give it enough juice for one last wheeze.”

Sheppard stares at the mass of cabling. He’s been going by instinct: cut here, patch there. He should have learned more about how the puddle jumpers work, and about hyperdrives. But he’s gotten lazy. He’s gotten used to having McKay around for things like this.

“It’ll be fine.” McKay is not known for his generosity regarding the work of others, so Sheppard can only assume he’s done the wiring correctly.

But something is bothering him. “Even if we manage to drop out of hyperspace -”

“When,” McKay corrects, “not if.”

“- And even if you are, somehow, miraculously aware of where I’m heading -”

“I am.”

“How are you going to get there? That pulsar is in the middle of nowhere.”

“Don’t worry.” McKay smiles blithely. “There’s a stargate nearby.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you know, Sheppard. You’ve seen it.”

It feels like decades ago. It was when they had first arrived in Atlantis and they’d been desperately searching for ZPMs. He sits in the control chair and brings up a map of the galaxy in the vain hope it will show the location of a power source.

The room darkens and lights blink on overhead. From where he sits, he can see the Pegasus galaxy from end to end: stars and black holes, planets and comets, all represented in delicate, dancing lights. He searches for power sources and finds nothing.

But there, in a far corner of one of the galaxy’s spiral arms, is a single light flashing on and off, on and off. He notices it out of the corner of his eye, a flashing oddity. Interesting, but not helpful in their current search.

He puts it out of his mind. But as he does so, he notes a label next to the flashing light. The third planet orbiting that flashing star has a stargate.

“You’ve got quite the memory, Sheppard.” McKay is looking at him… oddly. Softly. It’s unnerving.

“Could have been mensa,” he says, unraveling the tension with a smirk.

Predictably, that sends McKay into a rant. “Oh, you just love to bring that up, huh, your great big IQ to go with your great big guns, and you know what else is sure to be huge -”

The power system chooses that moment to scream back to life with a warning klaxon.

WARNING, it says, POWER LEVELS FALLING. LIFE SUPPORT FAILURE IMMINENT.

Right. Time's up.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now,” McKay says. He chews at his lip nervously.

Watching him, a strange serenity washes over Sheppard. Live or die, right or wrong, he is out of options. Time to make a choice.

He locates the pulsar. He prepares to vent the life support. He opens a seal on the opposite side of the ship, and he releases the airlock safety control.

There’s an explosive rush of gas from the vents, and he's slammed into his seat. He punches the airlock shut switch as quickly as he can, hoping he didn't waste too much air.

“Hey!” McKay whoops. “It’s working!”

The ship is moving, sailing through hyperspace and toward the pulsar. He sighs, and takes a moment. At least now he has a destination. It’s better than floating lost.

Then he looks down at his oxygen supply.

OXYGEN LEVELS AT 10% AND FALLING, the system says. DANGER OF PILOT HYPOXIA.

Huh. He should be worried about that, but it seems so far away. It can’t be that important.

There's a rushing in his ears that sounds the roar of the ocean.

He leans back with a smile.

It's the sound of home.

“Sheppard. Sheppard!”

He comes to again with McKay shaking him.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me now.”

“‘M tired.”

“I know. That’s the oxygen deprivation. But you need to hold on a little bit longer. You need to activate the hyperdrive once we’re close enough to the pulsar.”

“He’s not…” His words are slurring. It’s hard to move his tongue. “They’re not going to find me.”

“Yes they are,” McKay’s voice has an edge to it he hasn’t heard before. “Teyla is going to be calling up every contact she’s ever made. She’ll find someone on the nearest planet, and she’ll get us safe passage. And if she runs into any problems, Ronon is going to intimidate the hell out of the entire system until they help. Beckett is on board a rescue jumper right now preparing his medical kit, ready to treat you as soon as they find you. Wier is going to approve the mission in a heartbeat, even though it sounds insane, because she’d sacrifice all of the jumpers and half the city to save you.”

Sheppard blinks. McKay’s face swims before him.

“And I… Sheppard, you already know this, but I am going to move space and time itself to find you. I’m not going to take no for an answer, and I’ll bend the damn laws of physics themselves if I have to. When you drop out of hyperspace, I’ll be waiting there for you.”

McKay’s voice is further and further away. It sounds nice, what he’s saying, but it’s like it’s carrying on the wind across a great crevasse.

“You’ve saved us all so many times, Sheppard. For once, let us save you.”

He wants to believe that. He wants his team to rescue him. He doesn’t want to die here, alone.

But he isn't thinking straight. This whole plan hinges on McKay remembering a conversation from months ago. It’s madness.

“McKay… Rodney… He doesn’t know,” Sheppard croaks. He’s too tired to feel ashamed of how weak he sounds. “He doesn’t know that I listened to him that night. He doesn’t know that I always listen to him. He doesn’t know that..." he breaks off. "I never told him.”

McKay takes his face in his hands and kisses him. It’s so unexpected that it shocks him awake again, enough to register McKay's lips against his own and his fingers tangling in his hair. It’s like a jolt of lightning, like being raised from the dead.

“I know, John,” McKay says, pulling back and looking him dead in the eye. “I’ve always known.”

He points down at the hyperspace activation button.

“Now come home.”

Sheppard summons the last of his strength to raise his arm. It’s like wading through concrete. One last task, he thinks, and then I can rest.

He presses the button.

There’s a ripping sound, a whirl of lights, and then there’s only blackness.

He wakes up to the familiar surroundings of the infirmary: the bustle of doctors moving around, the distant sound of the ocean.

And frowning down at his laptop, McKay, sitting hunched in a chair by his bed.

The breath Sheppard lets out feels like a great weight lifting from his chest.

"Hey," he says. His voice is raspy and everything hurts. "What happened?"

McKay scrambles to his feet. "Sheppard." His face is guilt-stricken. "Carson!" he calls. "He's awake."

Soon enough, the whole team is crammed into the infirmary.

"We had to search the entire pulsar system to find you," Elizabeth explains. "By the time we got to you, your ship had been without power and oxygen for several minutes. Carson worked very hard to get you breathing again on the trip home. You gave us quite the scare."

That would be why his lungs ached.

"It is good to see you awake, John." Teyla bows her head. "I hope you will join me for tea when you are feeling better."

Ronon snorts. "Or come down to the gym for a sparring session if you want a real challenge. I'll be waiting." He grins.

Elizabeth looks around and smiles. "We're all very glad to have you back." She glances at McKay, huddled quietly in the corner. "Even Rodney. He's been here since we brought you in." She gives him a tight nod and turns to leave, guiding Beckett, Teyla and Ronon with her.

Sheppard looks at McKay expectantly.

McKay pushes his laptop aside. He takes a deep breath and straightens himself up like he's heading into battle.

"I'm sorry, Sheppard." He's not quite meeting his eyes. "I sent you out in that ship, and I told you the drive was ready. It's my fault you were stranded. You must be angry, and I'll understand if you want me off the team."

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. "Did I just hear an actual apology? From you?" He breaks into a grin. "My head injury must be worse than I thought."

"Way to ruin the moment, you ass." McKay leans over to punch him in the shoulder, which hurts, but McKay is smiling now so it's worth it. "I'm trying to bare my soul here."

"Well put it away. I'm not angry, and I don't want you to go anywhere." He looks at McKay's fingers twitching anxiously on the bedspread. In a moment of wild abandon, he takes his hand in his own and gives it a squeeze. "I knew you'd find me."

"Oh. Uhh. Really?" McKay is staring down at their joined hands, but he doesn't let go. The tips of his ears go very pink. "That's very. Uhh. I'm touched by your. Uhh. Your faith in me."

The moment stretches, and Sheppard wonders if he's supposed to say something else. Then McKay fidgets, and the moment passes.

"How did you figure it all out, anyway? I saw the state of the A-305. Getting that wreck out of hyperspace can't have been easy."

Sheppard rests back against the pillow. He feels bathed in warm light. "I had some help," he mumbles as sleep begins to take him, "from a very good friend."

It's a week before Sheppard is well enough to be released from the infirmary. He's still a little shaky, but Beckett says he'll be fit for active duty soon enough.

He makes the most of his new-found freedom and tells McKay to join him on the east pier that night, and to bring the telescope. He trades a month's worth of rations for enough meat for a couple of turkey sandwiches and some beers. He figures he at least owes McKay dinner.

When he arrives, McKay already has the telescope set up. A few lonely clouds drift through the night sky, but the stars overhead glow all the same.The lights of the city twinkle, the spires reaching up into the dark sky.

"Will you find it for me?" he asks.

"Find what?"

“You know what.” He gestures at the stars and gives him a smile, which McKay haltingly returns, and he lays out their dinner as McKay tweaks dials on the telescope. It doesn’t take long.

'Here." McKay waves him over, and he looks through the eyepiece to see it once more: blinking in the night, steady like a heartbeat, constant and true. The pulsar.

Sheppard lets out a breath and something soft uncoils in his chest as he looks at it. "That's our star," he says, moving to sit on the pier with his legs dangling over the edge.

"Our star?" McKay joins him. He sits close by, and he radiates warmth in the cool night air. "You're a romantic at heart."

"I guess I am." He can't resist a grin. "It needs a better name though. 'J0056-87' doesn't have much of a ring to it."

As he sounds out each number, McKay's eyes keep dropping to his lips. He leans closer. So does McKay.

"We could always rename it," McKay suggests. There are only a few scant inches between them, and his voice is low.

Sheppard lets this drag out, a shiver of anticipation running up his back. "Any ideas?"

"We could name it after me." McKay grins too. "I mean, as the foremost astrophysicist in not one but two galaxies, it seems only apt -"

Sheppard interrupts what he's sure would be a lengthy recap of McKay's skills and career by kissing him.

Judging by the way McKay kisses him back like he's been starving for it, hands running through his hair and trying to pull him even closer, that was a good call.

It’s dizzying and overwhelming, and it’s also the most natural thing in the world. When they break apart, McKay’s lips are red and kiss-swollen. It’s a sight Sheppard could get used to.

“I’m really glad you made it back to us,” McKay says, chewing his lip.

Sheppard takes his hand. “I had to make it home,” he says, quietly. It’s like leaping headfirst into an abyss, but knowing that someone is there to catch you at the bottom. “Everything I care about is here.”

#stargate atlantis #mcshep #john sheppard #rodney mckay #my writing #i had so much fun writing this #i am living my most self-indulgent life this 2021

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inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

stay interested (in what comes back)

Day 01 Clan of Three for @dincobbweek Summary: Cobb never expected to hear from the Mandalorian after he leaves, but then the first letter arrives... The first letter arrives a few days after Mando and the kid leaves, and it sits unopened on Cobb’s shelf for several days before he can bring himself to open it.

The courier — a young woman named Tai with a constellation of freckles across her cheeks and forehead and close-cropped black hair — presses it into his hands with a knowing grin. Her clothes are worn from the speeder ride around Tatooine, sand clinging to them so that she appears to be part of the desert made flesh.

“If you want to send anything back,” she says, pausing in her swaying walk back to her bike, turning to look over her shoulder towards him. “Just leave it in the usual box. I’ll be back round in two weeks.”

She grins and Cobb catches sight of a new banner tied around her waist: a striped cloth in browns and golds and undeniably Tusken, but it tears the breath from his lungs before he can respond. She hops back onto her bike and is gone.

Everywhere he turns, he is reminded of Mando and the kid, and just when he had pushed the other man from his mind with practised unnerving ease, the letter arrived.

The material is well-made, smooth to the touch except for the small crumpled swell in the centre, and the seal is neat but plain. Cobb brushes his fingers over the markings — a smaller line that flares out into a small peak with a notched end next to a hooked line — and places the letter down, willing his thoughts to turn away from it.

But it remains like a stone digging into the soft skin in the arch of his foot or a shard caught in his teeth.

So Cobb opens it, after one trip too many past it, his gaze locking onto it and the burning curiosity courses through him again.

A crumpled picture on pale brown paper spills out, the edges ragged and torn, and Cobb recognises it as the unmarked side of a help wanted notice. They are common enough in Tatooine that Cobb flips it to the other side to inspect the details before allowing himself to take in the hand-drawn picture.

It was one of theirs, he realises, smoothing out the creases that distort Mos Pelgo’s desperate plea for help. Why had he chosen this? Cobb was well versed in backhanded insults and thinly veiled threats. He had learned to be. The scars that span his back and thighs still ache with the memory of the burning whip and each one is a testament to what he survived.

Mando didn’t strike him as that sort of man. Cobb had seen the way he had curved towards the kid, always half stretched out to brush fingertips across his skull as if he was caught in orbit. Cobb liked to think he was a good judge of character and even when Mando had bared his metaphorical teeth at him, Cobb knew he was a good man.

So, he reasons that the paper was likely convenient rather than a reminder of a debt owed, and flips it back over. A huge white shape dominates the right-hand side of the page broken up by the jagged edges of what Cobb realises are teeth. Next to it are two crudely drawn stick figures, one broader and grey but clearly wearing a helmet with a T shaped visor and the other taller and shakily drawn, featureless except for a red triangle at its throat. Next to the two is a smaller circle in green with two triangles for ears inside a floating grey circle.

It’s the three of them, and a Kraft dragon.

Cobb smooths it out as best he can, his heart twisting and constricting in his chest, threatening to choke him. The other item in the letter is smaller. It rolls when Cobb fumbles while drawing it from the envelope, slipping through his fingers and clattering onto the floor. He drops to his knees, cursing his own uncooperative hands and the protest of his knees, the sharp flare of pain dulling to an ache that would haunt him for a few days.

The ring is cool to the touch and is perfectly sized for his thumb. Cobb doesn’t let his thoughts linger on that, focusing on the careful engraving of segmented bone upon bone instead of the remembered press of Mando’s hand in his, surprisingly warm given the chill of the night air, the slight hesitancy as if expecting Cobb to pull away from him.

He slips it onto his thumb, tacks the picture up on the main wall in his section of the house, and returns to work. A letter detailing their efforts and professing his thanks, along with all the unmarked scrap paper he can find and pencils scavenged from the passing traders that the school doesn't need anymore finds its way into the courier dropbox and is away before Cobb can talk himself out of it.

He just hopes he has made the right choice.

The arrival of a second picture — the same lopsided circle-shaped child drawn in greens and browns and two stick figures, one grey and one brown with red at its throat beneath a sky that burst with all the colours of a fistfight — confirms he was right. The note that comes with it is brief but Cobb traces his fingers over the hesitant letters. Thank you.

⁂

The shadow at the end of Cobb’s hallway shifts as he steps closer, his blaster held ready by his side. “Wasn’t sure you’d be coming here, Mando. Glad to see I was wrong.”

Mando’s laugh sounds wrong, too sharp at the edges and echoing slightly. Cobb takes another step closer, his gaze dropping to search the lighter shadows by the other man’s feet, looking for the huddle of fabric and large eyes of the kid.

“He had to go back to his people.” Mando sounds broken, his voice flat, and Cobb knows that feeling only too well. It draws you down, down into its depths, until you can’t remember what it felt like to believe in something or to care about another person. He steps closer despite himself, one hand stretching out to try and offer what comfort he could when he stops.

Dark curls, close cropped and unevenly cut, greet Cobb’s gaze, brushing against the edge of Mando’s beskar, his helmet held loosely in one hand. His heart lodges in his throat, remembering the way Mando had recoiled when Cobb had taken off the helmet of the borrowed armour, his hope dying in an instant.

“I’m guessing a lot has happened since your last letter.” Cobb doesn’t look at Mando further, navigating with the edges of his vision, sliding his feet across the floor as he hooks his arm around Mando’s waist. The man freezes before curling into him with a wounded noise ripping from his throat. “Come on and sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Didn’t know where else to go.” Mando sighs, his feet leaden, but he goes where Cobb leads. His skin was as cold as his beskar, gritty with sand that rasped against Cobb’s palm. “Knew it would be safe here.”

“Ain’t that a good endorsement,” Cobb murmurs, trying to ignore the swell of emotion the words created in his chest. The gap in letters had troubled him more than he wanted to admit and Tai had taken to stopping by his house first on her rounds so he wouldn’t waste more time waiting for her, only to be disappointed once again.

“It’s true.” Mando turns to watch him, and Cobb keeps his gaze fixed forward. The other man is shorter than him, folding into the curve of his chest as if he had been made to fit there, and he catches a glimpse of dark eyes before they move into his bedroom and Mando’s gaze snaps to the wall. “Oh.”

He sways, no longer leaning on Cobb for support, but clinging to him like a lifeline, and Cobb chances smoothing a hand along the curve of his hip, leaning down to blindly knock his temple to the other man’s. “You will see your kid again, Mando. He loves you.”

“He talked about you too.” Mando’s words rumble through him, his voice cracking and breaking. “Always drawing you. We were going to come back before— before—”

“He’s a sweet kid. Takes after his daddy, I reckon.”

Mando laughs at that, a helpless exhalation, and Cobb chuckles along with him.

“Now, go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning,” Cobb continues, nudging Mando towards the bed. It is unmade, the blankets twisted too high, exposing the pale sheet beneath, but he doesn’t have time to reconsider it as Mando falls onto it as if his strings were cut.

“Skywalker took my child,” Mando mutters into the sheets and Cobb freezes, old familiarity washing over him, his thoughts turning towards an old datapad stored in a small chest in the corner and the contact details hidden within.

“Sleep, Mando. It’ll do you some good.” Cobb waits until the man’s breath levels out, falling into the deep easy rhythm of sleep before turning to inspect the wall. The most recent picture from the child catches his eye — the figure of Cobb and Mando on either side of the kid, their hands overlapping, beneath Tatooine's twin suns — and his hands curl into fitsts. He knows what he has to do.

The datapad hums as it turns on, the screen cracked and blurred, but Cobb navigates through it easily, old memories coming back to him.

‘Skywalker? Been a while, but did you just pick up a Mandalorian’s kid and not leave any contact details?’

The reply is quick, and Cobb squints at the screen, his mouth moving soundlessly as he reads through the misspellings and laughs to himself when he finishes. Three days travel away, and Mando would see his son again. Three days of Cobb living with the man he was hopelessly in love with as he helped him restore the balance to his family. This was going to be difficult, but, hopefully, easier than killing the dragon.

#dinncobb #cobbdin #cobb vanth #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #my writing

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professional-dikut · 3 years

Text

Here’s a super sweet Echo/Crosshair fic req from an Anon!

( i couldn’t decide between Cross and Tech, but Cross flowed better for some reason, so i went with him :D) I hope you enjoy ☺️ (slight TW for vomiting and sum self-destructive thoughts<3) Fic under cut ⬇️

Word count: 3339

"That should be all." Nala Se spoke slowly, turning away from the arc trooper and dropping the bacta shot into a waste bin.

Echo nodded and hopped off of the examination table as the Kaminoan turned to put a data pad away.

He glanced down at his legs as he tugged his sleeve back over his flesh arm.

Nala Se had given him another anesthetic—the second one this week—after he had stepped funny on one of his prosthetics during a course down in the simulator facilities. He'd taken a pretty un-graceful fall and accidentally tripped Hunter, sending the two of them tumbling down a ramp. Hunter was fine, but Echo's leg had been sore the entire day.

In fact, Crosshair had to catch him in the dinner-line when he'd almost toppled over from standing on his leg in a certain position for too long.

The sniper had given him a look and told him to go to the med-bay—no exceptions.

So here he was, in the med-bay, again, with his second painkiller of the week.

It was starting to become... troublesome.

He began to put his armor back on before deciding that he would just carry it back to the barracks since the batch would be going to sleep soon anyways. Well, Hunter, Crosshair, and Echo would be going to sleep. Tech and Wrecker usually stayed up to do their own thing for a bit before actually heading to bed.

Sighing, he scooped up the plastoid in his arms and began to make his way out of the med-bay.

The bright hallways of Tipoca City seemed to burn through his eyes and into his newly peaking headache, causing him to squint as he turned a corner. He knew his way around the city, it was sealed into his brain after getting lost many times in the previous years, before he joined the bad batch. Before the thing happened.

The thing.

The thing that was becoming harder to keep up with day after day, becoming harder and harder to push aside. Harder to ignore. Harder to hide.

It was getting harder and more exhausting to fake being fine around the bad batch, to ignore the constant headaches and bothersome pains where his limbs were supposed to be. There had been so many times where Echo had skipped meals because he could barely stand, telling the rest of the batch that he was just worn out—which wasn't exactly a lie. Sleeping was becoming more difficult as well.

His nights were turning into readjustments, shifting around, blanket-no blanket madness. He'd stare up at the ceiling in the barracks, and pray to the maker that he'd be able to fall asleep for hours on end. Sometimes he'd sit up in his bed and scroll through a data-pad, looking at old rules and regulations to see if he could still recite them like he used to. It was all so different now, but all so similar at the same time.

The Batch was so understanding. They understood Echo. They helped him when he needed it, and they welcomed him as one of their own.

But he wasn't one of them.

He was more machine than man.

That was nothing like them.

The regs knew, the batch knew, and Echo knew. It was obvious. They knew what they were getting into when they accepted him into their squad.

Echo's stomach lurched as he turned a corner, and another wave of pain flowed through his temples.

He was becoming the exact thing he told himself he wouldn't.

A liability.

A burden if you will.

All Echo did was slow the squad down, and mess up their flow. He couldn't do anything right without getting himself or one of the batch hurt. It was like a curse, that he literally couldn't function without. Without his prosthetics, he'd be of zero use or need to the squad, and would most likely be cast away to work in the medical facilities, or decommissioned.

So really, The bad batch was the only reason he was being kept alive.

And he just kept screwing it up.

They always told him, that he wasn't a problem, that he wasn't slowing them down, or burdening their team. But what if they were lying? Echo wouldn't be surprised if that was the situation. Tripping Hunter during the simulation wasn't the first time something like that had happened, it it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

So why did they keep him?

A weight began to settle in Echo's stomach as he turned down the hallway that the batch's barracks were in.

He exhaled, and almost put his lunch on the floor.

He froze, and dropped a few pieces of armor as he slapped his hand up to his mouth. The sound of the plastoid clattering to the floor sounded in his ears much louder then they should've, knocking another pulse of discomfort through his skull. He turned away from the noise and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ground himself as a bitter taste filled his mouth and bile bubbled in the back of his throat.

Echo's mind began to race as he stood as still as possible for a minute.

Clones were not supposed to get sick. He knew that for a fact, and had never met or seen a sick clone in his entire time being alive. It was threaded into them as mere test tubes, and continuously kept up as they grew, and went out to war. Clones were a species with one of the strongest immune systems in the galaxy, so there was really no reason for Echo to be feeling this way.

Well, there was always the thing.

With most of his humanity stripped away, it was possible that some of his genetics and artificial health that the Kaminoans had pumped into him since birth was failing now. He was eating whats in the cafeterias—most of the time—which contained the nutrients and medicines that kept them all healthy and ready for battle at anytime. So why was his stomach betraying him?

He opened an eye and stared at the blank white wall for a second, before looking to the barracks and considering his options.

He could, go back to Nala Se and ask for some stomach relievers, or possibly another bacta shot, or, he could go into the barracks and attempt to fake his way till sleeping time, and hope that he didn't vomit all over Tech's equipment.

Nala Se was most likely already closing everything up and putting all her supplies away, so it was possible that he could catch her before she finished up. Although, she might consider his condition... unreasonable. If he kept coming to her with more problems, it would give her a pretty good reason to send him to the medical squads, where he would be less bothersome to her, or even to the decommissioning facilities.

Shit.

He wasn't even sure he could make it all the way back to the med-bay at this point. His hand was shaking, still over his mouth, and the nausea mixed with his splitting headache was doing nothing for his attempt at grounding himself. If he did go into the barracks, he'd have to make it to the bathroom before any of the squad saw him.

Unless... Was the squad even in there?

Echo tried to remember what day it was through the thick fog that seemed to have settled in his head, and thought about what days the squad went to train in the sparring rooms.

It was... Taungsday? No. It was Centaxday. On Centaxday, the batch went down to the sparring rooms at around twenty-hundred, and trained till twenty-two hundred-thirty. So, if he could just...

Echo glanced down at the pieces of armor he'd dropped.

His bracer and comm were on the ground, and his bracer had a chronometer on it.

Slowly, Echo forced himself to swallow and took a deep breath, straightening himself out and closing his eyes for a moment. He leaned over, and hissed as another piece of armor tumbled out of his arms. He picked them back up and attempted to adjusted them with his prosthetic arm, before clicking the chronometer on.

It read twenty-hundred twenty-nine. Perfect.

Echo swallowed again before taking a step towards the barracks door. He kept his gaze straight ahead as his vision started to swim in front of him while he walked. Desperately, he reached out to the door with his prosthetic, jabbing the button on the panel next to it, dropping more armor at the lack of support.

A disgusting wave a nausea crashed over him as he stumbled into the wide room when the door hissed open.

Crosshair snapped his eyes up to Echo from his bed as he stepped down the stairs un-gracefully, dropping pieces of armor on the way.

He-

Crosshair.

Echo did a double take, whipping around to face the sniper on his bed.

He was the only one in the room. Perhaps he didn't want to spar tonight? Or maybe Echo got the days wrong...

"Echo?" Crosshair spoke from his bed, shifting his rifle to his other side as he cleaned it.

Echo opened his mouth to answer, but instead, dropped his all of his armor completely, and darted into the fresher to vomit.

His stomach tensed, pushing up everything he'd eaten in the last few hours right into the toilet. He crouched down, taking a quick breath before throwing up more. His throat burned, and tears sprang into his eyes as he gripped the edge of the toilet.

He repeated that, two or three more times, before sitting back on his heels and sagging into the wall next to him.

He breathed heavily, holding his flesh hand over his still aching stomach as he let out a cough. A gross taste burned in his mouth and he grimaced, swallowing down another urge to vomit before letting his head tilt back to rest against the wall.

Why the fuck was Crosshair in the barracks.

"What are you doing." The man in concern said flatly, suddenly standing at the door of the small fresher.

Echo groaned, before leaning over to heave into the toilet once again.

Pain pulsed through his head as the muscles in his stomach squeezed and cramped together, making everything about the situation ten times worse then it needed to be. A tear rolled down his cheek as his face heated up, humiliated in front of the experienced sniper.

"Are you okay." Crosshair said from behind him, voice literally emotionless.

Echo shouldn't be this weak. He was an ARC Trooper for kriff's sake. He was supposed to be the strong one. The leader. And here he was, barely able to make it through the day with out getting hurt or sick.

Another tear rolled down his face, and then another, before he was full on crying while emptying his stomach in the small space.

"Echo."

Echo coughed as his stomach stopped for a moment, giving him a second to breathe. He tried to wipe his tears as he heard Cross step into the fresher.

"What." Echo croaked, clearing his burning throat and lowering his head as he leaned away from the toilet.

The sniper suddenly crouched down next to Echo, resting his forearms on his thighs as he turned to look at him.

Echo looked away.

"Are you 0kay?" Crosshair asked again. He was only in the bottom half of his armor, his top half covered by his blacks like Echo was.

Echo looked up to stare at him.

Crosshair blinked.

"I-" Echo tried, his voice watery. "I'm sorry."

He sniffled, wiping his face with his left arm as he leaned back into the wall again.

"For what?" Cross asked, his face completely neutral.

Echo breathed, trying to inhale through his stuffy nose, before looking back up at Crosshair again.

A broken sob escaped his lips, and then all hell broke lose from there.

Echo cried. He cried hard. Weeks of built up emotions, all poured out in front of him like he was some scared cadet all over again. Tears streamed down his face as he cried into his hand trying to cover his weakness, only to cry harder as everything hit him right there. All his unprocessed thoughts, all the lingering emotions that hadn't been dealt with, all of the situations he couldn't prevent because of his condition. He sobbed harder, wishing he could just be normal, with out complications, or ever present headaches that liked to come at the worst times.

And Crosshair got to witness all of it.

At some point, the man had shifted to sit next to Echo against the wall, which only made Echo cry harder. Cross showed no sign of any emotion the entire time, just sat next to him, in his presence. It was kind of reassuring, but it was hard to focus on when a sob racked his body every five seconds.

Slowly, Echo's body began to calm down as he tried to take a few deep breaths.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he got himself to a point where he was just wiping silent tears away from his cheeks as he sniffled. His stomach felt a little better, at least.

The two of them sat like that for a good five minutes before Crosshair spoke again.

"What just happened?" He questioned slowly, turning to face Echo.

Echo gave a shaky sigh before attempting to speak again.

"I'm- Im sorry, for everything," He started, choosing his words carefully. "I'm supposed to be better, I shouldn't keep messing up like this. I know I'm slowing your squad down, I'm becoming more of a burden everyday, and I'm sorry. I keep getting hurt and hurting you guys, I keep getting sick and I can't do anything about it and I'm afraid I'm gonna get culled if this keeps happening and-"

Echo was cut off abruptly cut off by a hand turning him and pulling him into a tight hug.

Crosshair had pulled him into a hug.

Oh.

Even in the uncomfortable position, the hug shot right through Echo's chest and made even more tears spring into his eyes.

He sniffled again, before burying his face into Cross's shoulder and letting out an annoyed whimper.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, holding each other like it was the end of the world, and all they had were each other. Cross was usually cold and awkward with physical touch, but in his arms he felt warmer and more comfortable then usual. Echo sighed and relaxed into his arms as the sniper held him tighter.

"You are not a burden."

Echo laughed bitterly into Cross's shoulder.

"I dont-"

"You're not."

Echo looked up from his shoulder, pulling back to look Cross in the eye.

His face was level and relaxed, but his brow was furrowed in seriousness. The tattoo over his right eye was creased like it always was when Crosshair was being genuine, and Echo had to stare for a moment just to make sure.

"But, I-"

"No." Cross said. "You are not a burden, you don't slow us down, we get hurt all the time, and you're doing fine. You don't need to do better."

Echo continued to stare as the sniper spoke with zero hesitation.

"You're fine just the way you are, and you absolutely will not be culled." Cross stated, giving a small nod as confirmation.

Echo blinked and stared at him.

"And you're most likely not sick, it's probably anxiety. Makes Tech sick sometimes too." The sniper said with a small shrug.

He sounded so real, and honest. There was no reason for Echo to not believe his words, but still, something in his head held him back.

Echo grumbled a response as Cross took his flesh hand and gave it a squeeze.

"We'll work on it." Cross said, as if he’d read Echo’s mind.

Echo gave a weak laugh as Cross pulled him close again, cradling the back of his head in his hand. Echo held on to him too, relaxing into Cross's calm and trying to get his legs into a more comfortable position. They were annoying, but he could deal with it if it meant getting to cuddle with Crosshair—which was a very rare thing known to the whole squad.

Crosshair pulled away for a second this time, and Echo looked at him, a flash of worry crossing his face.

The sniper cocked an eyebrow at him before smirking and getting to his feet, pulling Echo up along with him.

"You need sleep." Was all the man said before hitting the button on the toilet an dragging Echo out of the fresher and towards the beds.

"Cross, I'm not gonna be able to." Echo sighed as they closed in on Crosshair's bunk.

Sleepless nights were starting to become normal, and Echo wasn't seeing any hope for them stoping anytime soon.

"Sit." Cross said, gesturing to his bed as they stood next to it together.

He rolled his eyes, and plopped down in the bunk as Cross wandered away to get something. Echo turned to glance at the target posters on the inside, and then to the neatly made sheets, and then the soft pillows. It was cozy, and also the same as Echo's bunk, but... definitely more cozy.

Echo began to remove his prosthetics as Crosshair came back with a cup in his hand.

"Here, drink this." He held the cup out for Echo as he set one of the prosthetics down.

Echo took the cup while Cross sat down next to him and began taking of the rest of his own lower half armor.

He took a sip of the drink as Cross unsnapped his last thigh plate off before setting them aside along with Echo's prosthetics. The liquid was cool, and felt soothing in his stomach after the horrible nausea. His head was still hurting, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it was just ten minutes ago. Now that he had calmed down some, he was starting to understand Cross's suggestion about anxiety.

Echo was fine.

Or, at least he was going to be.

Downing the last of his drink, he leaned to the side to set the cup on the ground, and caught a glimpse of his scattered armor at the door of the barracks. Sighing, he facepalmed and began to turn to ask Cross if they should pick them up, but a pair of arms snaked around his torso before he could finish.

"We'll pick em up in the morning." Cross hummed into his shoulder, pulling him back into him.

Echo chuckled as the two of them fell back into the bunk in a spooning position. Crosshair pulled him close, tightening his arms and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as he pulled his blanket over them. Relaxing into his arms, Echo felt his nausea begin to trickle away, leaving behind a content and warm feeling in his chest and stomach. Crosshair’s warmth and arms comforted him from their place around him, and he suddenly felt more grounded then he had then entire day.

A relieving sigh made its way out of Echo’s lungs as he listened to the harsh rain against the long window in the barracks.

Slowly, he let his eyes flutter shut. His head still ached, but it wasn’t as prominent, and more easy to ignore. Maybe he’d actually be able to sleep tonight.

The sniper fell asleep quick, almost immediately relaxing and settling into Echo’s back. He rested his left hand on Cross’s hand, and traced circles around the back of his palm until he started to slip into unconsciousness himself. His eyelids began to get heavier as his breathing steadied, and soon, his whole body relaxed—for the first time in a while—as he slept in Crosshair’s arms.

43 notes · View notes

break-me-kacchan · 3 years

Text

One hundred sleepless nights

Word count: 3930.

I was thinking about making this a small series. Let me know if you would like a part two please.

Summary: I thought of doing a little story based on the song one hundred sleepless nights- Pierce the Veil. You and Bakugo were fuck buddies. Have been for years when the unthinkable happens.

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

A text that read “He’s gone, come on over” was all Bakugo needed to finish what he was working on and to head over to your home. Every time Bakugo pulled up to your home he always felt annoyance prick at the back of his skull. He could give you this big house and all the finer things you had come accustomed to with the addition of a caring partner. Not one that slept around with other women and certainly not one that would let you stray and become another man’s lover.

He slid out of the driver seat of the vehicle he was driving and clicked the lock button as he took the steps down the front path to your front door. He paused on your front porch; this part was still awkward for him. The choice between opening the door or knocking. He stood his head hung a little low as his fists clenched and un-clenched. He was lost in thought and did not notice you opened the door until you cleared your throat.

His head whipped up a smile creeping onto his features but when he saw your tear-stained eyes the smile stopped completely.

He rushed over to you as you stood one hand on the door and the other shoved into the pocket of Bakugo’s hoodie you were wearing.

“Love. What’s wrong?” Bakugo asked rushing forward to pull you into his embrace. Your head rested against his strong chest as your breath drew in his sweet smell. You relaxed slightly but only long enough for another sob to rack your body as it pressed against his chest.

He never wanted to see you like this, not even in the beginning.

*FLASH BACK*

You stood in the corner wearing an 8 thousand dollar dress your husband picked out for you. You gulped back the rest of the champagne in your hand before placing the glass on the tray of the waiter passing by and grabbed another glass.

Your husband was a well-known scientist. He assisted heroes with making adjustment to the equipment they use and their costumes. He was brilliant and when he asked you to marry him at such a young age you were blind. You agreed and just after your 18th birthday you were wed to your high school sweetheart.

Here you were, wearing a beautiful; backless; emerald floor length gown. The Hero Gala, where heroes spoke with the men and women who helped them upgrade their hero gear needs. Also, company awards were going to be given out, by your husband of course. Your husband, the man you haven’t seen in almost 3 weeks, returned this morning from his vacation with his mistress just for this Gala his company was holding.

It wasn’t always like this between you and the man that you married. It was good once but he started to make a name for himself and suddenly you weren’t the only one he wanted to scream his name.

He started to change though. You noticed after moving into your first home that things were different. You cooked dinner and made your husband’s lunch as you always did, even when the two of you had plenty money, you continued because you thought he liked the love notes and special snacks. Long story short he didn’t and it wasn’t until your husband was a big shot in his company getting ready to venture out on his own you noticed he didn’t.

The lunch you had made for years was left in the fridge every time you got up to start your day lately. He no longer came home for dinner and finally he slept out at least 3 nights a week. You knew what was happening but refused to believe it, at least you tried until you went to his office to see if he wanted to enjoy lunch with you and that’s when you caught him. Pants around his ankles and his hands gripping some intern’s hair as he bobbed her head back and forth.

By the time your husband noticed you it was already too late.

When the two of you spoke about it he had said he had love for you but wasn’t in love with you anymore. You understood, he was amazing, of course he felt this way about you. When he had all those other women of course he didn’t care for you like that anymore. He didn’t want you leaving even though he was the one who stepped out. All he could think of would be the scandal for his new forming company. He suggested an open relationship and suggested you have “friends” as well.

So there you stood, in the corner drinking champagne by the mouth full, grabbing another glass every time someone carrying a tray passed by. Feeling a little tipsy you stepped out onto the balcony behind you and you huffed against the railing over looking the gardens below.

You leaned over the railing slightly and looked down at the drop. It was maybe 20-25 feet.

“I wouldn’t jump if I were you, I might have to jump into save you.” The voice startled you. Turning quickly to see who was speaking you nudged the glass sitting next to you and it came crashing down below in the ground.

“Fuck, you scared me and now my drinks gone.” You breathlessly replied to the voice. Staring at the dark figure that was blocked by the shadow of the doorway.

You heard a chuckle and then saw the figure step forward into the moon light. ‘That’s Ground zero’ You thought to yourself. Your husband worked on the new improvement to his old cuffs. You know because you heard your husband talk about having issues with some of the improvements Bakugo asked for.

“Here.” Bakugo held out a glass of champagne and you took it, staring up at the hero.

“Thank you.” He nodded and stepped forward coming on you right side as you turned back to face the gardens. You sighed and took a sip of the glass.

Bakugo swirled the champagne in his glass and turned to the left looking at you. He could tell you were tipsy by the way your cheeks flushed as you took another sip of your glass, half way gone now since he handed it to you a moment ago.

“So what brings you out here when you could be in there mingling with everyone?” You asked as you finally looked over at the man standing next to you.

Bakugo chuckled and placed his free hand on the back of his neck rubbing it slightly.

“Tch.” You nodded you head to his answer and looked behind your shoulder back at the party going on behind the two of you.

“There’s all these damn extras in there and they keep coming up to me all flirty and easy.” It’s fucking annoying.” He huffed out and his eyes squinted in agitation. You scanned the crowd and from where you stood you could see your husband standing next to a beautiful blonde woman. He was so close to her, moving a piece of hair out of her face. Even from that far away you could see the blush on her cheeks.

“At least your husband isn’t trying to shove his dick in any girl interested.” You said nonchalantly turning back to the gardens.

At your comment Bakugo’s head turned to see exactly to what you were referring. Your husband, a man Bakugo has worked with, was whispering something in some girls ear.

“You let him do that?!” He scoffed and turned back the same way you were. He took a sip of his drink and looked at you as you spoke.

“He does what he wants, always has.” You sighed and looked down at the ring on your left hand. “I thought he loved me but I know he doesn’t. At least, not anymore. It was his suggestion to keep or marriage together while-“ Tears started to brim your eyes. It still hurt to think about.

“He goes out and fucks other women while his WIFE sleeps in a bed all alone? That’s fucked up.”

You snorted a laugh and chugged the rest of your drink. He looked over and watched you as you spoke softly.

“In the beginning sure, I let the guilt of him choosing other women take over me. I couldn’t eat, sleep or be happy.” You turned your attention to Bakugo instead of the gardens. “But you know what, I woke up one day and decided if this was going to be my life than I would live it. Now he fucks whoever and I spend my time doing things that make me happy.”

Bakugo turned his head to look at you as you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath.

“That’s still fucked up.” He grumbled.

You turned opening your eyes to look at Bakugo. His hair stuck up in different directions, his jaw line was covered in stubble, and he had the most beautiful red eyes you had ever seen. His chest was broad, and his arms were strong looking. All the alcohol wasn’t helping as you caught yourself staring and sunk your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Yeah well, when everything is fucked up you just get more fucked up.” You held your empty glass of champagne and wiggled it in the air. “Would you like to accompany me to get another drink?” You asked as you picked up the bottom of your dress with your empty hand.

Bakugo reached out and caught your wrist before you could step forward. You turned and started at his face.

“You need a real drink none of this champagne crap.” His had slid down your wrist until it clasped your hand. Your fingers intertwined with Bakugo’s and he squeezed your hand and led you through the crowd at the Heroes Gala and to the front door just as someone stepped onto the stage taking all the attention in the room so the two of you could slip out without being noticed. Once you both made it outside Bakugo handed his ticket to the valet and a car pulled up a few moments later.

Bakugo removed his hand from yours and opened the passenger side door for you. You smiled and slid into the front seat. It was funny, you’ve talked to Bakugo for 20 minutes max and he was already more of a gentleman than your husband ever was.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

Your face was pushed against Bakugo’s chest as your sobs racked your body. You felt weak and sick. You couldn’t keep anything down and your husband decided to take a trip to Cancun with his mistress for the week and you felt so alone.

Well at least not entirely alone, you did have Bakugo nuzzling you into his chest and that made you feel less lonely.

“I’m so tired Katsuki.” You whimpered into the fabric of his t-shirt. Your eyes hurt from all the crying you’ve done today.

“Baby, it’s okay. Why don’t we go take a nap or something?” He moved his head from its rested place on top of yours and looked down at you. “Hmm?” He said after you continued your silence.

You moved back from him and rubbed your eyes with the corner of his sleeve. You looked up at Bakugo. A slight smile warmed at the corner of his lips and just when you thought you were done crying you started again.

The water works were uncontrollable. They came down your face in a steady stream and you gasped for air as you fell to the floor. Just before your knees hit the floor Bakugo caught you and swiftly pulled you into a bridal carry as he made his way to the couch in your gigantic living room.

“Y/N, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I hate seeing you cry when I don’t even know why you’re upset.” He spoke softly to you as he got comfortable with you in his lap. He pulled a cover off the back of your couch and pulled it over top of you.

You looked up through your tears at the man you’ve fallen in love with. He is there for you when you need him unlike your husband who was off doing who knows.

The tears continued to flow as you looked at him and admiring his beauty. You loved him. You did, honestly. If he asked you would leave your life and your good for nothing husband and be Katsuki Bakugo’s girl but you know deep down that Bakugo is your lover and he didn’t sign up for any of this bullshit you and your husband had gotten into.

Reaching up you wiped your face again as Bakugo stared at you his eyebrows knitted in confusion his arms wrapped around your waist pressing you into his body. On occasion you had cried while he was with you but never like this. Plus, Bakugo didn’t really know what to do.

He was unsure because he isn’t a very emotional personbut he would be here for you no matter what. He wanted to be your hero, he wanted to treat you to date nights, movies and gifts on your birthday but that wasn’t his place to do that seeing as he was your mistress, and you already had a husband.

Thinking of your husband made Bakugo so angry. How someone so smart could be not only blind but fucking stupid was beyond him. If he had you he would never let you go.

“I’m tired Katsuki. I’m so tired of everything.” You finally replied to his question.

“ Okay… you said that already-“ You pushed away from Bakugo and stood up, almost loosing your balance but you caught yourself.

“No, I’m tired Katsuki, I’m tried of people I care about always leaving me. I’m tired of not feeling good enough, I’m tired of being pushed aside for someone else. I want someone to love me! I want someone to care for me that way I care! I have lived in this house for years by myself! I don’t think I can do it anymore!” You moved both of your hands to your hair and grabbed a fist full, gritting your teeth before yelling through them.

“I’m falling apart, I’m not sure if I can handle this anymore! It’s gotten out of control this whole-“

Suddenly Bakugo moved and was in front of you, grabbing your wrists. Pulling your hands from your hair he placed his lips against yours. You were so angry but as soon as his lips touched yours you melted. Your lips moving against his as his grip continued against your wrists.

He pulled away and placed his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes and met his in return.

“Your husband is a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve you. If you’d let me I’d tell him who your real hero is and then whisk you away where he could never find you.” Bakugo whispered and brought on of your hands to his lips and kissed the skin on the back of your hand.

You chuckled a small smile playing at your lips. You stood in front of this beautiful man and looked at him with tears-stained cheeks but he still thought you were the most beautiful person on the planet. You closed your eyes and sighed. A much as you wanted that you knew the truth.

“I can’t leave Katsuki it is more complicated than that, I’m-“ You started to tell him why you were so upset. Why you couldn’t just run away from your husband and live happily ever after, but he interrupted you.

“That makes no fucking sense Y/N! I’m offering to take you away from this shitty as life you have in this house! I want to take you with me when I leave, I want you to want to come with me!” He shouted at you as he threw his hands up in frustration dropping yours completely and turning to pace in front of you.

“Bakugo-“ You started again only to be caught off.

“It’s Katsuki!” He shouted tears brimming his eyes as he looked back over at you.

Your heart shattered and you lifted your hand to reach for him but he turned away again.

“Is he really that important to you that you’d let him walk all over you and treat you like this?! Cause given the chance I know I could do better. I think about you all the time, you are the only thing that runs through my mind! You’re going crazy? I’m going crazy being without you..” When he first spoke he screamed but as his confession lengthened he got softer. At the end he finally turned to look at you.

His eyes found yours as you stood one hand covering your mouth as you listened to his confession. Stepping forward to him testing the proximity. He didn’t move just continued to watch you. You quickly closed the space and wrapped both arms tightly around his neck standing on your tip toes.

“Katsuki, I need to tell you something.” You whispered into his ear. A blush rose to your cheeks as you thought about what you were about to say. You’ve been seeing Katsuki for a few years and had always been so careful.

“I’m pregnant.” Like word vomit it tumbled out of your mouth making you sick. The both of you were frozen against each other until Bakugo pulled you slightly away to meet his eyes.

His heart was sinking. It was over that perfect life with you he was dreaming of he will never have if your husband finds out he’s having a child. His eyes narrowed as he investigated yours.

“He must be excited.” He said as he removed your arms from around his neck. You were confused and slightly hurt. Didn’t he hear you? You said you were pregnant.

“Katsuki-“ You reached for him again but he stepped back.

“I should probably leave you alone then.” You breath got caught in your throat. “I wouldn’t wanna come in between your ‘Perfect’ family!” It was your turn to step back as his voice got loud again.

He knew that was not what you thought of your situation. Why was he acting like this towards you. Before you knew what was happening your hand reached up and hit him across the face. You were angry.

He grabbed your wrist after it connected with his cheek.

“Let go of me!” You screamed at him. The slap left Bakugo in shock, but it did clear his brain a little. He opened his mouth to reply to you when you yelled again.

“Get out of my house right now!” Your words cut him like daggers. Why were you so angry about his comment when you were carrying your husband child? Then it clicked that was her plan all along to invite him over and end things between them. ‘No’ He thought. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

“Katsuki,” He perked up at his name and met your gaze. “Please leave.”

“Y/n. I’m sorry I’m just conf-“ He started to speak but you cut him off ripping your hand from his grasp.

“I’m serious Bakugo, I can handle this on my own since you want to act like this. GET OUT!” He flinched at the use of his last name. You rushed forward and pushed his chest with your hands as hard as you could.

He was shocked as you pushed him away and he slipped on the step leading to the entry way of your home. He landed on his ass as he stared at you. He could tell you were furious with him. You were still screaming but he couldn’t hear. Your hair was in the messiest bun he’d ever seen, his hoodie was way too big on you and your whole face was bright red. He tuned into what you were saying just as he stood up.

“-It’s not even his baby it’s yours! I haven’t slept with him in years, I’ve only ever been with you! Leave like everyone else! I can’t just run away! My whole life is tied in a big knot attached to the ring on my finger! Just get out Bakugo!” You jolted forward and pushed his chest again towards the front door.

“Just go..” You said as you pushed Bakugo towards the door again. He was in shock. You, Y/N L/N were carrying his baby in your womb. As quick as his excitement rose it faded just as fast as the situation dawned on him. He blinked a few times, and the threshold of the door caught the back of his boot making him fall for the second time.

His ass hits the stones as he looked up at you with wide eyes. You stared back at him radiating anger. He expected you to yell at him some more, but he wasn’t expecting what happened next.

You slammed the door in his face and if that wasn’t bad enough, he heard the lock slide and click into place. Bakugo sat there shocked staring at you front door hoping you would open it and invite him back in. After a few minutes he stood up dusting off his hands on his jeans.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the door along with his forehead. He was just about to knock and yell your name when he heard you crying.

Your back was pressed against the door and your head was in your hands as you cried.

What were you expecting? A happy ending with a doating husband and a baby. No, you knew better than that. Your husband would care once he found out he was going to try to convince to stay with him and raise the baby. Your husband can’t have kids and you know this would only tie you to him further and make escape impossible.

Bakugo lifted his head deciding he cause you enough trouble today seeing as you were carrying a baby. He turned from the door and headed to his car. He looked back up at the big house.

You stood up after a moment and looked out the window near your front door and saw Bakugo standing there staring at your house. You thought he had already left. As stared out the window at the man you love you watched him turn to his car to leave.

“I love you Katsuki, maybe it could have worked if I hadn’t been so stupid.” You whispered to yourself as you placed a hand on your little baby bump. Thinking back to the agreement you made with your husband, his word chilling you to your core. ‘Any child you carry is going to be my child. They’ll be my successor.’

That was when you decided finally to take your life in your own hands. You went to your room and started shoving clothes in your suitcase. Once you were ready to leave you went out to your car throwing your suitcase in.

You stared at the big house standing in almost the same spot as Bakugo earlier. The only difference being there was no one to watch you leave. You slid into the car and started the engine, backing out of the driveway towards something new.

Little did you know your adventure would turn out to be a nightmare for one person and he was hell bent to get you back.

#my hero academia #bakugou x y/n #bakugo #katsuki x you #katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #One shot #bakugo one shot #babies #preganancy #ground zero

72 notes · View notes

grumpyhedgehogs · 3 years

Text

static

AO3.

Summary: Reset, rewind, repeat.

Mono can't fix the ending all alone. He tries anyway.

Six helps.

Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Shattered glass rains down around him, tinkling like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

This time he doesn’t reach the basement, even though the note of Six’s music box rise faintly up the stairway. Mono’s throat closes up at the sound, his fists curling in on themselves naturally. The emotion choking him is foreign and Mono does not try to understand it.

He uses a box of spare parts and animal skins to reach the attic and finds the key. The fear The Hunt instills in him is stale by now, but he still runs through the tall grass and ducks down the embankment. Mono never trips anymore; he knows every pebble and root and blade of grass. His knees remain free of blood and grit. His coat isn’t as muddy this time.

He makes it to the broken down bridge before realizing his mistake. The Hunter shoots him in the back and, buckshot melting his skin with its heat and trajectory, Mono allows himself to squeeze out exactly one tear of frustration before he falls face first into the approaching darkness.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

He’s so tired. Fatigue sinks into his skin, erodes his bones, sucks away his marrow. He is nothing but a husk, a puppet to the static. He doesn’t remember how many times he’s died. He doesn’t remember how many times he’s grown into The Thin Man.

At least Six didn’t drop him this last time.

The need to rest chokes him as he enters The Hunter’s home. It trails after him, weighing down his feet, pushing against him like a strong wind. Mono just wants to sleep. It will do him no good.

He breaks into Six’s room. She looks up at him. Mono removes his mask. She stares, pauses, lunges.

Her hands are so small and so very strong around Mono’s throat. Her teeth glint in the low evening light. The music box stutters to a stop in time with Mono’s heart. He dies hoping this time he won’t open his eyes again.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

The betrayal isn’t as potent now, but Mono still refuses to give Six his hand this time. He doesn’t get close enough for her to push past him; instead he simply sidesteps her as she comes barrelling out of the basement where she’s (always, always) locked up. He knows they’ll meet again under the attic.

He’s not sure what he has to change to get out of here, but it’s obvious he’s missing something. (He’s always missing something. Mono is not the monster with eyes everywhere. He doesn’t know where to look.)

Six catches him when he jumps the bridge. Her strength is disproportionate to her body, but Mono lets it go (like always). This time, when The Hunter catches up to them, Six is the one to pull the trigger. It does nothing to ease the pit in Mono’s stomach. They find the shore. They cross the water. Above their heads, The Pale City bends towards Mono’s (wishful) final resting place.

He wonders if Six remembers anything. It closes his throat again. His limbs turn to stone, his heartbeat slow in his own ears. The paper of his bag is sometimes hard to breathe through.

Let’s go.

Mono wants to tell Six he can’t move. He’s grown roots, and they want to pull him down into the water, seeking to drown him.

She holds out her hand. Her eyes are bright pinpricks behind her shaggy hair. They are the last sight Mono ever sees (always).

Mono takes her hand.

He tries to lead them around the school this time; if Mono never lets anything happen to Six, if she’s never taken from his side, she won’t have a reason to doubt him, will she?

But the only way out is through. And even then, they don’t always survive.

Mono feels The Teacher’s jaws close around him, crushing his ribs, compacting his spine. Six’s head bounces sickeningly off of the wood floor as The Bullies surround her, laughing. Before his eyes pop out of his skull, they lock with Six’s; she bares her teeth and fights against grasping hands harder than before. Her fingers scratch and claw at the air, reaching for him. Weak and dying, Mono is helpless to do anything but reach back with broken bones and missing nails.

Static floods him again.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

He can’t keep her safe. The Doctor kills them. The Patients kill them. The Viewers kill them. She can’t keep him safe. He wonders if she really wants to. He knows he wouldn’t, if he were in her place.

Next time The Thin Man reaches for them and they run, Mono pushes her in front of himself. They turn the corner, hustle down the hallway, skid into the child’s bedroom. Her yellow coattails whip against her knees as she runs. The bag slips low over his eyes.

Mono shoves her under the bed; there’s no time to wince at the resounding thud of her body making contact with the bedframe, no time for apologies. The Thin Man (always) comes through the doorway, the air warping and shifting around him. Mono is out of time.

Six makes a muffled sound of protest as he turns and faces the monster. He’s already dying; the static is converging, the light blinding his eyes (so soon). It tells him there is no use to his actions, that the loops will continue and continue and continue. The paradox remains unbroken. It sets his teeth on edge.

Mono charges, fists swinging.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

He wonders from time to time if Six can remember anything from the other loops. Sometimes she looks at Mono strangely when she catches his hand after a long jump. This time, after he died to The Thin Man for the first loop in a very long time, after he sacrificed himself for her, Six acts very strange.

Strange for Six, anyway.

She doesn’t let Mono go first when they reach the school, or the hospital. She crawls after him through vents and windows instead of waiting for him to come back.

It gets worrying when they switch places when The Bullies come. Mono is overwhelmed, struggling and kicking much more ineffectually than Six ever does, before he is dragged away. Six shouts wordlessly from inside the locker, banging her fists against the metal; he sees her shift underneath, her bright gaze locking on him before his bag twists and he can’t see anything but paper. He doesn’t have the heart to scream.

She takes longer to find him than Mono usually does to find her; but then, her hands are bloodied and scraped when she does come to untie him from the trap The Bullies (always) set up. Mono doesn’t think she ever uses tools to kill.

They forge ever onwards.

The Patients, for however much larger they all are than Mono and Six, fall beneath her will like dominos. She snarls when The Doctor crawls into the furnace after Mono, holds her hand out and pulls him from the ashes when he clambers out. Six is the one to pull the switch. She doesn’t take the time to warm her hands on the fire. Her fingers are slick and wet and red when they entwine with his.

They huddle close at night like they always have, but now Six pushes her shoulder up against his instead of shying away from touch. Her coat and his are damp, but she radiates more heat than Mono usually does. The drone of distant televisions lulls them both to sleep, and, in the morning, she is the first to stand. She offers Mono her hand.

He’s not sure what has changed. Mono takes it.

He slips on loose roofing shingles hours later and breaks his neck in the fall. Six screams after him the entire way down.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

He does everything right this time. He shatters every television screen, fights every monster, flips every switch. Beside him, Six shifts on her feet as if she’s uncomfortable. Mono goes through The Pale City mechanically, clinically, silently. She takes his hand every time he’s still. His fingers are limp in hers now.

Stop. She tells him one night, holed up in a dirty old apartment. Mono’d had to run back and forth for hours, switching screens on and off, before The Viewer inside fell out the open kitchen window. His muscles scream but his mind has set to faint, animal whimpers. He feels like death, but then, death is an old friend. Six shakes his hand in hers, jerking his arm and shoulder until Mono looks at her. Her eyes are dark and bright at the same time, wide and unblinking. He thinks she may have blood smeared across her mouth, but it’s too dark in here to tell. Stop. Rest.

Mono shakes his head. He has tried to stop. Nothing changes. Six huffs and Mono almost smiles in response; her temper is always so close to the surface. Impatiently, Six pulls at his hands and pushes at his shoulders until she has situated Mono on the dilapidated old couch. She stands in front of him, arranging his legs on the cushions and his hands in his lap, and does not acknowledge the broken glass spread out under her feet. The television behind her is a dark, useless void. Six nods and flaps her hands at Mono when she’s finished. Stop, she tells him. Rest.

They get up early the next morning and continue on. Mono doesn’t think Six really needs to sleep. She is always awake before him in the morning and stays up much later into the night. She takes his hand as they claw their way slowly through The Pale City. She tests their footing every so often, and Mono wonders, wonders, wonders.

They find a rooftop garden this time. Six’s head jerks towards him as Mono gasps under his breath. She keeps her distance as he jumps into the plants, rooting through the dirt. The fronds and leaves are rough and discolored, but they almost pulse against Mono’s fingers, filled with life like nothing else in this place is. Again, he chokes on emotions he doesn’t want to examine. Six tilts her head curiously when Mono returns to her and holds up a small, dingy, old pot. The sprout nestled in the soil inside is very young, and very, very fragile.

I like plants. He tells her. Out of the corner of his eye, Six starts. He guesses it’s because she’s not used to him communicating with her. He forgets his words so much these days. It’s just easier to keep them bottled up inside. They won’t change anything anyway.

When he goes to set the potted plant down again, though, Six stops him. Carry it with us for a while. Just a little while.

He does. It almost helps.

The Thin Man comes for Six (always). He reaches through the screen, grasping at air and swiping across the dirty floorboards as she falls back in alarm. This time, though, Mono hurls himself towards her rather than running away. He can’t take this, can’t take her being tortured and warped and broken and him finding her and hurting them both even more and Six (always, always, always) dropping him in the end. The Thin Man’s hands crush the breath from his lungs, toppling Mono’s mask from his head as he pulls Mono back through the screen. Before the static fills him again, Mono sees two tiny fists slam against the glass, and smiles without quite knowing why.

Static fizzes as Mono catapults through the television screen. Glass tinkles like so many bells as he lands on dewy grass. The smell of mulch and decay clogs his throat, but the boy sits up, adjusts his paper bag over his eyes, and stands. His coat will be wet for hours.

Mono sets off towards his fate.

Six is waiting for him when he bursts through her door this time. Her music box is silent. She steps up to him and holds out her hand. Mono takes it.

This time, I'll catch you, Six tells Mono. I’ll catch you.

And she does.

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fluffyfranny · 3 years

Text

So hey! Might as well start posting!

Starting off with an oldie in my past writing archives when I was at my peak in the Markiplier fandom. Still love his content dearly, but I don’t think I’ll write for his egos anytime soon.

Posting this with a lil motivation from @yaysof11037 who has become such a great mutual earlier on this week! (If ya haven’t checked out their works you totally should btw). In return for the lovely angst they provided for me, angst is what you shall receive in turn >:3

Hope y’all enjoy this piece I conjured WAY back in April :0

TW for descriptive gore, past and present character death and overall angst in general under the cut >:3

~Gone Too Soon~

Paranoia.

That was one of the primary emotions Eric felt all the time. The poor boy had been through a lot. He had lost a majority of his family, including his mother and the rest of his brothers, in a tragic accident, and he considered himself an “omen” of bad luck, of sorts, since things seemed to die around him.

Unfortunately, that was about to come true, once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all started one brisk night, when Eric was having trouble sleeping for what seemed like the fifth time this week. He tossed and turned underneath the sheets, clutching his worn-down, yellow handkerchief with an iron grip in one of his fists. This lasted for about an hour.

The primary cause for this state of unrest, however, was not only his ever present state of anxiousness, but the fact that a nightmare unlike any he had ever dreamt was roiling through his mind.

He had dreamt that the rest of the Ipliers currently living in the manor, including his father, had mysteriously disappeared. Eric had been wandering the halls, calling out for them, his cries becoming squeaky as tears threatened to spill over...

Before he found his family and the states that they were in...

But then, he shot bolt upright in his bed. His breaths were rapid and his forehead was layered with a fine sheen of nervous sweat. He pinched his hand to make sure that it was all a dream, and fortunately, it was.

Eric tried to stabilize his breathing then and there, attempting to calm down. “It w-was all j-just a bad d-dream,” he kept repeating to himself. “None of t-that was r-real.”

With a sharp exhale of air, he dragged himself out of bed and left his room. He figured a walk around the vast, ever-expanding halls of the manor would calm his nerves, along with a glass of water.

The weight of his prosthetics made the stairs creak, but the other Ipliers knew better than to interrogate whoever was making such a ruckus. When they heard the familiar metallic clunk against the steps, they knew it was Eric, and they either left him be or awoke to provide him assistance, if needed.

As he made his way down the stairs and into one of the bigger hallways, he sensed that something was off. The air felt thicker, as if some invisible force was adding weight to the environment without anything actually being there.

In addition, he thought he caught a whiff of something along the lines of smoke. He shivered slightly at all of this, but shook his head in denial, brushing these factors off as remaining slivers of his nightmare that still plagued his mind.

Eric was just about to step foot into the living room when one of his prosthetic legs slipped in something wet, nearly sending him careening to the tile floor. Fortunately, he grabbed onto the railing on the side of the wall with a less than elusive yelp to stabilize himself.

He caught his breath and, with fear laced in his vision, glanced down slowly towards the ground. He nearly started having another panic attack when he saw a smear of red coat the tile and flow around the bend. The red coloration was so deep, it nearly appeared black as ink.

With even shakier steps, Eric clambered around the corner to locate the source of the stain…

Only to be met with the pale, lifeless stare of his father, lying in a pool of his own blood.

This time, Eric’s screech could be heard across the entirety of the mansion, had it been any louder. He immediately knelt down and began inspecting Derek’s clothes with quivering hands. His red, white and blue polo shirt was now dyed with an even darker crimson due to the blood seeping out of a massive hole in his chest.

“D-dad?” Eric whimpered, his handkerchief slightly speckled with Derek’s blood after placing it next to him. “W-what h-happened? Pl-please get up!”

He began shaking his parent’s shoulders rather forcefully, causing his head to loll to the side rather limply, then softly thumping back down onto the floor once Eric had ceased his actions.

Before he could let loose a scream of his own, several more heart-stopping yells proceeded to echo throughout the living room and the halls surrounding it, followed by the crashing of bodies. Eric’s head snapped up and glanced in all directions to locate who was screaming. However, despite the noises sounding like they were coming from right around him, there was nobody else with him. Aside from his father.

Then, that’s when he heard them.

“Why, hello there, Eric.”

His head whipped to his left to meet the gaze of a man talked about throughout the household, but none too kindly. Said man stood before him in a red tailcoat and black dress pants, both of which had gashes torn in them, and from these gashes seeped both red and black. Various other cuts also covered his bare hands and face. The red was definitely blood, Eric assumed, but why was this man bleeding black as well?

Either way, it didn’t matter as the man strode in Eric’s direction and placed the blunt end of the cane he clutched on the area where his heart would be before giving the area a gentle tap and stepping back again, smiling wickedly all the while.

“Wh-what have y-you done with m-my friends?” Eric stammered, trying to lace some confidence into his voice. “M-Mark?”

“Oh, poor, sweet Eric,” Mark tutted, shaking his head and scattering loose flecks of blood and pitch-black ichor. “I’ve been waiting a while now to exact my revenge against your...family here.”

“R-r-revenge?” Eric questioned with wide eyes and a more noticeable quiver in his voice. “B-but the others a-are so sweet t-to me. They’d n-never do-”

“Oh, but my friend,” Mark interrupted with a wave of his hand. “You’ve just missed out on all the horrendous things they have done to others. Even to me.”

“T-that’s a l-lie!” Eric tried to shout. “They’d never d-do anything b-bad to others! You’re just t-trying to c-convince me o-otherwise!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mark began to raise his voice, inky-black ichor seeping out of the corners of his mouth. “You’re just too naive to see it! The others are evil…”

“No, t-that’s y-you!” Eric finally found the courage to retort back semi-confidently. “Y-you’re the e-evil one!”

At this, Mark’s eyes widened, and he turned his head slowly towards him, a pissed look in his eyes and on his face. He snarled, his lips quirking up to bare his teeth back at the boy.

“You insufferable brat!” Mark said, ever angrier. “Just for all that you’ve said and done, I’ll show you what has been made of your “family” and be on my way.”

Before Mark disappeared in an explosion of smoky black mist, he gave Eric one final glare and remark:

“Don’t be surprised if you end up being next.”

And with that, he was gone.

However, once he vanished, the air around the room began to shimmer before the environment revealed a truly horrendous sight from behind Mark’s illusion.

Blood and gore everywhere.

Eric felt like he was going to be sick at the sight of his friends plastered around the house, laying in their own life essence. He hesitantly gazed around and, one by one, took note of what happened to each of them.

First, he spotted Wilford in the kitchen, draped over the countertop with the broken end of a wine bottle stuck in his head, the jagged ring of glass biting into his scalp and sticking there, all the while drawing blood that flowed off of Wil’s head like tiny rivers.

Then, he saw Bim hanging from a taxidermy deer skull in the living room, the antlers emerging from above his eye sockets to make it look like he had sprouted the appendages.

As Eric shook his head in both fear and denial, he practically bolted out of the conjoining rooms and down the hall he came from. There, he saw both Google and Bing’s dismembered parts scattered across the floor, with a few limbs laying on the stairwell and a head posted atop it. Whoever’s head it was was barely recognizable, for the artificial skin was peeled away to reveal the mechanical insides.

Eric, surprisingly, only started to cry harder now, tears rapidly streaming down his cheeks as he realized that this was not just a dream.

It was a nightmare come true.

He then came across Dr Iplier, whose corpse was laying halfway inside a closet and covered with crudely stitched gashes that still leaked blood, which, to Eric’s horror, was a mixture of the red and black that Mark was coated in.

As he rounded the corner, avoiding going upstairs again, he nearly tripped over Host, whose blindfold was ripped clean off to expose his empty, bloody eye sockets. In addition, he was also missing the skin on one side of his jaw, exposing the teeth and bone beneath to give him a zombified look.

This drew a gag from Eric at the sight of Host’s mangled face, and he quickly fled deeper down the hall.

At this point, he had exhausted himself, so he simply let his back hit the wall and slide down to the floor, where he held his head between his knees. He then began to let loose gut-wrenching sobs that would make anyone else cry, as well.

He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and began to fidget with it, nearly tearing it in half with the force he was using on it.

Just as he was about to fling the cloth away, he felt the air around him drop in temperature, which caused him to look up. There stood Dark, his hair disheveled as if he were running his fingers through it all day. His jacket and shirt were both wrinkled, and his tie was missing.

At the sight of Eric curled up in a sobbing mess, Dark got on both knees in front of him and patted one of his own. He looked up to see the pale man smiling at him sadly.

“I’m terribly sorry, Eric,” Dark spoke at a low volume. “We couldn’t save them.”

Eric choked out another sob as he gazed up at Dark with watery eyes. “Th-they’re all dead! Even m-my d-dad is g-gone. My whole f-family is g-gone!”

He put his head between his legs again so Dark wouldn’t see him cry anymore. He felt a heavy hand rest atop his head and ruffle his hair, a seemingly kind gesture amidst these depressing times.

“Look here, Eric,” Dark said as he gently pressed a fingertip underneath Eric’s chin and raising his head to look back at him. “You still have me. We can be our own little family.”

“B-but what if M-Mark comes back f-for you?” Eric whined. “Th-then I’ll b-be all a-alone!”

“Trust me as you have in the past,” Dark drawled out, moving the hand away from his chin and dropping it back to his side. “He won’t be back.”

“P-promise?” Eric questioned, voice shaking harder than it ever had.

Dark merely responded with a nod and one word:

“Promise.”

Before he could get up and take Eric away with him, he let out a grunt and got back on his knees. Eric could only stare in horror as a spot on Dark’s dress shirt became soaked in black. The spot only grew bigger, as if he were hit with a bullet, and the blood was spreading further out.

Dark gently prodded at the fresh hoel in his gut before looking back up at Eric and uttering two words that would be the last he’d ever hear.

“I’m sorry.”

After uttering those final words, Dark collapsed right into Eric’s lap, his head landing in his cupped hands. He let out a shocked gasp and lifted Dark’s head up to look into his eyes and wave his hand in front of them.

“Oh...oh n-no, D-Dark, please d-don’t!” He began to babble uncontrollably, tears falling faster than ever, with a few landing onto Dark’s cheeks to make it seem as if he were crying. They ran down his face, which seemed to be getting paler by the second, even though it seemed impossible for him to pale any further.

“P-please don’t l-leave me,” Eric sobbed, cradling Dark’s head as he felt his blood soak into his own polo shirt, staining it black. “N-not alone in th-this place.”

Dark could only let out a faint wheeze that sounded like a chuckle before he took one final deep breath and let it out. His obsidian eyes seemed to dim as this last breath fled from between his lips.

Eric gasped as he heard this and, not wanting to lose the last friend he had left, clutched onto Dark’s body and held him close, his head lolling over and landing limply onto Eric’s shoulder.

He sat there, clinging to Dark’s body amidst the massacre of his family that had taken place just mere moments ago, and cried for hours on end.

This was truly a nightmare that Eric would never wake up from.

#markiplier fandom #markiplier egos #eric ericson #darkiplier #actor mark #wilford warfstache #bim trimmer #googleplier #bingiplier #dr iplier #markiplier the host

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be-the-spark-flyboy · 3 years

Text

Strange(r) Encounter

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x GN!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drunk!reader, brief mentions of past violence and minor character death

A/n: Request by @itspdameronthings way too long ago but I accidentally deleted my first draft :( and was too depressed to write it all over again until now :)

Word count: 1.6k ish

---

Santi woke up with the sun on his face, filtering in from the bare windows. He rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling. The apartment was decent, near enough to the security consultant agency he got a job at that he could just walk if he wanted to.

For the first time in his life, Santi had time to sleep in. There was no drill sergeant to bust his ass for being late, there was no life and death situation that needed his leadership, no missions to consume every second and every thought of his life.

There was still so much he wanted to do, so many people he wanted to help. Yet, between the royal fuck up of the Lorea mission, getting one of his teammates killed and the condition of his knees worsening, Santi finally took the advise of everyone who ever cared for him and finally settled down.

Suddenly, he had nothing but time.

Santi closed his eyes against the light of day progressively getting brighter, mentally running through the list of tasks he needed to get done by the end of the day.

Breakfast with the boys, then pick out furniture for his new apartment, maybe paint if he felt like it. Watch the game. Santi sighed heavily, rolling off the mattress onto the cold tile floor. Oh, and get a bed frame.

---

Pope was locking up the front door when he heard the thunk of keys falling and a voice loudly mutter a curse. He turned towards the sound to see you heavily leaning against a door, coat half slung on your shoulder, the other half dragging on the floor. Santi watched as you clumsily bent down to pick up your keys, promptly dropping it once again while trying to slot it into the keyhole. You glared at a set of keys laying on the floor as if it had insulted your entire lineage. Santi couldn’t help the amusement rising in his chest at his clearly drunk neighbour.

“Hey,” He interrupted your staredown with the keys, as if you were willing them to spontaneously jump into your hands. “You need any help there?” You jumped, as if you hadn't realised that you weren't alone.

“Nah, I got it,” you dismissed waving a hand and moved to pick up the keys again, but a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea made you back up and lean heavily on the door once more. “I don’t got it,” you whispered in defeat. “Shit, I think I’m still drunk,”

“Great party, huh?”

“Amaaazing,” your head thumped against the door where you tipped it back.

“Let me help,” in a few quick strides, Santi swiped the keys from the floor handing it to you. You awkwardly pat his chest.

“Thanks man,” Santi hesitated to walk away from you since the possibility of you tripping over your own two feet and smashing your skull on the floor was very real. Pushing yourself away from the door on your unsteady feet, you tried the door for the third time, whispering a little yay when you finally opened it.

Santi couldn’t help but shake his head in at your antics, but just as he started to leave, you gasped loudly, “You’re my new neighbour!” you exclaimed, giving him a two-finger salute as you started backing away into your own apartment.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” You exclaimed in your drunk enthusiasm. “Hope you enjoy y-” before Santi could even process what had happened, you were on the ground, groaning in pain. He quickly darted forward in mild panic.

“You okay?” He asked, checking you over. Thankfully you didn’t seem to have hit your head.

“Who left a shoe over there?” you groaned unironically, making no move to get up from the ground.

“No clue. You really should get up though,”

“Floor good. I’m just gonna take a little nap, don't mind me,” you smiled sleepily, much to santi’s dismay. He heaved a heavy sigh, looking skyward as if asking the gods why me?

“Alright, let's get you inside,” he slowly coaxed you up into a sitting position before managing to pull you up onto your feet. Your place was an absolute mess, riddled with the telltale signs of a workaholic. Santi would know. Empty mugs and paper were lying on every surface, the waste paper bin overflowing. Laptop was balanced atop a stack of books on the coffee table.

You released a content sigh when Santi finally lowered you onto the plush cushions of the sofa. Carefully navigating around your belongings, he made a trip to your kitchen, fetching a glass of water. Santi debated finding you some painkillers but decided it would be a bad idea to go rifling around into a stranger’s belonging. The water would have to do.

---

It was midday when you finally woke up to a hangover so bad, the first thing you had to do was sprint over to the bathroom in your delirious state and throw up. It felt like someone took a sledgehammer to your head the previous day but you made it back to the couch safely, on all fours. After shooting a quick text to your friends that you were still alive, you flopped onto the couch, rethinking all your important life decisions that led you to this moment.

Last night was well deserved, after working your ass off for an article, you wanted to celebrate. But maybe, you went a little too hard with it. You laid there on the couch, mouth dry as sandpaper, contemplating ways to get to the kitchen without throwing up another time. You tossed your phone onto the coffee table unintentionally knocking into a glass. Despite your lethargic movements, your hand whipped out just in time to catch it before it tipped over the side, a little bit of the water sloshing over the edge. Weird. You didn't remember leaving it there.

The memory of that morning came back to you all at once and you groaned into your empty apartment in embarrassment. Your new neighbor was fuzzy in your memory, but you remembered exactly how you thoroughly humiliated yourself in front of him. Oh what a great first impression that was. Nonetheless, you were really thankful for the water he left you. Quickly you drain it, laying back on the couch for another nap. The world could wait.

---

The sun had set when Santi got back home. Apart from the drunk neighbor incident, his day went by uneventfully. At least the boys had thought his recount was funny. The thought of you brought a smile to his face. Santi contemplated going over to check up on you, see if you needed help with anything. Would that be overstepping? Sure he was just being a concerned neighbor. Plus, amidst all the excitement of your unconventional meet-the-neighbor session, he didn’t manage to get your name.

Santi glanced around his apartment, at the bare, lifeless walls and boxes of unpacked shit lying everywhere. And thought he could put off unpacking for another few minutes.

He could spare a moment to go say hi.

---

When the doorbell rang, you almost didn't open it. Fearing it would be one of your neighbors coming to complain about some drunk shit you didn't remember doing. The sound aggravated your already throbbing headache. Then you decided, fuck it, you gotta deal with it sometime. Might as well get it over with.

So, needless to say, you were taken off guard when you were met with a handsome stranger instead of your nosey neighbour Carol. Like, a really handsome older man in a pair of jeans and t-shirt.

“Hey, I just moved in next door-” Panic hit you like a fucking bus, heat rising in your face. The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush abruptly cutting the familiar stranger off.

“I’m so sorry about this morning, I swear I don’t do that often. You really won’t have to deal with that again,” an amused smile played at the corners of his lips at your sudden word vomit and you had to stop yourself from visibly cringing at yourself.

“It’s okay, don't worry about,” his smile slipped into something warmer, more inviting. “Just wanted to see if you were fine,”

“Fine is a bit of a stretch, but I’ll live,” you shrugged and to that, your neighbor, a bloody handsome one mind you, smiled widely. With his head full of curly salt and pepper hair. You weren't seeing stars, no way. Of all the people who could’ve made a fool of yourself in front of, it just had to be your sexy, distinguished looking neighbor. Hey, at least it can't get worse than that right.

“I’m Santiago, by the way. My friends call me Santi,” distantly, you wondered if you could get away with calling him Santi too. “Or Pope,” that made you squint your eyes at him. Then you opened your mouth, letting it run ahead of your brain, and stupidly asked him one last question that was going to make you want to hit yourself in the face with a flip flop whenever you thought of it.

“How do you get ‘Pope’ from Santiago?"

—-

#santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #triple frontier fanfic #requests

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tentendeservedbetter · 3 years

Text

home is where my team is - Chapter 6

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Read also here: AO3 | FFNET

The moment he entered the street his home laid in, in an area that is considered to be Konoha’s “Inuzuka neighbourhood”, the smell of spices and fresh meat took over the other scents around him, almost making him salivate slightly as he pulled open the front gate. It was early evening - almost time for dinner, he assumed, and man, was he starving.

Kiba nearly tripped over his own feet as he rushed through the front door and sat on the ledge of the entryway of his home, unzipping the back of his sandals and kicking off his shoes. He was about to leave his sandals in their spot, one having flipped over and laying on its side, however, the memories his mom scolding him harshly from the last time he left his shoes in the entryway, and today was the day he did not want hear any type of scolding from Tsume.

Before Kiba could give a command, Akamaru bounced up from the ledge leading into the house, barking and bouncing through the hallway into the living room.

“Chicken! Chicken!” Akamaru barks echoed through the hallways.

"Hey, Akamaru! Sit! Sit!!" A voice came from within, making Kiba jump up from the ledge and briskly walk towards the doorway.

He found Hana standing in the kitchen, near the counter with chicken legs lined up on a glass platter, hands covered in plastic gloves in the air away from her, extending the leg that Akamaru had decided to attach himself onto away from the counter. Akamaru almost immediately backed off of Hana when Kiba stepped into the space, sitting down, but he never left Hana’s side.

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to be back home this early,” Hana commented, looking up to Kiba. She tilted her head to the side, the side of her mouth lifting into a grin, an eyebrow raised. “So? Pass or fail?”

“You knew?” Kiba asked, his eyebrows pulling in automatically at her question, a realization dawning on him. “Why didn’t you tell me that I would have to take another test to become a Genin!”

“You sign a NDA along with your contract to ensure that you don’t tell Academy students about the test,” Hana answered with a slight shrug, taking off the plastic gloves, quickly turning on the sink and running her hands with soap.

Kiba desperately wanted to ask, “What the hell is a NDA?”, but Hana chuckled a bit, continuing, “I’m kidding, it’s not that serious. But they do tell us not to mention it to upcoming Academy graduates, just in case. Even the ones who failed can’t mention it either. So? Did you fail?”

Kiba quickly shoved his hand into his hoodie pocket, pulling out the headband he took off on the way back home, the mixture of sweat and dirt from all those hours running around, fighting Kurenai, and rolling across the ground making the fabric stick to his forehead in a way that even he found to be uncomfortable and mildly gross. The smell of it...well...he didn’t want to begin to describe it. He showed her the handband in the palm of his hand, and he could see Hana’s face brighten up, a big smile.

“Hey, I knew you could do it!” Hana said, walking up towards him, a hand reaching out to rub his head roughly, the strength of it making Kiba’s move around a bit too much, he swore his skull was going to snap off his neck.

“Hey! Ow! Stop it!” Kiba exclaimed, his voice cracking throughout the inflections, and Hana pulled her hand away (but not without giving him a few more ruffles). “You’re ruining my hair!”

“It’s already ruined,” Hana replied, putting a hand on her hip. “Go wash up and come back downstairs. And actually, wash up properly.”

“I’m not a kid! I know how to clean myself,” Kiba continued as Hana silently ushered him out of the kitchen, out into the hallway to the staircases leading up to the top floor.

“Do you? Do you really?” Hana asked, and Kiba squinted his eyes, throwing her his best annoyed look to get her to stop bugging him. He walked up the stairs with Akamaru a step below him, slower than he would, all the movement he did that day catching up to him and making his legs ache in a way that he never felt from anything he had to endure throughout the years at the Academy. Actual battles are different from those training spars they had to do, for sure. When they emphasized endurance and resistance training, Kiba didn't think much of it- but now, he has to come up with some new regimen to follow.

Suddenly, he heard Hana call out from the bottom of the staircase, “Wear your cleanest clothes! We’re going to have guests!”

“What!?” Kiba called back immediately, whipping his head back to look down at her, but all he saw was Hana walking away into the hallways, likely to go back to the kitchen. He yelled, louder now, “Hana! What?! What d’you mean we’re having guests?!”

“You heard me!” He heard Hana’s voice, muffled through the walls, call back, and he could hear the sound of water running again quickly before he could yell back again. He didn’t want to go back downstairs, already at the top of the staircase to begin with, and he knew Hana was going to tell him to leave her alone so she could do what she was doing in peace.

What the hell! Kiba thought as he went through the top drawer that was underneath the bathroom sink, taking out his green visor-like shower cap, after grabbing his towel from his room and throwing all his clothes in the laundry basket in the corner of his room. He nearly stomped into the bathtub, putting the visor around his forehead, around above his ears, before turning the knob maybe a bit too aggressively. He quickly set up the water temperature with the knobs, the cold water from the showerhead turning warm as the water hit his hair, traveling down over his body.

I was going to meet up with Akane after the test! Kiba furiously grabbed the nearest shampoo bottle in the tub - the only one there, a lavender scented one, just lovely, he really needs to buy his own shampoo from now on unless he wanted to smell like a flower shop - and he lathered and massaged it into his brown strands. He was careful not to let the shampoo get anywhere near his ears, he knew that it would annoy him if water got into his ears. I wanted to...oh fuck, my eyes!

He had somehow got soap in his eyes, and Kiba quickly cupped his hands to catch the water and wash his face. After that, he quickly cleaned the rest of his body, not wanting to stand in there longer than he had to.

Kiba had met up with his friends the evening before at the park near the Academy, after he met Kurenai for the first time and he had stayed behind at the tea house with Hinata and Shino. The moment they finished the tea and mochi that Kurenai had (thankfully) paid for, he ran off, not wanting to be held back with them anymore. They were more than excited about their sensei - he was so cool, Akane had swooned, with a bandana and a toothpick in his mouth without a care in the world- and they were definitely much more optimistic about their team than Kiba could have ever dreamed of being.

Hinata and Shino… he won’t lie and say that he thought of them differently before this test they had to take together. Other than what he thought of them before - one being shy and passive and the other being cold, rude, and, well, creepy- he also had thought they would be much more...stuck up.

Well, Shino was kind of stuck up, in a way, however...he did recognize Kiba’s abilities as a shinobi, entrusting him with a pretty big role in their strategy to get Kurenai’s headband. But...the way he speaks to him, with all those big words and explaining every little detail, asking him questions all uppity, like he was looking down on him when he asked a question…

Kiba knew they were from noble clans - the Hyuuga and the Aburame, two of the four other clans to help found the Village, along with the Uchiha and the Akimichi clan. And the only reason Kiba even cared to remember this is because his year had a student from these clans. Sasuke Uchiha and Choji Akimichi, specifically. The latter one, he was acquainted to as well, but he had a hard time believing that Choji came from such an esteemed clan - he always hung out with Shikamaru and asked him for his allowance to buy snacks from the convenient store near the Academy, always snacking during class, and he was not a better student than...any of them, really.

Choji was very different from the other three students. He was definitely friendlier and more outgoing. And he was actually approachable.

Hinata was definitely different from how he thought she would act. Well, yes, she was shy, and was very much a peacekeeper between himself and Shino, and was passive about what to do when they first started the test together. He expected her to be snobbish as well; between all of them, the Hyuuga, from what he remembers from seeing in passing when Hinata was accompanied by a member of the clan to school and on parent-teacher conference night, had a sense of...importance that they carried. They also smelled like, what Kiba would describe as, freaking loaded.

And he expected Hinata to react differently when he teased her - he thought she would have told him off, in a more ladylike way with less cursing obviously (imagine Hinata cursing...that would be funny), like how most of the girls in the class do whenever a guy tries to get on their nerve and make a dumb joke.

Hinata genuinely thought he was serious, and she...just looked very naive. Sheltered, if he had to go there. And she didn’t try to demean him in any way. And...she just accepted his apology, because really, he thought she wouldn’t react that taken aback, and she was just...generally very easy going.

Not saying that he felt some deep and profound connection with them after this test, no. But maybe having to smell them, getting all in their personal space, might have done something? Kiba felt his face start to heat up as he thought about how close he was to them, close to their clothes, their hair, their skin. He never had to do that before; it was his first time. Usually, he would be adjusted to people’s scent through time, and while it did take a very long time that way, it is the least intimate way to get to know someone.

Stop thinking about it, Kiba commanded himself, feeling his heart beating fast, and he turned off the water faucet, taking a deep breath. Now’s not the time...we got other shit to deal with.

“Akamaru!” Kiba opened the bathroom curtains slightly open, grabbing the towel he hung nearby and wrapped it around his chest - no, he meant his waist. He found Akamaru laying down on the mat on the floor, eyes closed as the steam from the hot water created a foggy blanket in the room.

Akamaru immediately pulled himself up on his feet to the sound of Kiba's voice, looking straight at him, barking, “Yes Master!”

“Come here,” Kiba gestured. Akamaru didn’t budge, his tail momentarily stopped moving, and he stared at Kiba, frozen in place. Kiba stared at him for a moment, waiting. But when he noticed Akamaru starting to back away towards the bathroom door, Kiba immediately stepped out of the tub, taking a few steps. Akamaru quickly turned around and started to scrape at the door, whining.

“No! Please don’t!” Akamaru whined, and Kiba swiftly picked him up, holding him with both hands.

“Would you rather Hana wash you?” Kiba replied as he quickly plugged the beige bathtub stopper in the drain, turning on the faucet and letting the water run until it was shallow enough for Akamaru to stand, but deep enough to easily throw water on him.

“Yes-!” Akamaru replied, and without any hesitation, Kiba sat on his knees and let go of Akamaru into the bathtub, where the pup let out a yelp as he landed on his feet.

“It’ll be fast, I promise!” Kiba grumbled as he held Akamaru with a hand around Akamaru’s narrow waist. “And don’t bite, or else!”

“Help! Hana, help me!” Akamaru called out.

“Stay still!”

After what felt like too long for a quick bath for a pup that size, Akamaru was sitting on his bed wrapped in a towel, while Kiba put on, as his sister said, his “cleanest clothes”. Other than what he would wear for training, he didn’t have many options - but a plain black t-shirt and brown cargo pants should be enough to please Hana. The smell of cooked chicken, along with other foods wafted through his slightly opened bedroom door.

What guests are they even going to have?

“You want me to get the hairdryer?” Kiba asked Akamaru while aggressively rubbing a towel in his hair, trying to dry it to the best of his abilities. Akamaru shook his head, and Kiba sat down beside him, patting his fur gently after Akamaru shaked his body quickly.

“Kiba!” He heard Hana’s voice call from the first floor through. “Are you done? Come down!”

“Yeah!” Kiba hollered back.

“Huh? I can’t hear you!” Hana called back.

“I SAID ‘YEAH’!” He got up on his feet, quickly making his way down the stairs, through the hallways, and…

“Well, if isn’t the man of the hour! Congrats, Kiba!”

“What the-” Kiba muttered when he saw the living space was filled with...well...members of the Inuzuka clan.

There were members of his clan sitting on the three couches surrounding the coffee table, spaced out between themselves. He saw the space in between occupied with a few dogs, all of varying fur length and colour but they were all larger, older than the other dogs in the clan, laying on their stomachs, taking a nap. The screen door was slightly open, and he could hear even more dogs, playfully barking while the sound of children yelling in glee.

Young and old...Immediate family or extended members that he does not share blood with...it didn’t matter how they were all related to each other or whether they were related at all. What mattered was that they carried the Inuzuka name, they were loyal to one another in the clan and...they were here.

To celebrate him becoming a Genin.

It was only a fraction of the clan, though - regardless, Kiba felt warm seeing them there. The one who congratulated him first, before everyone else also started to throw whoops and cheers of congratulations, was a man in the Konoha green flak jacket, around middle aged, slightly sturdier in size sitting on the corner seat of one of the couches, with tan skin and brown hair, paler with a few grey strands from age, that fell just below just above his shoulder. He wasn’t one of the most senior members of the clan, but he was getting there, though the man tends to say that he was still agile despite being in his 50s.

“Man of the hour, huh?” Kiba asked, grinning at his words as he approached the couches, and the man stood up, much taller than Kiba and wider than Kiba’s small statue. The man reached over to grab his shoulder, nearly toppling Kiba forward from the strength of his affectionate shake. “So, can I call you Gaku instead of old man?”

“Hey, hey, don’t get too comfortable,” Gaku cautioned, though he laughed while saying it, while the others around him chuckled and laughed at Kiba’s cheeky request. “You’re still a little brat!”

“He’s not so little anymore; you've gotten taller since the last time I saw you,” another man chimed in, and Kiba glanced beyond Gaku, where another middle aged man sat at the end of the couch. His hair was much shorter than Gaku’s, much more grey and split from the side, but just as choppy, not wearing his flak jacket, rather wearing a casual shirt and pants. He had similar red markings on his cheeks. “At this rate, you’ll be taller than Tosa!”

“Well, aren’t you a comedian, Isamu,” Tosa, sitting on the couch opposite from them, scoffed, his voice deeper and lower than the other two men’s. Kiba had to hold back his laugh while the others around them let out laughter at the man’s deeping frown, making the lines on his face deepen, his red marks moving down. “You should consider joining a circus.”

“I’ll do it when I retire,” Isamu replied lightheartedly. “Maybe after Hitomi finishes school, I’ll run away.”

“Please do,” a woman, probably about a few years younger than them but still with evident aging on her tan skin, who sat on the opposite end of the couch Tosa sat on, replied. She grinned, her red marks perking upwards, as she spoke, “Then maybe I will know peace, for once.”

“Well, I did tell you not to settle with him,” He heard another voice from the dining table, and he glanced over at another middle aged woman, her black hair, speckled with grey strands, tied back into a bun, her hands busy skinning an apple. Unlike the others, she didn’t have the red fangs on her cheek. A large plate sat in front of her, already with some apple slices and tangerines.

“Well someone has to be with him, Fuuko,” the woman beside Tosa replied, gesturing towards him as Isamu smiled along. “Look at him. Nobody else in the Village wanted him.”

“Haya, what have I done to deserve this kind of treatment,” Isamua pleaded to his wife, who rolled her eyes in response.

“Aunt Fuuko, you can let Kiba handle the rest,” they heard Hana calling from the kitchen, and Kiba glanced back towards the entryway, finding her holding a tray with fried rice. The smell immediately filled the air, and from the scent Kiba could tell it was fresh from the pan. Hana looked at Kiba, and held the tray out towards him, not moving to him. “Kiba, put this on the table, please.”

“C’mon Hana, it’s the boy’s special day!” Gaku replied before Kiba could even scowl back at her, his body instinctively ready to walk towards her. “Let him rest for a bit.”

“The more hands I have in the kitchen, the faster the food comes out,” Hana replied, glancing down at Kiba, looking at him expectedly. He knew supporting Gaku would not deter her - besides, even if Kiba didn’t want to do it, it wasn’t like he was doing much of the work. Hana must have been preparing all of this food for a while...and Tsume left this morning to go on a mission, and was nowhere in sight, so he could only assume she hadn’t come home yet. Besides...If Tsume comes home to find him not caring for their guest... that’s another fear he does not need.

“Alright, alright,” Kiba replied, walking out of Gaku’s grasp towards Hana. “I’m coming.”

“Good,” Hana said with a wide smile, placing the tray on his arms. “Put this on the table, and then cut the fruits that are there.”

“Sure,” Kiba drawled. “Would you like me to do anything else, my dear sister?”

“Yes,” Hana said brightly, playing along with his tone. “You can make everyone here tea.”

“Hey, Hana! Bring out the sake!” Gaku called out from his seat from the couch. “We can’t celebrate without alcohol!”

“You guys want to drink now?” Hana replied, raising an eyebrow, looking straight at him above Kiba. “You don’t want to wait for everyone else to come?”

“Everyone else?” Kiba repeated, and as if on cue, the ding dong of the doorbell rang through the air. Hana immediately stepped past Kiba, and he quickly went to the dining table, placing the tray in the middle.

“Hey, Aunt Hachi! Thank you for coming! And Mimi, I love your dress, you look so pretty,” Hana kindly greeted their clansmen under the sounds of his aunts and uncles talking in the living room as he entered the kitchen. He begrudgingly filled the kettle on the counter with water from the sink, glancing around the kitchen space. He saw the oven was on, a timer ticking away near it, a mixture of cooked meats and spices emitting from it. Kiba inhaled sharply. There was chicken...more chicken...and meatballs, maybe? The more he sniffed, the more he smelled - tones of teriyaki, miso, the lemon and paprika… he could feel his mouth salivating again, his stomach letting out a low rumble.

He needed to distract himself.

“Who wants tea?” Kiba asked, and he heard a few ‘yeah’, ‘sure’ and ‘here’.

“Let me check if Hige wants one,” Haya said from her seat, gesturing to the sliding door leading outside. “He is sitting outside with Ken and Kegawa. Hige!”

She bellowed his name as she stood up, walking to the sliding door, "Oji-san! You want some tea?”

"Depends- who's making it?" He heard a voice distantly speaking from outside, elderly in quality, low and croaky, slow and steady in the tone.

"Kiba."

"He's here?!” The voice perked up, and Kiba could hear it clearer as it approached the sliding door. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

A face peered through the sliding door, aged through years of fighting through many wars before Kiba, or even Tsume, existed on this Earth. What was left of his hair was pure white, his hairline receding to reveal the top of his scalp, shiny under the light. His tan skin was etched with lines - wrinkles and scars, Kiba knew - and his sharp eyes looked around the room, just as they were since he was an active shinobi (or so they say). The Inuzuka genes were strong, even into their old age.

Even the balding.

Kiba considered himself lucky that he probably didn’t have that gene.

“Kiba!” Hige spoke in a booming voice, nearly making Akamaru jump beside him at the sound, much louder than Gaku. “You didn’t come to say hello?”

“I didn’t know you were here, Oji-san,” Kiba replied, giving a slight bow of his head. “You know you would have been the first one I said hello to.”

To this, Hige let out a loud laugh that Kiba swore made the room rumble a bit, grabbing the attention of even the elderly dogs in the room, as he said just as loudly, “You’re just like Tsume!”

“Hey, Oji-san!” Gaku called out. “Quiet down a bit, you’re yelling again! And don’t laugh so loud, you’re gonna raise your blood pressure!”

“What?” Hige replied, glancing around the room for moment. He lifted up a hand behind his ear, and yelled, “Did someone say something?”

“I SAID QUIET DOWN, YOU’RE YELLING AGAIN!” Gaku hollered back, making Isamu cringe beside him, covering his ears with both hands.

“Take your own advice!” Isamu pointed out, before another layer of loud discussion occurred.

"Kiba-niisan's here?!"

A different voice hollered from outside, a lighter voice.

Ken’s here?! Kiba thought, nearly straining his neck from whipping his head towards the door. A small head peered behind Hige, short tufts of brown hair poking in every direction, a boy that was a few years younger than Kiba. The moment the boy’s piercing brown eyes met Kiba’s, his face broke into a big, wide smile, puffing up his markless cheeks and he started to run towards the kitchen, every step light and fast.

“Ken!” Hige exclaimed as the boy ran past him, an order for him to stop running, but he didn’t listen to a word the old man said.

“Kiba-niisan! Kiba-niisan!!” The boy exclaimed as he ran into the kitchen. “Mom said you’re a real ninja now!”

“Yes I am,” Kiba replied, keeping his voice as even as he could. He could never try to make his voice all soft towards kids younger than him- his voice did not allow for that.

“Where’s your headband? Can I see it?” Ken continued to probe, stepping around to look up at Kiba, hovering.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Kiba said, going into his pocket and fishing out his headband. The light of the kitchen caught the metal, giving it a gleam as Ken got on his tiptoes to peer at it with wide eyes.

“Whoaaaa,” Ken gasped as he blinked a few times. “Can I wear it?”

“No, you have to graduate from the Academy before you even think about wearing it,” Kiba said, quickly stuffing back in his pocket before Ken’s little hands could even go near it.

“Why is it blue?” Ken asked quickly, walking around Kiba to look up to him.

“I don’t know. You should ask your old man - he was around when they started making these things,” Kiba replied swiftly.

“I’ve seen headbands that are black, and, and, red, and-” Ken started to rattle off about headbands he’s seen, continuing to hover around Kiba. Kiba could feel his tolerance slowly grating away as he reached up to get a bunch of mugs, laying them out as he poured the boiling hot water into a teapot, the tea bag steeping the water a deep amber.

Hana told him that it was out of admiration, that he should be flattered that Ken looked up to Kiba since Kiba was the only male cousin he had, everyone else in the family being around Hana's age and older. Which, when Kiba thinks about it, yeah he did find it flattering, stroking his ego a bit as well. But that didn't stop Ken's constantly following him around like a tail annoying.

He had Akamaru for that.

“Ken!” another child’s voice, smaller and quieter than Ken’s voice, came from further away. Kiba glanced up to see another child, even younger than Ken, with a similar spiky brown hair that is apparently a common trait amongst the Inuzukas. “Where are you?”

“Kega! I’m in the kitchen,” Ken called out to the child, peering around through the open kitchen doorway. “With Kiba-niisan!”

Please, no more, Kiba looked up, the child’s feet pit-pat across the floor, the legs of his blue overalls snagging along behind.

“Kiba!” the small child exclaimed with a big smile, and he waddled over to where he stood, besides Ken, a good few inches smaller than the boy.

“Hello, Kegawa,” Kiba forced out, making his voice a bit less gruff for the kids, but dammit, his voice wasn’t built to be soft! Now, it’s not that he hates kids, and between the two brothers, Kiba really liked Kegawa because, well...he doesn’t talk as much as Ken, and was much more reserved, a stark contrast.

“Kiba-niisan! Come play with us,” Kegawa asked in a soft tone.

“Yeah!” Ken said in a much louder voice, suddenly tugging on Kiba’s shirt, pulling him as much as his seven year old strength could muster. “Come play with us! Come! COME!”

“Ken, my shirt!” Kiba protested, bordering on whining. Now his shirt’s gonna be stretched out! Kiba let a slight sigh as Ken let go, but the kid did not back off. “I can’t, I make food and everything. Don’t you want to eat chicken nuggets?”

“CHICKEN NUGGETS?!” Ken exclaimed, now enticed by the thought of food. Kids are so easy to distract...

“Yeah, I have to make it though,” Kiba said lightly, bending slightly with his hands on his knees. “I can make it with cheese inside and everything.”

“CHEESE?”

“Yeah, so if you and Kega play for a bit, I’ll make it and give it to you right away,” Kiba continued.

“Thank you…” Kiba could hear a tiny voice coming from the doorway into the living room. A little girl with two brown pigtails in a dress - Mimi, another cousin of theirs- came through the door, Hana right behind her.

“See, Mimi’s here too,” Kiba pointed out, and the brothers whipped their heads around at the same time towards the door. “Why don’t you ask her to play too!”

"Hey, Mimi!” Ken hollered immediately, running up towards the young girl, who stood idly as he grabbed her hand, tugging. “Finally! You’re here! C’mon, let’s go play outside!”

“Oh...okay,” Mimi said, following him closely, as Kega tailed behind her.

“Noka!” Ken called, looking at the portion of the living room where a few dogs laid around, and a black dog glanced up, looking at Ken. “Come play with us!”

“I’ll come out in a bit,” the dog, Noka, barked back lightly, returning to licking the fur on her paw. The dog wasn’t Ken’s dog, no, she was his mother’s ninken; ninkens tend not to leave their master’s side, however, when it comes to their master’s kids, on their master’s orders, they often are found to be a sort of caretaker for their child. Kiba doesn’t know how this specific dog can do it though; Noka was much older, equivalent to a human nearing their middle-age. And yet, she still manages to have the energy to keep up with both Ken and Kegawa.

Kiba let out a little sigh of relief as the three children ran across the room, slipping outside of the sliding door, leaving it slightly open as they were laughing in a childish glee. Finally, he can breathe a little more now.

A woman with red markings and a brown bob entered the living room behind Hana, interestingly wearing the flak jacket - she must've come here right after her shift. She immediately noticed Kiba through the open panel of the kitchen, and walked up to him.

Ah shit, here we go, Kiba thought as the woman affectionately pinched his cheek.

"Kiba-chan! Good job on passing!" The woman, Hachi, another aunt that was related to him somehow, or she wasn't actually related to him by blood, he doesn't remember, sang. He knew that she was Mimi’s mother, so likely she was blood-related. "I knew you could do it!"

"Thank you," Kiba managed to say, and she let go of him.

"Here's a lil’ something something," Hachi continued, and she produced a small envelope from her pocket,

"I can't accept this-" he started, actually wanting the money, but he knew he couldn't readily accept it.

Hachi immediately interrupted, pushing the envelope back to him, tatting, "Nuh uh. Keep it- buy yourself some new clothes for work or whatever you want to get."

Hachi was one of the younger aunts he had in the Inuzuka clan, though he wasn't sure how exactly they were related, she was one of the closer ones to him, he knew. She lived up to the young aunt role to anyone who called her Aunt Hachi - she was much more up to date with what was happening around the village, unlike the other aunts.

And she was the only one who gave out money as a gift when it wasn't New Year. It had helped Kiba out when he wanted to get something, but he didn't have the allowance for it or he knew Tsume would've said no.

“How many people are coming today?” Kiba asked when Hana entered the kitchen after Hachi left, who looked into the oven immediately.

"Everyone who can make it," Hana replied simply, as she took a pair of oven mitts that sat over the oven handle, putting them on as she opened the door. Immediately his senses were taken by the smell of food filling the space. He can't escape it- he could feel his mouth salivating. "That's why...you gotta give me a hand."

"What happened to Ma?" Kiba continued, waiting for the kettle to whistle while he watched Hana carefully place the large trays from within onto laid out towels on the counter.

"She should be here soon," Hana said, without much concern, her focus on the task at hand. "Tosa was out on a mission with her. He said she had to file a report with Uncle Tadao. Those things take a long while sometimes- you're gonna find out soon enough."

The doorbell rang, and Hana took off the oven mitts, heading out once again.

"Put the other trays inside the oven and set the timer to 20!" Hana said as she pointed out trays of meat on a different side of the kitchen counter.

"Please," Kiba emphasized to no one, taking the mitts and putting the trays into the oven.

It continued as such - more clans people entered the house as Hana greeted them, and Kiba was in and out of the kitchen to the dinner table, serving tea as more guests arrived and helping Hana with preparing the food. Eventually, the main courses were finished, and now Kiba simply stood by, waiting for Hana to signal that they could eat.

“Hey Ashi!” He heard his sister’s voice grow much chipper. “You decided to come! And who’s this little baby?”

"A baby?!" Akamaru barked beside Kiba, and started to bound excitedly away from Kiba towards the front.

“Hey, Akamaru!” Kiba replied, quickly following him, trying to catch him.

“Aw, what a cutie! Is this Kiba’s ninken? Sit!” A voice exclaimed delightfully, while Akamaru gave a cute ‘arf’ in response. Kiba peered around the corner, a young woman kneeling to the ground, as she petted Akamaru’s head, who had a tongue sticking out, panting. She continued, "Sorry, Ashimaru wasn’t feeling well!"

Kiba saw the young woman with long, dark brown hair and light brown skin, shorter than Hana in height, taking off her shoes. An equally young man stood beside her holding an infant in his arms, a bit paler than she was, and definitely taller than her, with ashy grey hair did the same. The woman had the red Inuzuka marks on her cheeks; the man, on the other hand, did not.

“Kiba!” the young woman exclaimed upon noticing Kiba, looking past Hana at him, and immediately entered the house. “Congratulations on becoming a Genin!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Kiba replied with a grin as he approached her, expecting her to give him a pat on the head, but rather, she reached over to pinch his cheek like a child. Because of course she would- every single one of them does this with him. “H-Hey! Ashi, leggo!”

“You might be considered a man now, but you’re still my little brother!” Ashi replied happily, letting go. “Aw, Hana, how’re they gonna let him go out on the field when he looks like this, huh?”

“Please, I’m not a kid anymore!” Kiba mumbled, rubbing the cheek she pulled, stinging. At this rate, he was getting worried about the state of his cheek at the end of the night.

Ashi was his cousin, not an immediate cousin, but she was one of Tsume’s nieces...from the many that she called a niece.

Growing up, Hana and her were close friends, always hanging out together. She treated Kiba nearly identical to how Hana would treat him, teasing him and treating him like an annoying little kid, but was much more obnoxious with it, unlike Hana who Kiba thought was at least, less loud and brash. It wasn’t until she started dating her now husband, that he hadn't seen her around the house. They got married two years ago, and immediately had, well...what her husband was holding in arms.

The baby looked blankly at Kiba, big round eyes staring as they watched him carefully, tiny fingers holding on to her father’s shirt, tufts of deep brown hair in pigtails with a bow on one side. Most of their limbs and body, rounded and curved, was covered in a long sleeved black dress, and some white bottoms and little socks with cute dog patterns around it. The baby, a girl named Akita, looked very much like an Inuzuka, despite her father having a starkly contrasting look from Ashi.

“You’ll always be that little kid,” Ashi mused, before turning around and heading back to the entryway. “Oh! And we got you something too!”

She rummaged through the basket that was under the red stroller, pulling out a purple gift bag, and held it up to him. “Here you go!”

“Ashi, you didn’t have to get him anything,” Hana replied. “He just became a Genin.”

“A Genin is still part of the force,” Ashi replied. “And Sanae thought you might need these! Your team is going to be a tracking team, right? You might want to start using these from now on.”

“How did you know?” Kiba asked as he accepted the gift, carefully peering through. Inside was a bag, sealed, with a few round purple balls inside, the size of a tennis ball. He knew immediately what it was, something that he has seen Hana and his mom packed when they were going to head out to a mission - smoke bombs. He hasn’t been able to practice with it, even at the Academy, the budget didn’t allow them to use every weapon, rather just look at it so they knew what it was.

“Everyone’s heard of the new Genin teams that passed by now,” the man, Sanae, behind them spoke up, his voice much softer than Ashi’s, and he took a step up the ledge. Everyone, Kiba assumed, was the shinobi forces. "Only three teams passed this year."

"Really?" Hana asked. "Last year, they only passed one."

“That one was an anomaly,” Ashi said. “Depending on how many teams they make, they put a limit; it’s always been typically 2-4 teams for about 8 years now? But, we are having a shortage of students becoming shinobis too, so that might be affecting our numbers.”

“They’re just not pumping out shinobis like they used to,” Hana replied with a shrug. “There were, like what, 60 students in my year? And we had about 6 teams that made it.”

“Yeah, it was something along those lines for me,” Ashi nodded, before glancing over to her husband. “What about your class?”

“Around that number as well,” Sanae agreed. “It was after the war, after all, so they really needed new shinobi. We had a lot more groups actually...about 10 teams?"

“Ah, that’s right,” Ashi sighed. “I forgot that you’re really old.”

Ashi quickly followed it with a loud laugh, while Sanae just smiled, not saying anything at Ashi’s joke at his expense.

Ashi continued, as they stepped inside, “I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that they have a limit with the number of students though. They should be lenient with it.”

“Nah, they’re like that so they can weed out the students that aren’t taking it seriously,” Hana added with a shrug. “Anyways, come inside, please. Kiba, please go make tea for both of them.”

“Alright,” Kiba said, refraining from groaning because, well, at least Hana said please this time. He was about to turn around, but not without bowing his head slightly. “I appreciate the gift. I’ll do my best.”

“Of course you will,” Ashi said, following behind Hana as they led them back down the hall, towards the living room. “You are Tsume’s kid after all.”

Right. He has and will always be known as Tsume’s kid...Hana’s brother… Kiba knew he had a lot more to live up to than most of his classmates had. He’s just going to have to work really hard to prove himself useful for his village.

They walked through the hallway, into the living room. The moment Sanae walked through with their child in hand, however, was when all attention from the rest of the clansmen turned towards them.

“Ashi brought the baby?” Isamu said, sitting up immediately to look over at Akita in Sanae’s arms.

“Hey, hey, where’s my hi, Uncle Isamu?” Ashi asked as she went around to the couches, leaning to give a side hug, to the people on the couches, receiving a nose kiss here and there, an unusual practice for those outside of the Inuzuka clan, but the constant norm they grew up with in the families.

“Yeah, hi,” Isamu said, distracted as Sanae brought the baby towards the center of the couches as he greeted his in-laws, letting Akita look around a bit, now looking a bit more happier at the multiple faces before her. “Sit here, Sanae.”

A demand, not a request, and Sanae looked at Isamu’s gesture towards the empty seat between himself and Gaku. Kiba could tell Sanae was thinking of something as he stared at the seat, and it took him a moment to finally respond with a hesitant smile, “A-ah, alright.”

Kiba watched from the kitchen as Sanae shuffled between the coffee table and the couch, his lean figure wedging itself between the two older men, their wide and muscular bodies taking up most of the space. He gave Akita to Isamu, who immediately swept the baby from his arms, lifting her up in the air before Sanae could protest. Akita, on the other hand, was making some happy sounds, and Isamu continued to gently lift her up and down, while cooing at her. Once Kiba finished making their tea, he placed it on the coffee table.

“Where’s your old man?” Haya asked as Ashi finally set herself down beside her after her greetings.

“He's still on a mission - he won’t be back until tomorrow,” Ashi said with a sigh.

“Already?” Haya asked, a quirk of an eyebrow. “I thought the doctor told him to take it easy with his injury.”

“Yeah, well, what can you do,” Ashi shrugged. “He sees it as a pride thing.”

“Nothing prideful about working with a busted kneecap,” Haya shook her head. Meanwhile, on the other couch, Isamu continued to play with Akita, now playing peek-a-boo while balancing her on his legs.

"Akita,” Gaku cooed from beside Sanae, quietly drinking his tea. “Come to Uncle Gaku."

"Uncle? You could be her grandpa," Tosa commented. Gaku immediately threw him a scowl.

"Don't mess it up for me- Tsume already made these kids call me old man, even when I told her not to," Gaku said while Isamu gently gave him the baby, holding the infant up in the air, before bringing her down to his face. “Who’s a cute little baby? Who’s a cute little baby? You are! You are!”

"Should've had your own, then," Haya commented, to which Isamu laughed.

"Gaku swore to never settle down," Isamu added as he leaned over towards the table, picking up the coffee mug that sat there.

"He made the right choice, then," Hachi replied from one part of the room, with a slight chuckle. "I can't imagine whoever he finds would stay for long."

"What is this slander?" Gaku scolded as he smiled towards Akita, who touched his beard curiously. Akita then reached out and tugged quickly on the tips of his beard and Gaku yelped. “OUCH!”

“H-hey, old man, you scared her!” Hana said when she saw Akita hesitate at Gaku’s yell, her face pausing momentarily as she began to frown. She quickly swooped Akita out of his hands when she let out a little cry. “Okay, okay, sh, sh, okay…”

“M-my bad,” Gaku hesitated, patting Akita on her back while she cried into Hana’s shoulder for a moment. Ashi simply let out a sigh.

“See, that's why Uncle Gaku can’t have his own, he doesn’t know how to reel in his own voice,” Ashi said, while she watched as Hana managed to calm her daughter down, taking a sip from her own tea. “He’ll just scare his own kid.”

“Sheesh…” Gaku mumbled as he took another sip from his cup, disappointed at Akita being quickly taken away from him. “I’m not even that loud- she’s just not used to loud noises, what, with Sanae-boy over here. And you managed to dial it back too, runt.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!" Ashi said deadpanned, but Gaku ignored her to reach a hand on Sanae’s shoulder.

Sanae nearly flinched at the sudden touch, his back much straighter now, and Kiba could tell that there was a rigidity to his form. Gaku then said, a bit of a smirk on his face, “How many more are you planning on having?”

“Oh we-!” Ashi started, but Gaku quickly interjected.

“Hold up, I’m asking Sanae over here,” Gaku said. “I haven’t heard the man talk in ages!”

Isamu decided to join in on badgering the young man, “That’s right! You’re not getting any younger you know! So how many are you two trying for?”

“Hm…” Sanae said, glancing over to Ashi, who watched him carefully. He then glanced around to the two men that surrounded him, expectantly waiting for him to respond. Kiba watched to see what he would say, knowing that this was their way of teasing Sanae, exclusively, and he could see his Adam's apple on his throat rise and fall as he swallowed.

It's not because he wasn't born into the Inuzuka clan, no, not at all. His Aunt Fuuko married into the clan.

It’s just because Sanae was an easier target than the other’s, with his quiet nature and his tendency to get nervous easily. Like he was at that moment.

“Maybe 3 more?” Sanae replied softly, earning a loud laugh from Gaku and Isamu. Ashi’s eyes opened slightly at his response.

“Atta boy,” Gaku laughed, smacking his back affectionately, and Kiba could see the embarrassment on Sanae’s face, the nature of the Inuzuka still making him flush, something that he was likely not comfortable with, only having married into the family 2 years ago.

“Get to it, then,” Isamu added, and they both let out a howl of laughter, while Sanae just stared into his cup, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Who the fuck-Oh shit, my bad,” Ashi started in a louder voice, before catching herself, glancing over at Kiba, alarmed.

"I already know those words," Kiba chimed in. "I'm not a kid anymore, please."

"Your mom better not catch you swearing," Ashi said quickly. She cleared her throat, continued evenly. “And besides, who's going to have more kids? Not me.”

“It’s not worth it, trust me. " Another voice, rougher and higher spoke from the entrance, drawing Kiba's attention. There stood his mother, with her green chunin vest open revealing the black shirt she wore underneath, the red swirl patch on the side. She had a square, white gauze along the side of her jaw, the lipstick she left with this morning wiped off and leaving a wine coloured stain on her lips. “Stick to a max of two kids, if you can.”

“Took you long enough, Tsume!” Gaku exclaimed as Tsume approached him, gripping her arm affectionately. “We can finally crack open the sake!”

“What, you guys didn’t give it to them, yet?” Tsume glanced over to Hana, noticing Akita in her arms and giving her a quick pat on the head. “What, do we not have any?”

“It’s not even that, we were waiting for more people to arrive,” Hana said, glancing over to Kiba. “Kiba! Can you go to the basement and pull out the cases?”

“Hana, let the boy rest, he’s been running around, serving everyone tea,” Fuuko said.

“Is that right,” Tsume said curiously, glancing over at Kiba, seeming a bit proud. “Well, you can do this last thing, and then you’re off the hook.”

“Seriously?” Kiba asked, and Tsume nodded, crossing her arms.

“Well, yeah, maybe this once,” Tsume said with a smirk. “You passed your test, and you helped Hana out. It’s fine- I’ll go get the alcohol. What do you all want?”

Tsume’s voice yelled into the room, and the clansmen yelled out their requests; sake, beers, umeshu, you name it. They likely had it in their basement, tucked away behind a closet, waiting to be opened whenever they had family over or whenever Tsume was in a good mood. The door was always locked, the key always staying in a specific place in the cupboard, and while the key was accessible, Kiba never dared to touch it.

Kiba had tried to sneak into this closet once, when Tsume was sleeping on the couch, drunk and sound asleep from what Kiba could see, and Hana was nowhere to be seen in the house. He saw the key, gleaming on the coffee table, beckoning to come and pick it up, and he put his skills to the test - he was able to get the key soundlessly, and made his way down the stairs, the closet glowing at the end of the basement. He was so close, so close to opening the door, but the click from the lock unlocking made him hear footsteps on the floor above, and in a panic, Kiba escaped through the basement window, making his way back into the living room through the backyard. He quickly put the key back in place, Tsume disappearing from the couch and, he assumed, making her way to the basement, sniffing him out, and left it back where she had left it.

Finally! Kiba held back his sigh of relief as he went towards the table. I can eat!!!

“By the way, look what I brought with me,” Tsume pointed a thumb back behind her, and there was a man, younger than Tsume with less white hair running through his black hair, the red Inuzuka marks on his cheeks, and visible eyebags on his tanned face, leaning against the door frame. “Where’s Ken and Kega? Tell ‘em daddy’s home.”

“Please, wherever they are, leave them alone,” the man sighed, his voice low and tired, as he stood back up, walking towards an empty chair that sat nearby the couches, having been moved from the dining table. Tsume laughed as she made her way to the basement to retrieve the alcohol, Kuromaru following her quickly behind. The man groaned as he took a seat, leaning back into the cushion.

“Tadao, here,” Tosa said, gesturing towards himself as he stood up from his seat beside Ashi. “Sit here.”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks,” Tadao said, but even Kiba could tell from the way he shuffled side to side, he was trying to get comfortable on the chair.

“Now,” Tosa pressed, his voice, always grave, more demanding. “After all you did to track the payload, you need more support than me.”

After a moment, Tadao used an arm - his left arm - to push off the chair, the sleeve from his other arm swinging and swaying with each step, empty. Tosa took himself towards the side where Haya sat, leaning on the arm rest.

“Where’s the wife?” Hachi asked Tadao as he sat down, and he shook his head.

“Ah, you know. The Third is always working the Intelligence Unit to the ground nowadays,” Tadao said, flicking his left hand slightly, as he stretched his neck side to side, grunting slightly. “Kimi said she’ll come by as soon as she can, don’t you worry.”

“You should really see a massage therapist,” Ashi said, shuffling to give him more room. “You know it’s covered, right?”

“I don’t need that,” Tadao said. “Just get one of my kids to stand on my back for a bit and I’ll be fine.”

“Nice exploitation of their tiny feet,” Ashi said, shaking her head.

Tsume returned with a few long, white bottles in her hand, Kuromaru carrying a case of beers by it’s handle with his mouth. “Kiba, one more thing you gotta do- fetch the cups.”

“No problem,” Kiba replied, quickly going into the kitchen, getting all the sake cups, small white cups the size of a palm, and the longer beer glasses he could carry in his hands.

This was it. As always, when it comes to drinking Tsume is the first one to start the drinks and the last one finishing all of them. With his luck, since this was a bigger than usual celebration for their clan, hopefully his mom will get piss drunk within the next hour.

Kiba caught a glimpse of the sky through the sliding door, the blue of the daylight swapped with a deep pink and purple blend. The moon and stars should start showing any moment now- and he wanted to do what he wanted to do before it got too deep into the night.

That’d be more romantic, maybe, Kiba thought mindlessly as he placed the cups on the coffee table, the Inuzukas who wanted to drink - most of them, except for Tadao - gathered around, as Tsume poured the first bottle of sake, the clear liquid filling up the cup cleanly.

“Hey, Kiba!” Gaku said, gesturing for him to come closer. Kiba obeyed, and Gaku raised his cup towards him. “Here! Drink!”

“Uh-” Kiba hesitated immediately, and from the corner of his eyes, he watched closely as Tsume and Hana turned their attention to him.

“Uncle Gaku!” Hana exclaimed. “He’s underage!”

“Ah, c’mon Hana! I’m not offering him the whole drink,” Gaku said. “The boy’s a man now! A full fledged ninja, serving the good ol’ Leaf! You had a bit too, when you graduated!”

“Yeah, champagne, not sake!” Hana replied, and Gaku glanced over to Tsume.

“Well, Tsume? You gonna stop the boy?” Tsume looked at Kiba, who quickly glanced away, not wanting to move unless he got his mother’s okay. Gods knows what her mood was like today, but Kiba wanted to play it safe without getting an earful.

“Let the pup try,” Tsume said, curiously. “He’s not gonna take more than a sip anyways.”

“Alright!” Gaku put the cup in Kiba’s hands, Kiba stumbling to keep the cup steady in his hand, the liquid sloshing out slightly. “A toast to Kiba - the newest Inuzuka to join the Leaf forces and serve the Village! From here on out, you’re no longer a boy, but a full-fledged man! Kanpai!”

“Kanpai!”

“Kanpai,” Kiba mumbled, lifting his cup up towards them as they cheered and whooped, watching as Kiba put the cup to his lip. He hesitated slightly, the smell much stronger in his nostrils, and he could make out every element in this liquid, every fermented grain of rice that went into it. He quickly pursed his lips and sipped… before quickly coughing, the liquid burning as it went down his throat into his stomach. His chest immediately felt warm, a weird warmth he hasn’t felt before, but the taste was both sweet and bitter, if that was even possible.

“Well, now we know he hasn’t been drinking,” Tsume laughed as Kiba quickly gave the drink back to Gaku, who gave his back some hard taps.

“Of course, he knows you’ll give him a run for his life,” Haya cackled after downing her drink.

“You bet I would,” Tsume stated proudly, as she picked up the same bottle again. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s drink some more!”

“Uh, Mom, you should slow down,” Hana said cautiously, and Tsume gave a wave of her hand.

“It’s time to celebrate, Hana! Come here, grab something to drink,” Tsume said, as she filled up the cups once again, while chatter took over, as it always does in an Inuzuka household.

Hana just sighed in response, and came towards the side of the living room, where at this point, Kuromaru had brought more drinks by himself. She squatted down beside him, and asked, “You got anything light?”

“No ma’am, you would have to go out and buy it yourself,” Kuromaru spoke, his lips forming the words in their human language.

“Figures,” Hana said, as she stood up. “And we don’t have any chasers...Kiba. You want to go to get me some soda.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Kiba said as he watched Hana go to the front, pulling open the closet and rummaging through the coats that hung.

“Both,” Hana said plainly. “Just get me one of those 1 litre sodas. Here.”

Hana lifted her hand, producing a paper rectangle, a 500 ryo. Kiba grimaced.

“Don’t you have a 200? It doesn’t cost that much for sodas,” Kiba replied, and Hana just smiled.

“Use the rest of the money for whatever you want,” Hana replied. She then placed both hands on her hips, giving a quirk of her eyebrow. “Don’t stay out too late, alright? And no funny business either.”

“Wha- What’s that supposed to mean?!” Kiba exclaimed, feeling sweat starting to form on the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears heating up, watching carefully as Hana passed him.

“I said what I said,” Hana said with a shrug, and gave him a slight wave of a ‘see ya’, before returning back to the living room, the noise from the chattering and yelling never diminishing despite the wall that separated the room and the hallway.

“Alright, Akamaru,” Kiba whispered, despite knowing that there was no way his mother or anyone could even hear him from the amount of noise they were making. “Let’s hurry up.”

“Master! Where are we going?” Akamaru barked as Kiba slipped into his sandals, zipping up and strapping them in. Kiba didn’t reply, grabbing a beige hoodie from inside the closet, instead opening the door, running outside, Akamaru hot on his heels.

---------------

Kiba walked briskly through the main streets of Konoha, the winter night darkening the sky immediately, the streetlights along the sides illuminating the roads in a yellow hue. The streets were still bustling with folks making their way home from a long day’s work, shinobi and civilians alike on walking along the path with coworkers, friends, and families, some on their way home from work, other on their way to work, some on their way to their shifts,

The night was cool. Or, as cool as it could be for a January in Konoha. The wind provided most of the chills, and Kiba was happy he had the forethought to grab a hoodie on the way on. There was the scent of warm foods, mostly soup based items, he noted; ramen, oden, sukiyaki, nabe… All foods that you would enjoy on a cold winter night such as this. He inhaled sharply, the coolness of the air, filling his lungs, cooling his warm body, easing his heart that was beating loudly.

He glanced down to Akamaru, trotting alongside him, admiring the stores that lined up along the street. The lights from the stores casted shadows on the road, shaped in the window panel that were there.

The stores didn’t close for a few more hours, he knew, and this gave him the opportunity to take a quick trip towards the northern part of the village, tucked away near the land where the forestry laid outside of the training ground boundaries.

His hands were stuffed into the pocket in the front of his hoodie, fiddling with the headband and wallet inside.

Should he wear the headband? Well, there were no regulations about wearing it off-duty, clearly, since his mother would come home in the middle of the night still wearing it around her arm while drunk with her colleagues. But would he seem like a douche if he did? But he worked hard to pass that test, so maybe he does deserve to wear it...but no, he didn’t want to seem like a show-off just yet.

Hmm...Should he buy something before seeing her?

Nah, that'd be too much. But, then again, if he was going to tell her...how he felt...wouldn't it be better to woo her beforehand?

Should he buy a flower or something? Chocolates? Girls like that type of stuff, right? Akane might try to say she’s different from the other girls in their class, but Kiba knew that she enjoyed those types of things. What do guys his age typically do when they confess to a girl?

Maybe he should’ve asked Hana about this? He didn’t tell anyone about him meeting up with Akane to confess...he didn’t tell Itsuki, nor Natsuo...he didn’t even tell Akamaru, and right now the pup probably thought they were just going on a little stroll around town. Hana might have provided some information about what girls like and whatever...but no, he can’t tell Hana, because he knew for a fact that when it came to matters like this, Hana would tell Tsume.

And Tsume was adamant about Kiba staying focused on being a shinobi, telling him not to waste time on stupid things that would just waste his time in the long run.

But what does Tsume know about love anyways?

He’s not the one who chased his dad away.

Nah, I don’t think she cares that much, Kiba thought as he continued to make his way up the street, the road now sloping upwards in a hill. Konoha was unique in its layout- built near a tall mount, the streets are sloped and slanted in different ways, leftovers of the land before the Village had even installed the roads and buildings they had today. It made for one hell of a trip, though, and oftentimes the villagers would have to determine a route around the village that would enable more flat roads, especially for merchants that travel into the village on a delivery.

There were no shortcuts where Kiba was heading, though. He headed to the forest that was not used for training, a forest reserved for those who work in woodwork, to the Moritaka residence, a civilian family that had a history of producing the top master carpenters for the village.

The Moritaka handled a portion of wood production for Konoha to use and export, chopping down wood, processing them into lumber, and creating structures with it. The Konoha cemetery recently had to rebuild the torii of the entrance, rainfall from previous years having rotted through into the wood, and the Moritaka were responsible, from what Akane had told him with pride.

Akane kind of had her future already made for her, kind of like how Kiba already had one as a shinobi. She didn’t have to become a shinobi, and it’s not like being a shinobi was any less hard, especially physically. At least, as a carpenter, you don’t need to use chakra either, something else that made being a shinobi incredibly exhausting. And it wasn’t like Akane would have to pick up carpentry herself- she could just handle the business aspect of their company, and Kiba knew that she preferred sitting at a desk working on numbers more than using her hands.

Doesn’t matter, though, Kiba thought as he ventured deeper down a street, away from the main streets and into a path, the streetlights much further apart from one another, leaving spots that were darker. The path started to merge into a heavily forested area, lines of trees on both sides, segmented from the path with stone. The night sky could be seen better without the yellow of the lights, and he can see the moon starting to rise, a crescent. I’m a Genin and she’s…

Kiba hoped that Akane’s team passed for more reasons than just seeing Akane at work. Itsuki, Natsuo...they were his friends too, and while he was closer to the first than the latter, he had to have something familiar around him, people that he actually liked and grew up with in the same field, to keep him grounded and...well…

Comfortable.

Kiba soon noticed the path diverging, and he took the path that led deeper, where most of the trees stood haphazardly, thicker and taller in size compared to the trees he had just passed by. The scent differed as well - there were more evergreens here, a new variety of forestry that was always further away from the village. Further down, he could see a wooden house that stood, wide and tall, a singular floor, classical and traditional in nature, minka-esque but modern. The roof, rather than being tiled, was thatched. The lights were on, lighting up the surrounding area, and the front light was on as well, the front door opened wide. As he got closer, he saw a figure coming out, their long hair swaying as they held a tiny brush with an inkpot cradled in their palm, and a scroll on the other hand along with a lantern.

Kiba stopped in his tracks, and his once steady heart started to beat frantically. He was further away from any light source, enveloped in the darkness in between, and he knew that the person couldn’t see him from where he stood. The person started to make their way to the side of the house, towards the back, deeper into the forest.

Maybe he should wait before confessing. No! He told himself that when he graduated from the Academy, he would ask her out! He can’t be a wuss and back off right now! What kind of man does that?

“Akane!”

He called out to her without putting much thought, his voice cracking in between, and now he could feel a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Gods, when will his voice stop cracking?!

Akane stopped in her tracks, turning around to look directly at Kiba. Kiba gulped, clenching his hands into fists, taking a sharp breath to calm his nerves. He walked up to Akane, and Kiba was taken aback by what he saw - Akane had square gauze taped on the side of her cheek, scratches and redness evidence along her nose and her jaws. She still wore the outfit that she had worn the other day, but Kiba could see how the edges frayed, and she was no longer wearing her sandals with the heels, but her home loafers. She didn’t look bad, but she definitely looked like she'd been in a fight; clearly, from the test they had to take in order to become Genins.

“Kiba,” Akane said, her voice a bit lower than normal, a bit more isolated and distant. She must have noticed how Kiba was staring at the gauze on her cheek, and she quickly raised a hand towards it, attempting to cover it with her hand. Akamaru gave a light bark in greeting, drawing her attention towards the small dog. “And Akamaru...What...are you guys doing here?”

“Uh,” Kiba started, returning his glance back at her eyes, clearing his throat. “Uh, well..you said you wanted to meet up, remember? After our first day…”

“Oh,” Akane said slowly, hesitantly, twirling a strand of her purple hair, before she nodded. “Yeah, I forgot about that. My bad. I got home a few hours ago and...My mom wanted me to check the warehouse for a last inventory check.”

“It’s okay,” Kiba said evenly. “You weren’t expecting it either, right? You know...the test.”

He could see Akane’s eyebrows twitching inwards when he said ‘test’, the edge of her lips pulling downwards, into a slight grimace. She stopped herself before she could frown further, instead shaking her head. “Yeah. Took us all by surprise. Did you...see the guys before coming here?”

“Nah, I couldn’t, I was stuck at home with my family,” Kiba sighed. “I wanted to come see you as soon as I can.”

To this, Akane glanced away, but her grimace never left her face. “I see…”

“Do you want me to walk you to the warehouse,” Kiba suddenly said, gesturing towards the lantern in her hand. “I can take that. You’re carrying a lot already.”

Akane stared at him for a moment, looking like she was thinking. She then let out a slight breath, and held up the lantern towards him, before continuing in a much softer tone, “Sure. Don’t hog it. I know how scared you are of the dark.”

“Pft, me? Scared? I ain’t scared of anything,” Kiba chuckled as he took the lantern. Their hands brushed against each other. “Akamaru can protect us, isn’t that right, boy?”

“Yessir! Just leave it to me,” Akamaru barked, as he bounced his way in front of them, ready to walk once they started. Kiba glanced over at Akane, who now had a small smile on her face as she watched Akamaru.

They walked the rest of the way to the warehouse in silence, neither of them starting the conversation. Kiba was too preoccupied about what to say next...when should he confess? Now or later? Should he ask her about her day? Or maybe he should ask about the test...no, no, that’d be too straightforward. But he had another concern too that threw a wrench in what he thought was supposed to be happening...Akane was being unusually quiet and low, and very distant. He didn’t even need to hear her say it - she had an atmosphere around her that was unwelcoming, almost shut off. What should he say? What can he say-

“Let’s sit for a bit,” Akane suddenly spoke, gesturing towards the log that laid in front of the warehouse entrance, the top part cut through to create a flat surface. Kiba immediately sat down, thankful she said something first. Akane sat beside him, a little distance between them. Akamaru hopped on the bench, beside Akane, and Akane picked him up, putting him on her lap, as she patted his soft fur gently.

“How was the test for your team?” Akane asked, never looking at Kiba, keeping her eyes on Akamaru, who now laid on her lap, his eyes closed as her fingers ran through his fur.

“Terrible,” Kiba groaned, using his hands to lean back a bit on the surface. “Our sensei had the brilliant idea of capturing the flag thing with her headband, but the only thing is, she knows how to use genjutsu!”

“Yeah…”

“And we spent hours and hours just trying to find her by ourselves! She put me in a genjutsu and everything, it was so bad,” Kiba laughed. “The Academy didn’t teach us shit, but luckily I remembered what Iruka-sensei taught us with Kai, and I was able to get out...but we ended up with an hour left! So we had to team up and we managed together.”

To this, Akane looked up towards Kiba.

“We?”

“Well, yeah...Hinata and Shino,” Kiba continued, his voice a bit lower, reflecting on what had happened. “Shino made this whole plan for all of us to get the headband and we all had to...basically work together to get it.”

“For real?” Akane asked, quirking her head to the side, her bangs falling to frame her face. The moonlight looked nice against her face. She continued with a bit of a laugh, “Even with that creepy bug fanatic?”

“You know, I didn’t think I would ever get along with them,” Kiba shook his head. “But we did and...well...we got the headband in the end…”

Without each other, I don’t think we would have got it.

“So that means…” Akane mumbled, and Kiba knew this was the perfect time to tell her. He brought out his headband from his hoodie pocket, the Konoha leaf gleaming underneath the white moonlight, and he held it between them.

“Yeah,” Kiba said. “I’m officially a shinobi now.”

Kiba expected Akane to smile. He expected her to be her cheerful self immediately, grabbing him by the arm like she usually did, and congratulate him on becoming a shinobi. But instead, between the whiteness of the moon and orange of the lantern, he could see Akane’s eyes widening, her smirk dropping quickly as she stared at the headband. Her hand froze on Akamaru, no longer moving.

There was a silence that fell between them. Kiba didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what else to say. He was expecting her to have a better reaction- he did just pass a very gruelling test, the hardest one they ever had to take in their many years of training.

And yet...there wasn’t a sign of anything from Akane.

“So what about you,” Kiba broke the silence, his voice slightly hoarse.

“...” Akane looked away, staring straight at the ground, not saying anything.

“...Akane?”

“...We…” She paused quickly, hesitantly, her voice cracking. She gave Kiba a side glance, not being able to face him. “We...we failed…”

The air froze around them, the silence filled with the wind whipping past them, howling. Kiba stared at her, waiting for her to say “joking!” or “sike!”, but Akane just went back to staring at the ground, saying nothing more.

“Wha-” Kiba started, processing what he just heard. They...failed? How was that possible?

“Our sensei thought that...since we didn’t work together during our test...he failed all of us…” Akane explained. “He said that if we wanted to even think about becoming shinobi that we should...take it more seriously and go back to the Academy or just quit while we’re at it. Can you believe it?”

Harsh, Kiba thought, not knowing what to say. Console her? Say everything is going to be alright? She might get mad at him for saying that, she doesn’t like it whenever he is like that with her...

"Well...I guess there's always next year," Kiba replied, though he wasn’t even sure. Akane didn't look his way. "Right? You're gonna take the test again next year?"

Another uncomfortable silence fell between them, and Kiba could feel his throat running dry. The blood in his veins had been pumping non-stop, and it was making his heart beat louder, audible to his own ears, and the silence did not help the situation at all.

“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?” Akane asked, her voice sharper than before.

“W-what?” Kiba asked, and Akane scoffed.

"Forget about it. I'm gonna take the year off," Akane finally said. "Just gonna work for the family business as I figure some stuff out."

Kiba couldn’t stop himself from frowning.

"What? You can't give up now,” Kiba said, his voice a bit steadier, a bit more passionate in his tone. “We studied and trained super hard all these years just to get here! If you miss out on a year, you’ll have to catch up for another year! And you guys know better now...you can retake the test and pass-"

"Yeah, well, easy for you to say all that," Akane scoffed. "You're the one with the headband."

He was immediately taken aback. What was her problem? He was only trying to help; she was the one who wanted to be a ninja too...right?

And what’s going to happen to them if Kiba and Akane’s paths diverge here? Kiba would be a shinobi, while Akane stayed behind...what would happen between them...

"Well-"

"Is that all you wanted to talk about?" Akane asked suddenly as she got up. Akamaru quickly hopped off her lap, onto the ground, looking at her confused. "I have to finish logging in the inventory."

"Oh," Kiba said slowly, standing up immediately. "Uh...yeah… I guess I'll see you later, Akane?"

"Yeah...see you around."

Akane walked into the warehouse without another word, lantern in hand, never looking back as she closed the door behind her, leaving it slightly open. Kiba stood there, staring at the door, not knowing what to do, a vortex of emotions swirling deep in his chest. He was finding it hard to breathe.

He never got to confess but...he felt like he was basically being rejected, but not romantically.

He was now a shinobi. And she is, well... a civilian. And would likely continue to be so.

He was now shut out from her life.

And he felt his chest squeeze slightly, his breath increasing as he slowly walked away from the door Akane had closed. Is this what rejection feels like? Or is this what it feels like when a bond you held dear to you is severed…

I guess… I’ll never know, Kiba thought, continuing down the path he had walked on, without a second glance back.

#kiba inuzuka #shino aburame #hinata hyuuga #hinata #kiba #shino #naruhina #homeiswheremyteamis

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wreckofawriter · 4 years

Text

The Night Sky

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: blood, gore, crude language, torture kinda, usual walking dead stuff

Request: @maryhuffxoxo: Can you write something with Carl Grimes? Maybe where intead of Negan trying to get Rick to cut of Carl's arm he tries to get Carl to cut off Reader's arm or leg maybe? And after Negan leaves he kisses the reader?

A/n: First Waling Dead imagine on here yay! I'm gonna come out with a HP request tommarow probably really late at night, that's like the only time I write, um yeah, hope you enjoy!

You thought you had gotten used to the stench of blood, you had smelt it in the air since you were 11 years old. You had convinced yourself you knew what death was, it had been a constant in your life. You weren’t afraid of guts, you had been smeared in them before, but this. This was so much worse than anything your mind could conjure up.

Glen’s blood splattered across your cheek, it was in your mouth, dripping off your nose. You could taste it, feel it sliding down your face, or maybe that was the tears. You choked back sobs as Negan continued to bring his bat down, again and again, and again. You could hear Maggie screaming and Rosita’s cries in your ears as the sickening thump continued beside you. You clamped your eyes shut, your nails were biting into your palms.

Finally, it stopped, and you heard a chuckle. You opened your eyes, the harsh glare of headlights blinking back at you. You tried to keep your eyes locked straight ahead of you but for some sick reason, they snapped to the mess of blood and brains which had once been someone you loved. You felt your stomach churn and for a second you were sure you would throw up, but you took in another large breath and managed to keep yourself stable. You glanced down the line meeting a sea blue eye. “I love you” Carl mouthed and you nodded a sob ripping from your raw throat. And suddenly you couldn’t stop, your body shook, cries crawling from you as you struggled to stay on your knees.

“Aw, sweetie don’t cry.”

You looked up to see Negan crouched in front of you, his bat, dripping crimson resting on one shoulder as he smiled down at you.

“It’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He smirked, “Well for now anyway.” he reached his hand out to you grabbing the side of your face and using his leather-clad fingers to harshly wipe away the tears on your cheeks.

Your face contorted in disgust and you tried to jerk away from him, you were choking on your whimpers, blood and tears hot on your taste bud.

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

Negan’s eyes snapped down the line, landing on Carl who stood only to get kicked back down, his knees buckling, a punch landed across his cheek and he went sprawling across the gravel.

Michonne and Rick yelled.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” You screamed voice shattering like glass as you raised it.

Negan was laughing again, a sickening sound you wished to shove back down his throat, “Oh ho ho! Look what we have here!” His hand left your cheek and instead grabbed your hair pulling you forwards. You heard more shouts, your knees scrapping open. Your head was yanked back up, you were looking upwards, you could see the little white dots so far above you, the heavens glaring back down almost mocking you.

“This your girl, kid?” Negan asked his smile was so wide you thought his cheeks might split.

“Leave her alone,” Carl growled. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his own was narrowed, his hands held behind his back.

“Now I asked you a question boy.” The laughter had left his voice, “Is this your girl?”

Carl nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Well isn’t that just the cutest god damn shit I have ever seen.” He grinned, “Now I’m sure as hell not the most romantic guy out there, but this shit right here, this just melts my fuckin heart. Doesn’t Simon?” His gaze turned to his right-hand man who’s handlebar mustache was twitched upward.

“It’s like a fairytale.” He laughed and you thought you might throw up again.

The fist in your hair tightened and you craned your neck backward in attempts to alleviate the pressure.

“Leave her alone. Now.” Rick spat at the man and you only had to put your head back farther.

“Rick I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands here.” Negan’s voice was dark again like he had flipped a switch, “You just don’t seem to get it, do you?”

You heard the light scrape of metal on leather and there were more shouts as something cool pressed on your exposed neck.

“I could slice her open right here right now if I wanted to.” He growled and he pressed harder. You felt the bite of breaking skin.

“Leave her alone!” Carl shouted another guy now had him in a chokehold as he tried to break free, “Don’t you dare hurt her!”

“Shut up kid or I’ll come over there and cut out your other eye!” Negan bellowed and you cringed.

“You piece of shit let her go!” he continued to yell and you saw one of the men pull a knife from their belt.

“Shut up Carl!” You cried. His eyes snapped to you, his face softening, “Just shut up. Please.”

“Listen to your girl kid.” He snarled, “She’s clearly smarter than you.”

“I told you to leave her be!” Rick shouted and Negan bit his lip releasing the blade from your neck and letting your head fall forward.

“Simon come here.” The man came quickly, “I want you to hold her head just like I was until I get back. I need to have a talk with Rick.”

“Got it.” He said hand fisting in your hair and pulling you back again. Carl stayed silent.

“Someone get me my ax and get Rick in that RV. We’re takin’ a little road trip.” Negan strutted to the vehicle as Rick was dragged into it and soon it was pulling away and you were left to stare at the stars.

It got quiet. The sound of crickets and frogs finding your ears as you traced the night sky. You could hear feet on gravel, the occasional whimper, or laugh. You heard the snarle of walkers, the squelch of a knife into rotten skulls, twice there were gunshots.

You tried to remember what your teacher had taught you about constellations. It seemed so long ago, so so far away like those memories were hanging hundreds of thousands of miles from your head just like the stars. Your neck had begun to cramp, Simon had switched which hand he was holding you with twice and both times you had the urge to whip around and head but him in the crotch. What you wouldn’t give to kill Negans obedient little dog.

With your head tilted up you felt like you were choking on the blood in your mouth, your vision swayed at times, black dotting the edges of your view. You could hardly see Carl. It strained your eyes to look at him. There was just one man with him now, a gun held loosely in his hand. His gaze was always locked on you. Your knees ached, pebbles digging into the raw flesh. Your nails were still deep into the heel of your palm, your face felt hot and sticky, you wished it would start to rain, clear away the blood that you knew coated you. But the sky was clear, so brilliantly clear.

You watched as the dark hues of night began to drip away, the stars fading as black turned to a midnight blue, into a lilac which reminded you of the color of your bedroom walls a thousand years ago. You tried to crack your neck twice, both times the fist in your hair only tightened and he pulled, earning a soft whimper that you hopped didn’t reach Carl’s ears. As lilac turned to orange your head began to pound and the sicking feeling of vomit leaping up your throat filled you. You wondered for a moment if he would let you choke to death on it, like some 27-year-old rockstar who had seen one too many white lines. But then it passed and the hammer of your head grew.

Orange began to fade into a mucky blue when you finally heard the sound of tires on the road. You began to wonder if Rick was dead if Negan had chopped him up and was now going to shower you in his pieces.

When he stumbled out of the RV onto his knees you felt a rush of relief wash over the group.

“Get back in line.” Negan snarled before he walked back over to you. He crouched in front of you licking his lips. You could hardly see him over the tip of your nose. “Drop her Simon.”

Your head was thrown forward and you heard your neck pop, groaning. Your chin was grabbed and you were forced back up at him, his breath fanning your face, it smelt like rotten fruit.

“How we doin’ little lady?” He grinned, “Hurtin’ yet?”

You spat at him, blood and spit spewing over his face as you sneered, “Fuck you.”

He dropped your chin, gagging. Your head spun and you couldn’t see straight. You were shoved forwards, hands not fast enough to get in front of you as your cheek collided with gravel, palms following in suit.

“You people really don’t get it!”

Your head was being held down, your face pressed into the coursed rock. You could see Carl clearly now, he had fresh tears sliding down his cheek.

“You a righty or a lefty?” Negan muttered in your ear.

You couldn’t think straight, “What?”

“Which hand do you sign your name with bitch! Right or left?” He was leaning over you, you still could barely register what he had asked you. You felt something hit your exposed cheek, “I asked you a question damn it!”

“Don’t hit her!” Carl shouted and you felt yourself get pressed further into the road.

“Get the kid up here. Now.” Carl was shoved to his feet, pushed towards you before dropping on his knees to your right.

Your arm was yanked out from under you, sleeve pushed up. The sound of cicadas were loud in your ears, ringing like an alarm.

“Simon, you got a pen?” Negan asked.

“Matter of fact I do.” You heard. A marker was tossed through the air.

“I’m sorry about this sweetie, this is gonna be real cold like someone dragging a cold ballsack right across your forearm.” You watched as he drew a line on your arm, you could see Carl just past him, his face was hardened, glaring.

Negan stepped out of the way handing Carl his father’s ax, “Now I’m gonna need you to cut off her arm, right there on that line.”

You heard gasps and protests echo around you. The whine of cicadas constant. Carl’s mouth dropped the color draining from his face which was beaded with sweat and tears. You whimpered lightly.

“And I know that you are gonna need a moment to process that but it’s going to happen or she’s gonna die and all these people are gonna die and then I’ll kill you.”

Carl met your eyes and he shook his head, “No.” He sobbed, “No.”

“We have a good doctor, she’ll be okay.” He snickered, “Probably.”

“Please, we understand!” You heard Michonne beg, “We understand just leave them be.”

“You understand.” Negan corrected her, “I don’t think these two love birds do.”

“No, please.” Carl’s plea broke, “No.”

“It isn’t up to you!” Negan laughed, “Now do it,” you heard a hammer click, “or I put a bullet through her.”

You felt the cool metal press into the back of your skull.

“I can’t do it, please.”

“Are you gonna make me count Carl?!” He shouted.

“It can be me.” Carl wept, “It can be me instead.”

You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes.

“Alright! I’m counting!” The gun only pressed harder. “3!”

“Carl.” You whimpered, “Just do it.”

“2!”

“I’ll be okay.”

“1!”

The ax was raised above his head, you clamped your eyes shut waiting for the pain. You hoped you would pass out quickly.

A beat passed. Then another.

“Do you understand me now?” You reopened your eyes, the ax was on the ground Carl crouching next to you, his body shaking with sobs.

He nodded and you felt the metal leave the back of your head.

“Good. Get back in line.”

You pushed yourself off the ground a fresh wave of pain rolling through your head. Carl scrambled towards you grabbing you and pulling you into his arms. His hands were shaking as he ran them through your hair.

Tears wet his shirt as you buried yourself into his chest.

“You’re okay.” he whispered, “You’re okay.”

“I said get back in line.”

Carl lifted you up, standing to his feet and stumbling back into line before kneeling back on the ground, you still clinging to him.

Negan continued to speak but you couldn’t hear over the sound of your own wails, you felt Carl’s grip on you tighten every once and awhile, his hands combing through your blood-stained hair.

Finally, you heard the rumble of trucks, the clamor of boots on gravel, and then it was quiet and you pulled away to see all of the Saviors had left.

Carl was looking down at you, tear tracks staining his cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him as close to you as you could. “I love you.” You said nestling your head into his neck. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too y/n” He spoke shakily.

You lifted your gaze pulling his lips to meet yours. You could taste tears and blood as his lips danced over yours. His tongue swiped your bottom lip and you tilted your chin upwards allowing him to deepen the kiss as his hands tightened around your waist.

You broke apart panting, “I’m never going to let anything like that happen to you ever again.” he whispered. “Never.”

Masterlist

#twd #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagines #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x y/n #carl x reader

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clanoffetts · 3 years

Text

Like Real People Do, Chapter 1

Jango Fett x Kyra Esson (fem!OC)

meet Kyra here

series summary: Kyra Esson, a pilot trying to forget her past, takes Jango Fett up on an offer. It's supposed to be her last hurrah before she settles down, but she can't seem to leave the bounty hunter, no matter how hard they both try.

word count: 1.6k

warnings/tags: swearing; yearning; slow burn; fluff; uh oh jango catches feelings; eventual smut (but not for awhile); severe misunderstanding of Slave I’s layout

series masterlist (coming soon)

The cantina is dark and dirty, the bass of the music making the ground vibrate and glasses shake on tables. Kyra is uncomfortable, too many people, too many dark corners, too much.

Her left hand reaches to the leather strap of her back, holding it tight, while the other rests on her holster that sits high on her right thigh. The only open spaces are seats at the bar, so Kyra wills herself forward through the thick of the crowd. The bar seats are worn, the leather of the round cushion is cracked and faded, and when she sits it is almost as if there was no cushion at all.

“Do you have Port in a Storm here?” Kyra asks the bartender, her smooth voice raised atop the music.

The bartender, a Mirialin man, laughs. “You want Port in a Storm?” He looks at a man sitting two seats down, and calls to him, “She wants Port in a Storm, can you believe it? The nerve of some girls!”

The man is clad in silver armor, accented in blue, maybe purple, Kyra isn’t sure which in the dim lighting of the cantina. He’s wearing a helmet, Mandalorian by the looks of it. He turns his head to look at Kyra, studies her for a moment and shrugs at the bartender.

“Port in a Storm, do you have it or not?”

The man nods, pulling out a bottle of the liquid and pouring some into a short glass. “Now let’s see you drink it.”

Kyra’s face doesn’t change as she lifts the glass to her lips, tilts the red liquid into her mouth and swallows it down. It tastes like home, for better or worse. Kyra isn’t sure which. No matter, she sets the glass back down on the bar, motioning for more.

“I think we have a native Pamarthen on our hands,” the bartender says to the Mandalorian, who seems as though he couldn’t care less. “Am I right?”

“Obviously,” Kyra says, quite obviously annoyed. The man can’t take a hint. “Now pour me another before I do it myself.”

She downs another glass of the strong alcohol before dropping credits by the glass, gripping her bag, and squeezing her way back through the people gathered around a DJ.

Kyra beelines for the Barloz-class freighter in the hangar across the busy street. Her black hair is shiny in the moonlight as her legs move quickly across the hot sand. It was supposed to get cold on Tatooine at night, she thought, but her cloak was lazily shoved into her bag when she felt the hot, dry Tatooine air earlier that night. She wished he had it around her now, especially shielding her face, as the gusts of wind pick up sand that scratches at her skin.

Almost there , she tells herself as she winds through the open hallways of the hangar building. Ah, there she is, the large silver and green Barloz-class medium freighter that had barely squeezed into the small hangar.

“Wouldn’t expect this bulky thing from a Pamarthen,” says a gravelly voice.

Kyra pulls her blaster from the holster on her thigh, whipping around to aim at the source of the voice. It’s the same Mandalorian from the bar, his armor gleams in the moonlight. The accents are blue, Kyra notes, as she trains her blaster at the T-shaped visor. “The fuck do you want?”

“Put away your blaster,” the man says, holding his hands up. “I simply wish to pick your brain.”

Kyra lowers her blaster, but keeps it gripped in her hands, pointing the barrel at the ground. “What?”

“You’re from Pamarthe,” he says. It isn’t a question, and his tone suggests that that’s all the information she should need.

“And?”

“I have questions,” the man says. “About Pamarthe.”

Kyra’s eyes narrow. “Then ask them.”

“Can we board your ship?”

“No,” Kyra says, careful to keep her voice strong and steady. “Ask them here or not at all.”

The man finally gives up with a sigh. “I need to make a deal,” he says. “I need a native Pamarthen to pilot a watercraft. I have a bounty on your world, but I couldn’t pilot a Pamarthen watership like a native.”

“Then why’d you take the bounty?”

A noise comes from the vocoder, Kyra thinks it’s some kind of laugh that’s been mangled by the tech. “Overestimated myself.”

“How much will you pay me?” Kyra thinks about the minimal credits left in her account after buying the new water tank for the ship and the boots she finally splurged on from her trip to Naboo.

“How does fifteen thousand credits sound?”

It takes all of Kyra’s strength to keep her jaw from hitting the ground. Ten thousand credits would keep her comfy for a while. “If you have fifteen thousand to spare, why take a bounty? I know there’s no one worth much more than that on Pamarthe.”

“That is for me to know,” the Mandalorian says. “Do we have a deal?”

“Maybe,” Kyra says. “I will find you in the morning, Mandalorian, when I have made a decision.”

He gives a curt nod, turns on his heel, and stalks from the hangar. Odd, Kyra thinks, but maybe that’s how all Mandalorians are. That’s what the stories suggest, anyway.

The lights on the floor of the ship light up as Kyra boards, the ramp closing behind her. The gurgle of the water tank is a welcome noise as Kyra heads for the ‘fresher, desperate for a proper shower rather than a sonic one. She strips from the green wool cropped wrap that helps to bind her breasts in place. Then, the fabric strips that wrap around her wrists, holding her sleeves against her skin, a measure against the Tatooinian sand- it was no use. When the undershirt comes off, a layer of sand still coats her pale skin, the granules would leave scratches, no doubt. The cheap sports bra is shed next, followed by her boots and leggings, all joining the sweat-soaked, sand-coated pile of garments off to the side.

Kyra reaches for the entangled braids that sit at the base of her skull, freeing them from their pins, then their ties, and finally unweaves the two thick, black braids that were held tightly against her scalp.

Finally, Kyra steps into the shower. The water is nothing more than lukewarm, a heater is an unnecessary luxury for now, but the cool water provides refuge from Tatooine’s heat. The soap is unscented, leaving Kyra’s skin and hair the same way. Her skin turns red from the scratching of the coarse washcloth she drags along her flesh, rubbing against the sand in an awful sensation.

If this is their cold, she thinks, I’d hate to see what Tatooine calls hot. The white towel that matches the washcloth is snatched from a hook on the shower’s door. Kyra wipes her body dry in silence, the only sound is the water droplets falling from the shower’s surfaces and the water tank already working on purifying and recycling the water she just used.

In the small mirror on the fresher's wall, Kyra stares into her own eyes. Storm eyes, that’s what people on Pamarthe had called them, the cloudy gray of her irises looking like the sky during the rain season. She’d been jealous of the kids with ocean eyes, for the myths and stories say that true Pamarthens have eyes that reflect the surface of their oceanic homeworld. The children with green and brown eyes were accused of actually being from Kashyyyk or Endor, and the few lucky children with an alien parent to be born with a red tint in their irises had Port in a Storm eyes, the supposed sign of a Pamarthen pilot that could do anything, withstand anything. Parents did their best to dispel the stories, reassuring their children that they, too, can withstand anything despite something as minuscule as their eye color.

Kyra didn’t know of any storm worlds, only of rain seasons that were despised by many planets. And that’s what she felt, staring into the mirror, into her own storm. Her shoulders shake with a shiver, snapping her from her memories and into the present, into the tiny ‘fresher of the Barloz.

Red marks covered Kyra’s skin, tiny scratches from the sand are prominent against the veins that shine through what a Rodian on Jedda had called ‘paper skin’. In the right light, Kyra looked as though she was fitted with wires like a protocol droid, with her veins so visible underneath her ghostly skin that had always refused to tan. Nothing’s wrong with her, the doctors had said.

Folded neatly on the foot of the bed is a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. The sweatpants are a bit much for the weather, Kyra thinks, but they’ll do. The towel around her body moves up to encompass her long hair, twisting up to sit at the crown of her head to dry while she sits and analyzes her datapad.

“Ten thousand credits,” she murmurs to herself, looking over tables of numbers detailing expenses of necessities and luxuries. “What could I do with ten thousand credits?”

The answer should be clear: find a hut in the middle of nowhere and wait out her days, but she’s too restless . No matter how hard Kyra tries to close the blast doors on that side of herself and shoot the control panel so she could never access it again, it never works, something malfunctions, and she finds herself in a cockpit. And that’s what she’s doing again, with this Mandalorian and his offer. It’s too good to pass up, Kyra thinks. And she’s doing it again, telling herself this is the last job, it’s simply too good to pass up and she’ll settle after this one, because surely nothing would top this job. Just like nothing could top the job for Hondo, and, yeah, Cid’s topped Hondo’s, but nothing would top Cid’s job, except Mando’s offer, so why not accept Mando’s offer? Surely nothing could top it.

#posting and running #jango fett fanfiction #jango fett x oc

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nicklightbearer · 3 years

Text

whatever here is the fic

we happy few, nick lightbearer is once again hunted by foggy jack but this time he fights back. just..... not.... well.

this is a tickling fanfic fair warning <3

“Nick.. Nick!”

Rolling over, Nick Lightbearer grumbled and pulled the sheets over his head.

“Virgiiiiiiiiillll.. Five more minutes…” “In five minutes you’ll be dead, idiot! Up, up!”

Nick blinked a few times before feeling a small something land on his stomach- with a high-pitched screech, he sat bolt upright, scrambling to throw the blankets off. There was an oof! from the floor where they landed, and Nick shivered as he peered over the bed.

A rat. There had been a rat- wait- Virgil?

“.. What? What! You’re dead! I- I already avenged you- what do you want now??”

The rat huffed indignantly.

“Well, maybe I’m trying to keep your stupid arse alive, huh? He’s headed here already- so put some pants on, for god’s sake, and find a weapon!” “He? He who?” “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who do you think??”

Who would- ah bollocks. Nick leapt to his feet, clutching at the wall for support as his head spun. God, even the reds and yellows were wearing on him..

“Foggy- Foggy Jack?? But I- I thought he-“ “Oh, come on. Put two and two together, Nicky.” “Ooh, if you weren’t dead, I’d right love to throttle you for the stupid vague clues…”

Virgil wheezed out a laugh that made Nick roll his eyes as he dug through the dresser.

“You may have blasted the bastard right hard, but it’d take more than a riff or two to kill a man. He’s more starstruck than ever, now.” “See, that wasn’t so hard! Straight answers, Virg, straight answers!”

The room wavered again and Nick cursed angrily as he toppled over trying to pull his slacks up.

“Who taught you how to quip back, huh?” “Could have something to do with the fuckin’.. Broken mood booth outside.”

Grumbling, he finally managed to stand up and pull his pants up proper, tugging on his jacket with only a moment’s hesitation. The blue one, yes, he’d rather wear dark colors if he’s hiding from a serial killer.

“Anyway- where is he now?”

There was a pause, and Nick looked up. The rat was gone.

“Virgil..? Dammit.”

A sudden jiggling of his door handle made him gasp, and he backed away before bolting towards the window.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckit in a bucket, ooh, I don’t have my-“

The front door splintered under a heavy blow, and Nick squealed another curse to himself before nearly leaping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

”Guitar!” “Mr. Lightbearer.. Do open up, please! I brought ahh.. Some whiskey! A gift from a fan!”

It almost gave him pause before he shook his head wildly.

“No, no. Focus, Nicky!”

He cast his gaze around the room in a panic. Empty pill bottles littered the sink and floor, and he shoved a few of them out of the way to rummage through the cabinet. Nothing.

Nothing but a plunger next to the toilet- though he considered it, the flimsy weight felt more useless than his own fists, and he discarded it quickly.

That left.. the tub.

Wait. The tub! He leaned over to whip the curtain back, and cringed slightly at the sight of the woman inside- thank god, she was clothed. But in her hand was his goal- just last night, he’d been on the.. Receiving end of…

Pulling it carefully from her grasp, he sighed in relief before jolting at the sound of the door splintering again. Fuck, fuck! He couldn’t let Jack see this poor bird- wait-

Checking her pulse, he sighed in relief. Okay, problem for later. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman woke up alone in his house. He quickly pushed out the door again, closing it and jiggling the lock just to make sure it wouldn’t open again- yep!

Then again, that left only himself and the eye that now peered through his former front door, which was largely splintered to bits. He backed up a little before dashing to his bedroom, both hoping and not hoping that Jack would follow.

“Ohh, Mr. Lightbearer… Nicky~!” The slip from formal to a deeper purring tone sent a shiver down the rockstar’s spine, and he clutched at his makeshift weapon nervously as he pushed his back against the door.

“Hey, lock it and get back, idiot! He just broke the other one down, what happens when he slams an axe through this one??” “Virgil- ooh, you’re right!”

He’s always right. Nick jumped back, casting his gaze around the room after clicking the lock shut. Not much to work with, really, but he could.. He could hide- er- well, the closet would be too obvious, right? Or would it be so obvious that he wouldn’t check?

“No, he knows you’re stupid, Nick. Fucksakes.” “Well, what- ooh!”

Pulling open the dresser drawers, he started throwing clothes on the floor next to the window. The rat perched on top of the dresser sighed as he watched, but Nick ignored him for the moment.

“And what, pray tell, is the plan here? D’you have a gun you never told me about? A machete? Hell, even a baseball bat-” “No- I’m fine for weapon, thanks. This is- well- you’ll see!”

Shouldn’t say it out loud, not with how the door groaned as a weight was thrown against it. Nick shuddered as he pushed the clothes haphazardly closer to the wall, then scooted behind the curtain. The pile on the floor was enough to hide his feet- and the curtains were against a black window, so no light would give him away…

It wasn’t perfect. But if the closet was checked first, he’d have the upper hand.

The door splintered after only a few more hits, and Nick held his breath. He could just barely see through the fabric, having his face so close- and seeing Jack again, albeit this time with a slightly more ruffled appearance, made his heart leap into his throat. Terror was enough to keep his fist gripping the weapon, and he watched with wide eyes as the killer stalked into the room, the red glimmer from his own eyes casting an eerie light over the room as a cloud of fog rolled in after him.

It was nothing if not dramatic, he mused, almost inspired by the sight if he hadn’t been fearing for his life.

Jack hummed to himself as he glanced around the room, the familiar tune to Cheer Up bringing a grimace to Nick’s face. Genuinely, the guy was still a fan- it felt bad to be holding a weapon towards any fan for any reason, but..

Seeing the glittering knife that Jack held whipped his perspective back instantly. Fuck, this guy was absolutely bonkers- though, granted, that only made him feel worse- he couldn’t afford to be wishy-washy about this!

As predicted, Jack didn’t even notice the curtains, instead peering under the bed before turning towards the closet.

“Nick, Nick, Nick… Really, I can’t believe you’d let yourself be cornered so easily. Really, I expected more resistance. No activated security system-”

Fuck! He’d forgotten to turn it on in his drunken stupor the night before!

“No bobbies to guard the house, and not a single manager in sight.. Oh, wait!”

A flash of anger nearly made him leap out right there- but no, he’d wait and bide his time.. For just the right moment…

As Jack grasped the handle on the closet, Nick tensed.

“I suppose you don’t have one of those, do you?”

He flung the doors wide with a taunting laugh that died slowly, his outstretched arms lowering with confusion.

“What..?”

Now!

Nick leapt from his hiding place, nearly tripping on all the clothes but somehow managing to stumble so that he was standing on the bed- not unlike someone hiding away from a mouse, except the mouse was a person and that person had a big knife with his name on it, possibly literally.

However, his unsure footing made him miss his target of ‘back of the skull, god, please let me just knock him out’ and instead slam the instrument across Jack’s back. The impact made him tense, and he squeezed the handle nervously-

Only for electricity to zip out of it, making his palms tingle as the killer gasped. Oh, fuck on a stick.

But.. Something was off. Rather than immediately whipping to stab him, Jack stumbled, slamming against the dresser and clutching at his suit.

“What- what in the blazes-”

Well, no time for hesitation! He swung again, this time holding the button down with purpose. Anything to catch this guy off guard, right? It was also far easier to tap repeatedly at his body rather than his head, and… It worked.

Somehow, it worked. Jack’s arms were glued to his sides and he shimmied away from the assault, expression shifting from a confused pout to a more.. Well, his cheeks puffed out and he cringed, but a smile still seemed to tug at his lips. This smile was different, though, and seemed far more genuine than the mask let on.

“Stop- hey, stop! What- waha- wait!”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Foggy Jack. Serial killer, menace to society, his personal fuckin’ stalker….. Was ticklish.

Okay. Okay. Well, this information was definitely going to be put to use- let’s see- right the fuck now. Nick slid down from the bed, using the Tickler to bop Jack closer to it- an easy task, given that he nearly tripped himself right onto it. With a quick push.. Perfect!

Foggy Jack was now on his bed. Disheveled, covering his mouth to hold back giggles, and with an expression bordering on infatuation shining out from behind his hand.

For a minute, he was stunned, before remembering the knife. Glancing down, though- oh, he wasn’t holding it. He’d dropped it- there, on the floor.

Jeez, it was almost like he didn’t want to kill Nick.

….. Shelving that thought to dwell on later, Nick grinned with as much menace as he could muster.

“Well, well, well. Ya know, mister Foggy Jack, you’re not half so scary like this.”

Jack yelped as the Tickler was pushed squarely against the middle of his stomach, trying to grab it but letting go quickly as Nick tapped the button a few times. The sensations of light electricity dancing across his torso quickly gave rise to more giggles, ones that he could hardly hold back for all the delight he clearly felt.

“Really! Sheesh, if I’d known about this before, all this lot of stuff would have been so much easier.. Hey, arms up!”

Nick huffed, pushing the arms that seemed nearly glued to his sides before just wiggling a hand between sleeve and shirt. For practiced fingers like his, coaxing out more shocked laughter was easy- and with the Tickler now running up and down his stomach, Jack finally broke.

“Waihihihit! No- stop! St- ahaha! It tickles!” “Well, I sure fuckin’ hope it does, lovely… That’s the point.”

Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how to handle things from here. Sure, he could wear out Jack and- wait, perfect. He’d just tickle the man until he properly passed out, then run and find a bobby. Perfect!

Though, as he watched the man writhe beneath him, escalated to proper laughter as skilled fingers squeezed at his sides and the Tickler continued tormenting his stomach, he was a tad hesitant. The ticklish near-agony that made shrieks ring out was… Hm, fun!

As he listened to more of that adorably broken-up laughter, he wondered how addicting this sort of drug might be.

“PLEHEASE- DON’T- DON’T TICKLE ME- IHI CAN’T, I CAN’T TAKE IT! M- MAHAHA- NNNNICK!” “That’s Mr. Lightbearer to you, mister Foggy. Go on, ask me proper to quit, maybe I’ll think about it. Probably not.” “Mr. Light- eehee! Lightbeareheher! Please!” “Please what??” “Plehehease- dOHON’T! Stoooohohop tickling mehehe!” “Don’t stop tickling you? Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart!”

Though the petname didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, Nick chose to eliminate any chance of a response by ducking down- the sudden closeness of their faces made Jack go silent, breathless with both laughter and starstruck awe. Nick winked before ducking his face down and blowing a raspberry right against his neck, sliding the Tickler to press down against his torso again.

The response was immediate. Jack flailed wildly and cackled, beating at Nick’s back weakly as he choked out wordless pleas. Of course, none of them were heeded, and a few more raspberries were instead strategically placed on the man’s neck. In all his years, even knowing that most people were at least a little ticklish around the face (due to the masks, certainly), he’d never garnered a reaction quite this intense. Must be extra sensitive- therefore, weak, and the wheezes between laughs made Nick grin.

It was honestly.. Kinda cute. He was glad that his goal was to tickle the man to pieces, since otherwise he’d normally give a break by now.

As the struggling became weaker, and the laughs reached pitches that frequently dipped into silent snorts, Nick hummed to himself. Now would be a good a time as ever to drop a little.. Finale, let’s say. He pulled back for a moment, easily readjusting their positions- now, with Jack laying limply on the bed and only weakly with his arms linked around his waist, he climbed on after him properly. It wasn’t hard to sit above his prey, wiggling his fingers a little for extra effect- and relishing in the burst of giggles and flinch- before tapping his chin.

“Now, let’s see.. Something tells me you’re nearly tuckered out. But I’m not quite done, oh no.” “N.. No??”

Something about the way his voice was suddenly softer, even shy in a way- it made Nick’s stomach do a few flips.

“No! Of course not. You’ve been awful rude, banging my door down and threatening me. But I can put that behind us.”

Bending down again, he placed a hand on either side of Jack’s head, their faces nearly touching- once again, Jack held his breath, eyes wide.

“.. Close your eyes for me, Jacky.”

The speed at which his hesitation faded to nervousness, then to giddy anticipation.. It was adorable. Jack finally closed his eyes, then covered his face with a shuddering giggle.

From there, it was easy for Nick to unbutton his jacket- and even easier to bury his face against Jack’s stomach, nibbling through the shirt and earning a new set of squeals.

“No! No- ahaha- ooh, you-!” “Go on, give me a laugh! Just for me, Jacky! Ooh, those could be lyrics..”

He hummed a bit with the idea before returning to his previous actions- and it wasn’t long before the laughter died down, Jack barely writhing beneath him. Nick sat up eventually, finally giving it a rest as he watched the killer gasp a few times before he was silent.

… He leaned forward to check for a pulse. Yep. Hammering away, actually, but calming down.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to do. Sitting back on Jack’s legs, he gazed down, watching him sleep with a foggy confusion building in the back of his skull.

Sure, a bobby might.. Be able to help. But he was so tired. And Jack was warm- warmer than he expected, and…

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt. He did crawl over to the side of the bed to push the knife under the dresser, first, but.. Yes, a nap.

Popping a spare Joy he found under one of his shirts, he flopped onto the bed, resolving to take care of the matter later. It was probably fine.

#this one's for you #hackneyfashioninstitute #<3 #we ticklish few #lightbearer #foggy poggy

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rosemaidenvixen · 3 years

Text

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 14: Barbara

Ao3

The brochure had been feather light when Barbara had picked it up at the travel agency earlier today, but now it felt like there was a brick in her purse.

It took a great deal of effort to keep her eyes on the road and not on the handbag sitting in the passenger seat.

Ever since Barbara had seen that magazine article all those months ago, in the back of her mind she always knew how ridiculous it sounded. Her son's nightly transformation being linked to seventeenth century witch trials that had happened on the other side of the country; no matter which way you cut it, it was a stretch. Nix that, even a stretch started from somewhere rational, this was a half-baked, half-assed, barely-plausible, hypothesis.

But she couldn’t let it go without making sure. The odds of finding anything might be slim to none, but Barbara couldn’t risk letting a cure slip through her fingers.

And she’d already done all the research she could from California, the only thing left was to go to Massachusetts and look for answers there.

It wouldn’t be an easy trip, by any stretch of the word. Taking a plane was theoretically possible but in practicality way too risky, and it was much too far for her to drive them. Their journey was going to involve switching between buses and trains and stopping at different motels each night. But maybe, just maybe, three thousand miles away, they would find the answers they were looking for.

A lead weight sank into the pit of her abdomen as the house came into view.

Logistics aside, what worried Barbara the most was that in all the research she’d done the past few months, there was nothing suggesting that there was actual magic involved in the Salem witch trials. Nada. Zip. Zilch. And mounds and mounds of evidence to suggest colonial mass hysteria and a gigantic coincidence based on a common name. Knowing that, the thought of dragging them both to the other side of the country, only to find nothing....

That scared her.

But not because she was afraid of failing, Barbara had plenty of opportunities to get used to that over the past ten years, but because this was it. Their last clue, the final stone to unturn, the end of the line. If they didn’t find anything on this trip…

Her throat tightened as the house came into view.

Then it was over, for good.

Turning to pull into the driveway, she was surprised by the presence of an unfamiliar Niesan parked on the sidewalk. Usually they didn’t get many strangers in their little cul de sac, maybe it was a salesman, or Jehova’s Witnesses. Either way she had bigger things to worry about. Putting it out of her mind, Barbara pulled into the driveway and killed the ignition; five breaths in, hold for five, out for five more.

The conversation she was about to have with Jim was going to be rough. No matter how tactful she was there was no way he was going to react well to hearing about the Salem Witch hypothesis she’d been sitting on for months, much less how she was planning on taking them to the east coast for a good chunk of the summer.

But as much as she was tempted to, Barbara couldn’t put off telling him forever.

Best to not drag her feet any longer and rip the bandaid right off.

Steeling herself with a final deep breath, Barbara grabbed her purse, stepped out of the car, and marched up to the front door.

“Jim?” she peeked inside “Are you--”

The rest of the sentence died in her throat.

There was a man, not a particularly threatening looking one but still a stranger to her, sitting on their staircase, going through their clean laundry basket like he owned it.

She froze midstep; the picture in front of her too baffling to form a coherent reaction to.

The man glanced up at her from the basket “Oh Dr. Lake, glad to see you here,”

“I-- you-- who-- who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

The man didn’t answer, instead a new voice cut in “Hello Dr. Lake, how about you join us in the living room?”

Still bewildered beyond all belief, Barbara found herself moving towards the living room. Stepping around the corner, the first thing she noticed was a woman, just as unthreatening and unfamiliar as the man on the stairs, sitting on their couch and smiling at her. It was the second thing she noticed that caused her confusion to shift into concern.

Jim, sitting bolt upright on the other side of the couch facing the woman, plastic smile carved into his face “Hi mom, welcome home,”

Barbara just stood there frozen in the door frame. What was happening, these people didn’t look or act like burglars or home invaders….but who were they? What were they doing here? And why was Jim so on edge and desperate not to show it?

“What is….going on?”

“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself,” the woman stood and held up an ID badge “My name is Dorothy Butler, you can call me Dorrie, I’m an investigator with CPS,”

For a second it felt like time had stopped.

Then Dorrie,

The child protective services investigator

Held out her hand, and everything became painfully real.

Forcibly snapping herself out of it, Barbara reached out and shook the offered hand, willing herself not to tremble, and returned Dorrie’s smile with one of her own. Panicked scream ringing silently in her skull.

Dorothy Butler.

CPS investigator.

A fist to the gut would have been less shocking and painful.

Who had called, what had they seen? Had it been their routine made someone suspicious, or had they seen something more--

Barbara clamped down on that thought hard, walking over and taking a seat at the couch next to Jim, using years of practice as an ER doctor to compartmentalize and stay composed.

For whatever reason these people were here, right now it was vital for Barbara to maintain a level head. Keep calm, tread carefully, figure out what exactly had brought these people to their home, and what it would take for them to leave.

Besides, if someone had seen something...telling, it wouldn’t be CPS that came knocking on the door.

“Sorry I guess I’m just...a little confused, why are you here, who called you?”

Dorrie’s porcelain smile didn’t so much as twitch “Someone came to us concerned that about the disciplinary methods going on in your household, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you who, that information is confidential,”

Not the answer she’d been hoping for, but not an unexpected one. Even with the waves of dread it sent through her.

Barbara leaned over to get a better look at the man still sitting on the stairs “So who is…”

“That’s Detective Charles Lunau, he’s my police escort,”

“I’m sorry your what now?”

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Dorrie’s expression instantly switched from chipper to contrite “It’s just standard department procedure,”

Barbara had more questions but bit her tongue, it would not be in her, or Jim’s, best interests to come off as defensive right now.

But her brain was starting to catch up to her surroundings. And anger was starting to rise past the shock.

“I know you’re with child protective services, but you can’t come in to my house, talk to my son, without--”

Dorrie whipped a folded piece of paper out of her bag and held it towards Barbara “Here’s your copy of the search warrant, please feel free to look it over and keep it for your records,”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach for the second time today. From beside her she could see Jim flinch.

Barbara numbly reached out and took the paper, a quick glance revealing the seals and signatures that meant it was official. Turning the anger in her veins to ice.

An investigation was one thing, anyone could shoot their mouth off and get CPS to come sniffing around. But a warrant meant that not only had someone reported them, but they had given something concrete enough for someone else to take it to a judge and get him to put down his signature.

More than that, a warrant meant that Dorrie and Charles could look where they wanted, talk to who they wanted, and stay as long as they darn well pleased.

Which meant that now Barbara really had to play nice.

“Well then…” she took a deep, grounding breath “How can I help you?”

Dorrie beamed, clearly pleased at the cooperation “Right now we’re just trying to get a feel for how things are in your household, Jim and I were already talking about some things, now I’d like the three of us to talk together, does that sound good?”

“Yes...that would be fine,”

“Great, then let’s get started,” she pulled over a notebook that had been sitting on the coffee table “Besides Jim and yourself, who comes and goes from your home on a regular basis?”

“No one I think, it’s mostly just us-- Oh! Except for Jim’s friends, they come around fairly regularly,”

He nodded along with her words “Yeah, and they’re all pretty well behaved, straight A’s and all that stuff,”

Dorrie quickly scrawled something in her notebook “What are your friends’ full names?”

Jim frowned but answered all the same “Toby Domzalski, Claire Nuñez, Darci Scott, Mary Wang,”

A few more notes and Dorrie paused her pen and looked up “And how are your grades Jim, any areas where you’re struggling in school?”

“No not really, all A’s and B’s and stuff,”

“I can send you a copy of Jim’s most recent report card if that would help,” Barbara added.

Dorrie beamed “That would be great, now can you tell me what kind of family activities you two do together?”

Barbara and Jim turned towards each other simultaneously.

“We...go camping pretty often,” Barbara said haltingly.

“Yeah, kind of our thing, love the great outdoors,” Jim let out an awkward chuckle.

“Good good,” Dorrie turned towards Barbara, smile shifting into something more somber “Now how do punishments and discipline work in your house?”

Her heart skipped a beat “There aren’t really any huge issues, Jim’s never had behavioral problems severe enough for me to be deeply concerned about discipline,” she risked a peek at Jim from the corner of her eye, for the most part he appeared calm, but his face had gone deathly pale.

“On the rare occasions I do find a punishment necessary, it’s usually grounding from video games or electronics, how long depends on the severity of the situation,”

Dorrie’s smile slid back into place as she jotted down another note “I know a lot of households operate at different hours, so do you have any kind of set curfew in place?”

“Yes…” Barbara continued “Four pm during the winter and six pm after daylight savings,”

“Why did you pick those hours?”

Barbara paused, and very deliberately did not look towards Jim “I think it's safer that he’s home before dark,”

In her peripheral vision she could see Jim stiffen.

Her chest tightened. She just got a sinking feeling she’d just said something she shouldn’t.

Dorrie’s only response was to keep smiling and jot down another note “So between school and work how do you--”

“Actually I have a question,”

Barbara over to see Detective Lunau coming into the room holding the laundry basket “Are you dating anyone Dr. Lake?”

She was momentarily taken aback “I’m sorry, what?”

“As of this moment are you currently dating or in a romantic relationship?”

“No. No I’m not. I haven’t dated anyone for years,”

He set down the basket and pulled out something on top. Her breath hitched when she saw it was one of Jim’s pajama shirts.

“Do you mind telling me who this belongs to?”

“That’s mine,” Jim piped up, startling her.

Lunau looked at the shirt, then back at Jim, frowning “Seems pretty big for you,”

Jim’s smile slipped just a fraction “I like baggy clothes...”

Going by the look on Lunau’s face he found this hard to believe. Jim trailed off, tension in the room rising.

“Ok,” Dorrie abruptly broke the silence, shutting her notebook and getting to her feet “How about we all take a break and go look around the house?”

This new development had problems of its own, but Barbara was mainly relieved that the subjects of clothes and her social life were being dropped “That’s fine,”

Dorrie grinned at her “Great,”

The rest of them stood and followed her towards the stairs. Lunau held back to let them pass, and then followed them up.

Meanwhile Barbara was still trying to reassemble her mind. Trying to gather her thoughts felt like herding bees, but she needed to get it together and figure out what they had laying around the house that needed to be tucked out of sight, or at the least they should come up with a very good explanation for.

She only remembered right as they all stepped up to Jim’s bedroom door.

They all reacted the instant Dorrie pulled it open; Dorrie herself flinched and took half a step back, both her and Charles cringing, Jim had gone even paler and Barbara had to fight to keep a wince off her face.

Frowning for the first time since Barbara had seen, Dorrie turned back and addressed her “Can you tell me about this smell?”

Barbara just stood there, hoping she didn’t look as much like a deer in headlights as she felt.

The smell wasn’t anything overly rotten, halfway between vegetation and musk, but it was distinctly animal. And it got even more noticeable after Jim started puberty. At first Barbara had been vigilant about scrubbing it out of his clothes and sheets as soon as it started to linger. Until Jim had admitted he couldn’t stand the way soap and air freshener smelled when he was blue. Since then they'd decided to more or less let the scent go in his room while making sure to keep it out of the rest of the house.

None of which she could say to the woman in front of her.

Not to mention that she’d just now recalled the other thing that was unusual about Jim’s room.

“I...it’s--”

“It’s my fault,” Jim said abruptly, causing every head in the room to swivel towards him.

He flushed under the scrutiny “I’m...bad about washing my sheets and stuff,”

Dorrie, still frowning, jotted something down in her notebook before looking back up “Is it ok if we go inside Jim?”

His face was tight “Sure….”

Jim stepped ahead of them and pushed open the door, allowing them to file in before he followed suit.

Barbara’s insides knotted as he shut the door behind him.

Dorrie stumbled a little bit, the space was cramped with four of them in it, before glancing between Barbara and Jim, looking equal parts confused and concerned “Is there any particular reason your bed is so messy?”

This time Barbara knew the flinch showed on her face. Calling it messy was being generous.

During the little time that Jim slept at night he tossed and turned aggressively, inevitably making tangled nests out of sheets rather than sleeping under them. It had taken years of work and a special hypoallergenic fitted sheet to keep Jim from tearing the mattress apart. But they still couldn’t keep him from tangling up the sheets.

Jim forced out an uncomfortable laugh “Guess I’m just bad about making it…”

Dorrie briefly held his gaze before looking towards Barbara.

Barbara knew that she was waiting for her to say something regarding Jim’s bedding situation, to step in as his parent and caretaker and provide a good explanation.

But she couldn’t speak past the lump of static in her throat, teeth digging into her lip.

After a few moments of loaded silence Dorrie quietly raised her ever present book and took down another note.

“How about we look at the bathroom?”

The bathroom was, mercifully, normal. But Barbara had to force herself not to glance out the window at the steadily setting sun while Dorrie rifled through their medicine cabinet.

They were running against the clock here, sunset was in less than an hour and she didn’t know how long Dorrie and Chalres were planning on staying. And the warrant meant that they weren’t leaving until they were good and ready.

And the way he kept tugging at his sleeve and glancing at his watch told her the time hadn't escaped Jim’s notice either.

After finding nothing amiss in the bathroom or her bedroom, they soon found themselves back downstairs; Dorrie casually peeking inside their fridge and cabinets “How do you handle meal times with Jim’s school and your irregular hours,”

Finally an easy question “I try to keep a good supply of snacks and ready-to-eat meals on hand, we go shopping together once a week to get everything we need,” Barbara said, Jim nodding along in agreement with her “Jim enjoys cooking and does a lot of our meals together, We try to to eat together as often as possible, but there will be some nights I leave Jim to find his own dinner,”

“What about chores and housework?”

This question was a bit trickier, Barbara hadn’t even thought of the best way to answer before Jim piped up.

“I--”

“Jim,” Dorrie interrupted, not unkindly “I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I really need to hear this from your mom,”

He clapped his mouth shut, face red, all eyes in the room slowly turning towards Barbara.

“We...try to split things up pretty equally. I do clean and cook on my days off, and Jim has a chore list and contributes to meals when he’s up for it,”

Barbara glanced around the room, Dorrie’s face was still a neutral mask, but Lunau was frowning darkly and Jim was positively ashen.

A cold lump dropped in her ribcage. She knew she had just said the wrong thing.

How many times did that make now?

This was too much, she couldn’t keep doing this, guessing and trying to give the right answer. She was already on edge, and didn’t know how many more straws she could take before she snapped.

“I’m tired,” Jim spoke up suddenly “Can I be done?”

Barbara stared at him in surprise, before shooting a discreet glance out the window. They had a little time left, but she wasn’t sure how Dorrie would react to such a blunt demand.

Looking over at Dorrie, also appearing surprised by the sudden request, she appeared to consider it for a moment before smiling at him “Oh of course, but before you go just one more thing,” she flipped through her notebook “You’ve sustained injuries from an animal attack on your ankle, correct?”

This time when she bit her lip Barbara tasted blood, how on earth did they know about that!?

Jim raised an eyebrow, looking more confused than anything else “....yeah?”

“Do you mind showing us?”

He froze “What now?”

“If you don’t want to that’s perfectly alright, you don’t have to,”

Anger rippled up, eclipsing every ounce of anxiety. Damn right he didn’t have to, warrant or no warrant, this woman had just crossed a line. Barbara was half a second away from telling Dorrie just how outrageous her request was and that there was no way she was examining her son, when Jim cut in.

“No! No--” Jim stopped himself and took in a deep breath “It’s fine,”

Before she could stop him Jim propped up his foot on a stool and rolled up a pant leg, exposing faint pink lines an inch above the ankle joint “There, see? No big deal,”

Dorrie stepped closer, leaning in to glance at the scars. Lunau hung back, but kept his eyes locked on Jim and Dorrie. She spent the longest ten seconds of Barbara’s life staring at her son’s ankle before looking up “Thank you Jim, that will be all,”

He gave a curt nod, before jerking his pant leg back over his ankle and putting his foot down “I’ll be in my room,”

With that he turned and headed upstairs. Barbara hoped that his rush to escape the room was only obvious to her.

Dorrie and Lunau watched him retreat up the stairs, once he was gone their focus shifted onto towards Barbara.

“Now Dr. Lake we’re just about done here there’s a few more things I want to ask you,”

Barbara nodded along, even as her heart soared at the words ‘just about done’ “Alright then, do you mind if we sit at the table?”

“Not at all,”

Forcing herself to maintain a neutral expression, she was in the homestretch just had to make it to the end, Barbara stepped over and took a seat at the table; Dorrie and Lunau right behind her.

She was going to make it, just a few more questions and these people would be out of her house.

She was going to be ok. Jim was going to be ok.

Settling into the wooden chair, Lunau standing behind her, Dorrie held up her notebook and pen “Can you describe your and Jim’s relationship with your extended family?”

The second those words fell from her lips whatever relief Barbara had started feeling vanished. Her stomach curdled, acid rising in the back of her throat.

Not a completely unexpected question, they wanted to get some background on the situation and see if there was a history of abuse. But that still didn’t mean it was going to be easy for her to answer.

“Of-- of course,” Barbara took in several gusty breaths to steady herself, and then spoke.

“I’m not in contact with any of my living relatives and I haven’t been for sixteen years, Jim has never met or spoken with any of them,”

That statement caused both Dorrie and Lunau to perk up instantly.

“Why is that?” Dorrie asked, pen poised and ready.

Somehow Barbara’s throat got even tighter “My maternal grandmother, my last grandparent, passed away when Jim was two, my only aunt and uncle are my mother’s sister and her husband, they were never interested in a relationship with me so I never pursued one. I have no siblings,”

“And your parents?”

Her face burned, chest tight, all the emotion from this afternoon threatening to bubble out and explode, along with decades old wounds ready to tear open and bleed fresh.

“I made the choice to cut them out of my life when I was twenty three,” Barbara said at last, unable to maintain eye contact as she did.

When Dorrie spoke up again her voice was softer than she expected “And why did you decide to do that?”

It was a long time before Barbara answered, summoning the words back from a part of her life she had long tried to move past.

“Both of my parents were emotionally abusive to me for my entire childhood,”

“Do you mind giving me a specific example?”

Actually she’d prefer to get an appendectomy without anesthesia “They….they were constantly critical of me,” not good enough, some people wouldn’t even call that abusive “They used guilt to manipulate me all the time, growing up I was always trying to appease them and keep them happy,”

Her voice nearly cracked towards the end. It was true, all of it, but there was more, so much more. How much were these people going to drag out of her before they were satisfied?

In a move that surprised her, Dorrie extended a hand across the table, not touching, but close “I’d like to know the steps you took to go no contact with them, but please take all the time you need Dr. Lake,”

Barbara nodded her acknowledgement while gripping the armrests of her chair, knuckles white She was standing on the edge of a cliff, pushed there inch by inch by everything that had happened to her since she walked in the door. She needed to calm down, get it together, shut this chapter of her life back up and plow forward.

“When I realized that they were never going to change I decided that I didn’t want them in my life anymore, I left home at seventeen to live with my grandmother, but for a while we still spoke on the phone and saw each other at family gatherings. But when Jim was born I knew I never wanted him exposed to any of that toxicity and cut them off completely. To this day my parents don’t have our contact information or even know what city we live in,”

She risked a glance across the table.

Lunau, whether because he was unbothered or had an excellent poker face, hadn’t responded at all to Barbara’s story, for her part Dorrie’s expression was somber, but also sympathetic “I can see why you would make that decision, what about his father’s family?”

Now that question was a lot easier, even if knowing what question was sure to come after it made the burning in her gut return with a vengeance “We’re not in contact with them either, James’ grandparents were never involved in his life, neither were his aunts and uncles. His parents live in South Carolina, we never visited but we did speak over the phone back when we-- James and I, were together, but once we….separated that contact ceased, James has a half brother, but he lives in Georgia and I’ve never had contact with him,”

“And James, your ex-husband,” Dorrie said gently “How did your relationship with him end?”

Even though she’d seen that question coming from a mile away, hearing it out loud, Barbara knew she must look physically ill.

With her parents she hadn’t asked to be born or chosen to grow up with them, but James….

James was a mess she’d gotten into all on her own.

All of a sudden Barbara couldn’t do this anymore, she was fighting with everything she had to stay composed, but all she wanted to do was scream, tear off her skin and let the raging storm inside her explode “I...I...I’m sorry can we just take a break for a minute?”

Lunau frowned “Actually--”

“Actually,” Dorrie cut in “I think we’re at a good spot to stop for today,”

Shock and relief rushed through her like twin lightning bolts, hot and cold all at once “Really?”

“Yes,” Dorrie said, getting to her feet “It sounds like that’s a complicated subject, and it’s getting late, so how about we meet up another day so you can tell me everything in more detail?”

So it didn’t look like she was completely out of the woods, but still Barbara would take what she could get “Of course, that would be just fine,”

“Excellent,” Dorrie tore a page out of her notebook and slid it and her pen towards Barbara “If you can just give me your contact info I’ll send you some dates and times and you can let me know what works best for you,”

Beyond grateful that today’s visit was almost at an end, Barbra hastily scratched down her phone number and email address before sliding it back to Dorrie, who gently folded it and tucked it into her pocket.

“Just one last question before we go, is there anything in particular that you find yourself struggling with as a single parent?”

By this point Barbara was so burnt out that she was barely able to put together a cohesive answer “I...I’m sure there is, but nothing comes to mind right now,”

Dorrie beamed at her, and as much as she was grateful for her patience this woman’s overly cheery attitude was uncanny “Struggling is nothing to be ashamed of, taking care of a family is hard work,”

She held out a pamphlet towards Barbara “Here are some general resources if you ever feel like things are getting to be too much,”

Barbara barely had time to take the pamphlet before Dorrie was flashing a business card in her direction to “And here’s my card with my contact information. If you ever have any problems or get into a jam, or even if you just want to talk, don’t hesitate to call me,”

“Thank you,” Barbara said as she took the card, guilt managing to wriggle it’s way in past every other emotion.

These people hadn’t come here with the intention of destroying their lives, they just wanted to help. But the fact of the matter was they couldn’t, not unless Dorrie had a magic wand tucked next to her pen.

The cold hard truth was that one else could be trusted with Jim’s secret, and by extension, taking care of him.

Dorrie glanced over at Lunau, that seemed to be some kind of queue as they both got to their feet “Alright I think we’re done here,”

Even though she was counting the seconds until they were gone, Barbara forced herself to go through the motions “Are you sure? Is there anything else you need to see?”

Once again Dorrie flashed Barbara her unflappable smile “No need, we were able to take a look at everything we needed to. Take care,”

Barbara gave a halfhearted wave as they walked away “Thanks, have a good rest of your night,”

“You to,” with that Dorrie and Lunau stepped out the front door, shutting it behind them. Barbara sat in silence for a few seconds, then thirty, only when a whole minute had passed did Barbara allow herself to go limp and collapse against the table, awashed with equal parts overwhelming relief and overpowering dread.

It was a massive load off her back to have the investigators out of the house, why had they been here in the first place? Who had called? What exactly had they seen?

Dorrie and Lunau. What were they talking about right now? The curfew? The smell? The bed? The scars? Her?

Barbara pushed against the table and forced herself up straight.

She couldn’t let herself fall into a spiral of paranoia, the bottom line was if one person saw something concerning, another could as well. And regardless of what Dorrie and Lunau had seen, that bell had been well and truly rung. The only thing they could do was watch themselves on all sides and make sure that no one in their lives had reason to be suspicious.

And it was just one visit, it wasn’t like they were already looking up foster homes. If she and Jim cooperated and played along this was sure to fizzle out in a month or two.

But then why couldn’t she stop trembling?

Barbara dragged herself to her feet, heading into the kitchen to make some tea to hopefully settle her nerves, fighting and losing the battle against working herself into a panic.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about what could have possibly been concerning enough to get a warrant signed?

She paused mid step and glanced around the room. Admittedly the visit with Dorrie and Lunau could have gone better, but it wasn’t like they’d seen anything outright damning. If they made a point to clean up Jim’s room and for Barbara to pick up a few more chores they should be in the clear. And the scars….

Well every animal bit had to look a little different.

So why did she feel almost sick with dread, why couldn’t she shake the feeling that something deeply private had been exposed?

All they’d done was talk a little bit and look around the house, granted Barbara hadn’t exactly been thrilled to walk in on strangers talking to Jim and--

Her heart stopped.

Dorrie and Lunau had a warrant, and they’d already been here when she got home, who’s to say they hadn’t already been here when Jim got home to? What if they’d gotten here way ahead of both of them and done some poking around on their own?

And there was one area of the house they hadn’t touched while Barbara was here.

Chill spreading out from her chest to the rest of her body, Barbara slowly walked over to the door that Dorrie and Lunau had ignored in her presence; desperately hoping to be mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t that noticeable. Maybe it could probably easily be mistaken for something else.

She pulled it open, blowing every last one of those possibilities out of the water.

The claw marks were still there, fresh as if they’d been made that afternoon. A neon sign would be less obvious.

Barbara shut the door, feeling disconnected from the action, like her body didn’t belong to her anymore. But she could still see the claw marks flashing in the front of her brain. They needed to get those fixed, yesterday. But wait, if they’d already been noticed wouldn’t covering them up be more--

Then she caught a glimpse of something worse.

The exercise band, hanging just inches away; deliberately hung and placed in such a way that it could only have one clear purpose.

How many times had she pulled it shut over the basement doorknob? How many times had she listened to her child screaming from behind that same door?

Just because she couldn’t trust anyone else to take care of Jim didn’t mean she deserved him.

A child wouldn’t get taken away for a slightly smelly room or messy bed, but this….

This would do it.

Suddenly keeping herself under control was the furthest thing from her mind.

Barbara ripped the band off its hook.

Get rid of it get rid of it now.

Couldn’t throw it away, someone might see it in the trash, she needed to destroy it, she needed to--

Barbara ran over to the junk drawer, yanking it open and tearing through its contents, grabbing the first thing that could do the job. A box cutter.

Whipping the blade out, she slashed and hacked at the rubber cords without hesitation.

Strangers in their house.

Tiny chunks of yellow rubber flew to the floor.

Jim being taken away from her.

She didn’t slow down her frenzied assault on the band. Not even when the blade missed her fingers by millimeters. If anything she sped up, all the emotion from the past hour she’d tried to suppress boiling up to the surface.

Her baby, far away and surrounded by other people.

She couldn’t cut fast enough, tearing and cutting and shredding with everything she had.

Someone else seeing his other face.

Her hands were shaking as she kept slashing at the blade, unable to pull in enough breath as the world collapsed around her.

Strangers, hurting, or even killing Jim because of it.

All of a sudden she had nothing left to cut at. Panting with exhaustion as the band lay in pieces on the floor all around her, just the empty handle in one hand and the box cutter in the other.

It was only now that she registered the feeling of tears running down her face.

“Mom?”

Barbara jerked her head in the direction of the sound. Jim, he had already changed for the night and come downstairs without her noticing, she’d forgotten how stealthy his blue form could be despite his size.

Walking in on his mother tearing apart an exercise band like a madwoman.

Her eyes stung. How could she? How could she let herself break down like this? No matter how stressed she was about the CPS visit, her child must be even more--

Jim hurried over to her and got down on his knees; starting to pick the bits of yellow rubber up off the floor “What’s going on mom? Why were you--”

Acting completely on impulse she hugged him, kneeling down just far enough so that the top of Jim’s head went up to her chin.

“It’s going to be ok sweetie,” she squeezed his shoulders “No--”

No one’s going to take you away.

“N-- nuh-- nothing’s going to happen from just one visit,”

Don’t say those words, don’t put that idea in his head. Barbara was the parent, right now her feelings weren’t what mattered. She needed to pull herself together so she could be there for Jim.

“We-- we just need to cooperate and go along with them for now, everything’s going to be ok, I promise,”

For a moment Jim didn’t move, frozen and stiff in her embrace. Then he softened, leaning into the hug.

Barbara squeezed him tighter “We’re going to get through this together,”

Jim slowly reached up and returned the hug “Right, we take care of each other,”

In spite of everything that drew a fragile smile out of Barbara, even as fresh tears threatened to spill “Right,”

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #A Secret's Worth #jim lake jr #Barbara Lake #original character(s)#sunshine au #fanfic #rmvwrites

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